Hetalia Roleplays~
–This is a free rp group. Anything is allowed as it has the proper warngings when needed. Most starts I did not write! You may post as many as you want freely. —
(if a starter happens to be yours and you would like it removed please just private message me and I’ll handle the rest 🙂 Just meant I liked your starter.)
Ve, ve! come one come all! Oc’s to trolls to countries all alike! Have fun and rp to your hearts content
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RP with Chaos Italy?
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RP with Chaos Italy?
updated 8 years, 2 months ago
2 Members
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22
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Leaning back in his chair, Gilbert frowned. The coffee on the table was getting cold. He had called the Northern Italian brother over for coffee and snacks, something that he did not necessarily do under any circumstance. However, this was not a normal circumstance. The fact was: Something was up with Feliciano. While Gilbert was no longer a nation, he was still razor-sharp and still carried the attentiveness and observational skills that had kept him alive for centuries.
He folded one long leg over the other and scowled into space, lips curving downwards in a delicate display of displeasure, and something stirred in the back of his mind that highly disapproved of the other’s tardiness, noting that if he had been this late to any meetings in the past his boss would have him flogged.
He had arranged the meeting over the phone, getting Feliciano’s number from his various connections throughout Europe, but even then it was difficult to get in contact with him
“Come over to my place, we can meet for lunch, I’ll make the food. Noon sound good?” Red eyes wearily glanced at the neat little clock hanging on the wall. He was late.
Great.
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This discussion was modified 8 years, 3 months ago by
proosh.
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This discussion was modified 8 years, 3 months ago by
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The Italian had gratefully accepted the invitation the day it was sent to him. But come the day of the meeting, he wasn’t feeling the greatest. Incidents in the past caused by the disorder he has left him with some…side effects to say the least. And today was one of those days-a day where his overworked legs wouldn’t cooperate with him-the main reason he was late was due to him taking FOREVER to get to the location. But eventually, Feliciano made it to the other’s door, lightly knocking on it.
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Gilbert was about to simply put the crockery away before he heard the soft knocks– Now, who could that be? His guest, late? He rolled his eyes and forcibly pushed away the dark annoyance that lurked in the back of his head. Now was not the time for that. He gave a glance to his apartment and hoped the Spartan decorating and absurd level of cleanliness wouldn’t scare the Italian any more than he already undoubtedly was.
“Coming!” he called, striding over to the front door and swinging it open, his heels subtly clicking together in attention. “Ah, Feliciano, good–” He paused, briefly. “Afternoon. Come on in, how do you like your coffee?” The albino stepped aside to usher the other into the apartment; a little affair on the east side of Berlin. It used to be concrete and Brutalist, a stubborn reminder of the boots of the Soviets. He had since wallpapered it and gave it carpet, all whites and soft colours to ease out the harshness of the architecture. On the balcony grew plants, eagerly attended to and carefully groomed into bloom.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he continued, closing the door after the other.
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Feliciano gave the other an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I was late. I had some difficulty traveling.” He admitted, brushing the issue aside as if it was simply a matter of getting stuck in traffic, not difficulty walking, as his half-limp, half-stagger into the other’s house showed. The Italian looked around at his surroundings, smiling once more. “Grazie for inviting me over.”
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His eyes immediately narrowed, but only once Feliciano’s back was turned. The poor boy was far too thin and walked like he had just been shot. Gilbert was familiar with both sensations, but both of those things came and went with war and work camps. Neither of which were currently a problem for the Mediterranean, as far as he was aware.
“It’s no problem. What would you like to eat? I got biscuits, some cheese platters.” He was already internally calling up the recipe for a certain kind of stew, the one Ukraine had taught him how to make. Potatoes, whatever meat one can find, legumes… Feliciano quite obviously needed the calories. “Also fruit, if you’re into that.” Carbs first, the kid looked like he was about to keel over.
Rapidly processing his thoