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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 0:39:23 GMT -5
No matter how Roderich increased his pace, Gilbert remained just a few steps ahead of him, preventing conversation. Truth be told, he preferred it that way. With any luck, he would be able to avoid conversation entirely, sleep, and make his way back into the city without any further trouble.
Their footsteps echoing loudly against the cobblestones were the only sounds that could be heard, adding to his uneasiness. This was not like him, following a stranger. But there was something about this dark young man's music that had stirred something within him. Through playing with him, Roderich had glimpsed a facet of his very soul, a facet that seemed somehow brighter than the strange aura around him. He had to admit, he was intrigued by this young man, a curiosity that was just enough to allow a tiny bit of risk.
Besides, he couldn't pass up something free.
Roderich had yet to venture into this part of the city; his finances normally didn't allow for such luxury, and gazing upon the wealthy houses only made him wistful for what he didn't have. Some were classical, with white-painted columns and wide porches, some were plain brick with large windows and drawn shutters. Oil lamps spaced at regular intervals added to the starlight's illumination, throwing the young man before him pale skin into sharp relief against his crimson eyes and dark cloak. There was something captivating about this strange young man, and before he knew it, they had turned onto a side street and plunged into almost utter darkness.
A moment for his eyes to adjust, and he saw a house standing alone atop a hill, back lit by starlight. The yard was unkept, and some of the shutters half-hung, battering slightly in the chill breeze against the dank wood siding.
Half-hearing Gilbert's challenge, Roderich did consider leaving. But he'd come this far, and he was no coward to be frightened by appearances alone. "You needn't be concerned," he remarked offhandedly, masking the foreboding feeling rising in his chest. Trusting that his music hadn't failed him, he started up the walkway, hearing the other man follow behind him. He almost stumbled on weeds and cracks in the paving, but as he ascended the final stair to stand before the door, he allowed himself the minor triumph of having earned himself a free room.
And intriguing company.
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 9, 2010 1:17:20 GMT -5
"Ah, so the young master does have a backbone," Gilbert teased as he walked up to his front door and grabbed the handle. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Mr. Musician? You're the first person to walk up without flinching or turning tail halfway in years." Over a hundred, to be exact, but he doesn't need to know that. Ha, he'd never believe it, anyway.
Giving the knob a slight twist and jerk, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He never had any reason to lock the door; and it wasn't worth it. The only time he ever bothered to do so was when he left the city. Long-term absences were risky when it came to a house like his. Most people wouldn't dare walking up to something with such a foreboding exterior, but there were the occasional daredevils who would attempt to break in just to prove that they could. Gilbert didn't like dealing with idiots as such, but took care of them when they tried.
The entrance way opened into a surpisingly spacious foyer with pristine snowy walls. Marble statues stood evenly spaced apart, leading up to a large white-marble staircase which curved to both the left and right to the upper levels of the house. A red carpet lined the tile flooring that lead forward toward the stairs where it split in two and lead off to the side. Several oak doors stood on each side of the walls, closing off rooms that Gilbert rarely used, let alone enter.
In truth, there were only about five rooms that the albino actually used, but the house as a whole was kept as close to perfect as he could manage on the inside. The manor, which had once belonged to the only person he'd ever had that would be considered a true father, was the closest thing Gilbert had to a home. It was the memories the walls held for him rather than the roof itself, and had they not been there, he would have abandoned the building all together.
Still, the mansion had been important to Frederick. He and Gilbert had spent many long hours avoiding the blistering sun with his 'father' wondering the hallways and fixing up the inside to what it was today. Thus, the mansion was just important to the Prussian.
"You won't need anything in the rooms downstairs, but feel free to explore. I wouldn't be surprised if I caught you snooping around in the morning. Your curiosity is going to get the better of you someday." He walked up the crimson carpet as he spoke, stopping at the foot of the stairs to turn and glance at Roderich, grinning. "The guest bedrooms are upstairs; I'll show you where. I don't need you getting lost, after all."
It didn't take long for Gilbert to reach the room he was looking for, and he paused momentarily as he reached it to ensure Roderich was still following. With a small grin, he pushed the door open with as much ease as he had the front and moved into the space beyond.
The room itself was fairly large inside, with enough furnishings to be comfortable, but not overbearing. A deep mahogany desk sat at the far wall with several paintings lining the open space beside it. To the left was a small seating area made up of two love-seats of deep red velvet with a coffee table between them. A doorway on the far left wall lead into a clean and fairly large bathroom with a wide tub and shower, while the right wall had two dressers pressed up against it.
The carpeting was a deep royal blue that complimented the slightly lighter sheets and blankets that graced the queen-sized banister bed that stuck out from the center of the right wall. A crystal chandelier that ran on electricity provided the warm lighting of the room, and it held an overall aura of royal welcoming that made Gilbert uncomfortable.
"Does this suit your tastes, herr Roderich?"
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 10:29:26 GMT -5
Jaw slightly slack, Roderich could only nod. Suffice to say, this is not what he had expected from the outside. His power bill must be extremely high if he keeps everything lit all the time, passed through his mind wonderingly.
Roderich ventured into the room with the kind of hesitance born of being surrounded by expensive things that are not his to own. As he lifted his hand to feel the thick quilt on the bed, a distant memory froze him in mid-step
he ran through a room just like this one at a full sprint without a care for the furnishings and leaped on the bed, burying his face in pillows. instead of blue, the color scheme was in varying shades of purple, and everything looked much bigger.
how old am i? where is this? home?
"roderich?"
As clearly as if from behind him, Roderich spun on his heel at the sound of a woman's voice, staring past the silver-haired young man. "Mu...tter?" escaped from between his lips in a whisper.
Then he shook his head roughly and banished the image from his mind. "It seems like, of the two of us," he managed without a hint of bitterness, turning to face the pale young man, "you would be the one more suited to life in a castle."
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 9, 2010 11:36:29 GMT -5
If he had been a lesser man, Gilbert would have laughed, and he almost did. A wry smile graced his lips as he glanced around the room, giving it a look like that of someone who had just been betrayed by the person they trusted most. All the walls held were happy memories that he could no longer reach; teasing him with each image and small that would dance before his eyes as he walked into a room and remembered something pleasant that had happened in it.
"Me? Castle life?" he grinned and shook his head as he walked over to one of the walls, touching it gingerly, as if afraid it might suddenly collapse. "Like hell... I know I said I was awesome, but the royalty shit is too stuffy for me. I like making my own rules. Life is more fun that way."
With a sigh, Gilbert turned away from the wall and took several steps toward Roderich, stopping far enough to keep a good three or four feet of distance between them. It was easier to smell the brunette in here; they were so close without the various scents of the outside world to distract him. The aroma of the house was easy enough to ignore; it was what he smelt almost everyday, all day, but Roderich... Roderich had an oddly sweet odour about him that was working the already hungry albino's limits. But he knew better, and he wouldn't attack. Not a human. Frederick had taught him better than that.
"I hate this house... A single person doesn't need something so damn big. I only use about five of the rooms." I don't need empty halls to remind me that I'm alone... of what I've lost. His proud tone had simmered down, melting into something bitter as he forced back the sorrowful lump that had formed in his chest. He was acting pathetic. He needed to get a better grip on his emotions, now, before the brunette in front of him noticed what was going on.
"Anyway..." he forced his smile back in place and gestured for the door. "As we've probably established that, with many of the awesome things that I am, thief probably isn't one of them, why don't you drop your things in here and we can go downstairs into the kitchen, hm? I'll make us... well, you, dinner. If I can wow you with my music, I might as well try cooking, too."
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 12:50:46 GMT -5
Roderich inclined his head with a small smile and pulled his shortbow and violin from his back, setting them down gently on the bed. Almost as an afterthought, he removed his coat and set it down beside them, tugging the bottom of his light brown vest and adjusting the cream cravat around his throat. The house was just above comfortable temperature, he mused, fixing his glasses.
"If you've already eaten, I can prepare my own food," he answered finally, running one hand over his violin case before walking past the Gilbert to the hall. "I do not intend to impose overmuch on your generosity."
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 9, 2010 13:38:11 GMT -5
Well, at least I know he doesn't mooch for fun... Gilbert thought in amusement as he followed after Roderich, his arms hidden within the folds of his cloak. The fabric billowed out behind him in an almost unnatural way, as if floating in an imaginary wind. His boots echoed off the walls as he walked down the hallway, avoiding the carpets and revealing in the noise that created the illusion that the manor wasn't as empty as it was. The action was a bizarre habit, but one he'd picked up shortly after his "father's" death.
"The kitchen is downstairs..." he announced in a low tone, gesturing back down the staircase they'd used to get upstairs. "Follow the red carpet to the right." Moving in front of Roderich, Gilbert lead the brunette down the marble staircase and along the red carpet, stopping short in front of an oak door which he pushed open without pause.
The kitchen beyond was much smaller than the room Gilbert had offered to Roderich for sleeping, but not at all uncomfortable. A dark, almost black, wooden table sat in the center of the floor with four chairs, two on each side. The velvet on their seats was faded, and although clean and well-kept, it was obvious that they hadn't been used in a very long time. Under the table was a red carpet set up to avoid scrap marks on the floor from the chairs, it's colour just as faded as the chairs themselves.
A handsome icebox stood next to a door that lead into a pantry stood on the far right corner of the room, with a stove and oven set up next to one another on the left. Compared to the rest of the kitchen, the two devices were abnormally clean, appearing as if they were cleaned at least bi-weekly. Several feet to the left of them were two cabinets, one with glass doors that revealed various plates and cups on the inside.
"...Home sweet home," Gilbert muttered in a dull tone, walking over to the icebox with a sigh. "It doesn't look like much, but everything is in awesome shape and works perfectly fine." He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "So, exactly what food does the young master have a taste for? I bet there isn't a single thing you can name that the awesome me can't make."
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 14:56:13 GMT -5
Roderich gritted his teeth and sat at the table in a huff. "I'm not a master of anything," he repeated, slightly annoyed. "But if you're so intent, I would like a cup of tea. With lemon and sugar." He folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs, foot tapping with annoyance and impatience. "And beef soup," he continued, voice biting. "Not stew -- soup, Rindsuppe*. I don't suppose you have Liptauer** and bread, as well?"
Closing his eyes, Roderich ignored whatever expression the other man was giving him. What had come over him? The orders he had barked seemed like they had come from a different mouth, a long time ago.
It was this house. This elegant, rich, royal house. Roderich took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and analyze his feelings, but he was too angry, too upset... and he couldn't pin down the reason. Like his earlier memory, this house was calling out pieces of him he'd thought buried long ago.
He'd fallen too easily into this voice, far too easily. With a conscious effort, he relaxed his jaw and started to roll up his sleeves, forcing down the part of him that demanded to be served without question. "And I will help you make it," he added softly.
*Rindsuppe - a beef, clear soup with a golden color **Liptauer - a spicy, yellow cheese spread eaten on bread
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 9, 2010 15:31:15 GMT -5
A slender eyebrow shot upward in faint amusement as he listened to Roderich's order. Part of him was tempted to grab a notebook sitting on the counter and jot it all down mockingly, finishing off his little act with a bow. However, as much fun as it seemed like it would be to annoy the brunette, working the other up into a temper would only make his night difficult.
"Right away, sir..." he announced in a mocking tone as he opened the icebox, pulling out the ingredients he'd need. He didn't quite have everything that was required, but he had enough to use as a substitute to get him by. Roderich would just have to get over it. "If you want to help..." he nodded toward the stove, "Then get that ready. Pots and pans are in that cupboard next to the one with plates."
Pulling away from the icebox, Gilbert dropped what they needed to cook on the counter, carefully looking everything over with a skeptical gaze. He hadn't cooked for someone else in a long time, at least, not in a kitchen. Guests were rare, and on the road, he had little to work with, so the unusually elegant tastes of the other would prove a challenge (one he planned to beat with flying colours).
"Look in the icebox for a drink when you're done." He wouldn't have to worry about letting Roderich in there. He'd learned how to handle his situation with the last guest. Blood was now kept in a space icebox in the pantry... which is where the bread was. Shit. He'd need to get that before the brunette wondered inside.
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 21:17:27 GMT -5
Without a word of apology, Roderich opened the aforementioned cupboard, observing the pots and pans stacked neatly inside. Selecting a pot of medium size, he set it on the burner. Reaching around Gilbert, he felt the soft cheese the other man had produced from the ice box and frowned. "This is too cold," he muttered unhappily. For lack of a better solution, he placed the hunk of yellow cheese near the stove, hoping that the heat produced would be enough to raise it to almost room temperature.
Reaching around again, he plucked an onion and smelled it, nodding slowly. He'd need onion for both the Rindsuppe and Liptauer, so he'd best get started. He crossed the kitchen and pulled a wooden cutting-board from behind the knife block and selected a knife.
Everything here was extremely well-kept, and the knives were no exception. They were sharpened almost to a razor's edge, and in spite of himself, Roderich started to hum softly to himself as he skinned the onion. He hadn't had the opportunity to cook like this in... well, not since that tavern he hadn't had the money to pay for his lodging and cooked his way out of debt. And those ingredients and cooking ware weren't nearly as fine as these.
For a long time, he'd been merely satisfied, drifting from inn to inn. Now, he was truly happy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice warned him not to let his guard down, against either the silver-haired young man or his own inner self, but Roderich suppressed it and sliced the onion in half.
Almost immediately, tears formed in his eyes from the acid, blurring his vision. Roderich only reached up and dabbed gently with his rolled-up sleeve around his elbow and kept slicing, blinking away the tears even as they started to stream down his face. Even the burn from onions couldn't keep the rising feeling of contentment. For the first time in a long time, he was comfortable.
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 9, 2010 22:25:51 GMT -5
"If the cheese is so cold then just set it near the--oh, you did." Gilbert glanced toward the stove and nodded silently. "Just leave it there for a minute and it'll warm right up. I use the trick all the... You okay?"
Frowning, Gilbert walked over to the stove, a concerned look crossing his features as he stared at the brunette. It wasn't everyday that someone burst into tears in his kitchen and he'd never handled tears well at all. It was a weakness he didn't often have to face, though he'd do a terrible job when he finally had to. Unfortunately for him, this was one of those times.
"H-hey, are you okay?" the albino's eyes widened in faint shock as he began to dig around in his pockets, fishing out a white handkerchief boasting the image of a black eagle with a golden crown on it's head and holding a scepter and ball in its talons. "Mein Gott, what the hell happened? I didn't even say anything this time!" In a movement of panic, he stepped forward and began to dab the cloth under Roderich's eyes, completely oblivious as to how intimate the gesture might come off to the average person.
"If you didn't want to cook, just say so. I wasn't going to drag you into it or anything, but damn, even for a young master this is--look, just don't cry, okay? I'm shit with tears..."
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 9, 2010 23:17:06 GMT -5
Roderich sputtered and dropped the knife on the board to push the other man's hands away. "W-wh-what are you doing?" he demanded, grabbing Gilbert's hands and pulling them away from his face, irritated once again. "It's an onion, you fool, not a breakdown!"
Gilbert's hands held in his own, Roderich was struck by the chill of his skin. Their faces were far too close for comfort, and he swallowed hard as he met the other man's eyes. "My eyes tear up when I cut onions," he stated softly. "There's nothing to worry about."
Within the other man's eyes, he saw genuine concern, almost fear. Roderich wasn't quite sure how to handle that feeling, feeling his cheeks still flushed with heat from his annoyed outburst. He had to admit, he wasn't expecting this casual, irritating young man to be capable of such concern toward him.
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 10, 2010 0:10:58 GMT -5
"Oh..." Gilbert muttered dumbly, feeling warmth rushing to his cheeks. He vaguely wondered if he could actually blush anymore, but didn't think anything of it. The Prussian made it a point to avoid more human contact than necessary, and thus, blushing had never been a problem.
Nor had opinions.
For someone who rarely had to cook with or for others, the effects of certain foods tended to fade away in his mind. He knew perfectly well what onions did, but as they didn't effect himself as they did others, the tears had come as something of an unexpected shock. One he should have been prepared for. He'd let his guard down and now... a hand clasped around his and suddenly his entire body went tense.
The warmth from Roderich's hand sent a dull shock through Gilbert's system. He hadn't felt the touch of human hands in almost a hundred years. Gloves had always been a must when he went out in hopes of hiding the lack of normalcy in his body temperature, and fire had been the closet he'd ever gotten to warmth.
The brunette's skin was smooth and soft, unlike anything that Gilbert could remember touching, and for a brief moment, his mind wandered elsewhere as he imagined touching Roderich's face to see if it was as soft as his--He blinked and shook his head quickly, eyes widening for a second time that night. He couldn't think that way, it would bring trouble.
"...Sorry," he mumbled, unsure if he should jerk his hand away or let the brunette keep holding it. The warmth it emitted was comforting and gave the Prussian an overwhelming feeling of calm that he knew perfectly well shouldn't have been there, but at the same time, it was draining. Combined with the already alluring smell he let off, Roderich was making it harder and harder to ignore the hunger that plagued the back of his mind. How long had it been since he'd had fresh blood? A week? Two? He had to keep long periods of time between his meals to avoid detection, and this was pushing his limits.
"...You need garlic, ja? It's... in the pantry. I'll get it for you..." He swallowed thickly as he spoke, his eyes moving unconsciously toward their joint hands. Two voices were screaming simultaneously in his mind; one to let go, and the other for him to hold on.
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 10, 2010 9:18:56 GMT -5
"Aah..." It took a moment for Roderich to respond, shaking his head to free himself from the other man's far-too-expressive crimson eyes. His annoyance was beginning to fade, replaced by sympathy.
For all his bluff, Roderich realized, he was just a scared young man. If he went out at night to play his violin and so casually invited a stranger into his home...
you're the first person to walk up without turning tail halfway in years...
With a jolt, Roderich remembered what Gilbert had said after he had walked to the porch. All his bluster and mockery...
What was he afraid of?
Gilbert obviously didn't get along with people well; Roderich could easily see why. His eyes softened, and he wondered, in spite of himself, what could have possibly happened to him to make him want to push others so far away.
"Yes," emerged softly from between his lips. Clearing his throat, he repeated louder, "Yes, please." Turning back to the onion, he gently freed himself from Gilbert's grip. "I, ah, only need one clove for the Rindsuppe."
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Post by Gilbert Weillschmidt on Mar 10, 2010 10:23:53 GMT -5
"One clove, right..." Something between a smile and a wince crossed Gilbert's features as he walked over to the pantry and disappeared inside. He didn't like garlic, he never had. While it didn't kill him (unlike some legends stated) he couldn't stand the herb. From texture to smell, the small plant would drive the Prussian insane. He could smell it for weeks after it's use, and he'd often avoid the kitchen as much as possible until it faded away.
Shuffling through the pantry, Gilbert glanced at the second icebox he'd hidden in the room for safe keeping. Inside, unknown to anyone but himself, were packets upon packet of animal blood that he'd either collected himself or bought from markets under the disguise that he was using it for medical or potion purposes. Most of it, he assumed, was from the various wildlife surrounding the city. Alas, the blood itself tasted awful, but it was enough to sustain the vampire's hunger and make it easier for him to be around others (at least, when he was able to stay near them).
From where he stood, he could smell the faintest hint of blood from a packet that lightly had a hole in it or that wasn't closed all the way. His gaze moved back to the door and he considered closing it, if only for a few minutes, to grab a snack before the maddening sensation that Roderich was giving him drove the albino over the age, but he decided against it. It was too risky, and, with some luck, the garlic would smell foul enough to cover his brunette guest up.
After some wrestling with the various layers of boxes and fabrics Gilbert kept garlic wrapped in to completely eliminate the smell, he was able to extract the needed clove. Giving it a small glare, he wrapped the rest of it back up and walked back into the kitchen, setting the clove down on the counter beside his guest. The cheese next to the stove was beginning to soften, and he knew it would be melting soon, so he grabbed a plate from the cabinet and set the food on stop before placing it on the table.
"Now, how else may I be of assistance?" he was ginning again. Forced, but better than nothing. His mind was still racing for before. "What does young master Roddy need?"
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Post by Roderich Edelstein on Mar 10, 2010 14:09:23 GMT -5
As Gilbert disappeared into the pantry, Roderich exhaled slowly and leaned against the counter top. Shaking his head briskly, he quickly finished with the onion and shifted the cutting board to the side. Dabbing at the tears in his eyes, he carefully adjusted his glasses and sighed. Forcibly pushing the other young man's pleading eyes from his mind, he rapidly mixed the spices and a handful of the chopped onions into the cheese, kneading it roughly with both hands to work the flavor through. As it softened further under the heat of his hands, he grabbed a long wooden spoon from a jar of similar utensils and stirred it with perhaps more force than necessary until it reached the consistency of a smooth spread.
Setting it aside, Roderich closed his eyes and exhaled deeply again. He should have walked away in the plaza, before he ever tried to peek into that man's soul. Inadvertently, he'd formed a connection between the two of them, a connection that was hampering his thoughts and sabotaging his emotions. Roderich had traveled so long, gotten so used to locking away his empathy, but then this young man and his violin and brought it out again.
He heard Gilbert returning and hastily resumed his work, crossing the kitchen to take another large bowl from the cabinet and pull the ground beef from the icebox. Dropping the beef into the bowl, he crossed back over to the cutting board of onions in time to hear Gilbert's, "What does young master Roddy need?"
"'Young master Roderich'," he corrected. With barely a thought, Roderich cuffed the silver-haired young man lightly upside the head and smiled gently to let him know it wasn't serious. "If you're going to call me master, I'll have to start acting like one." He quickly hid his smile with mock-sternness as he dumped the rest of the onion into the sizzling butter in the pot. "Now crush that clove in with the onions and stir."
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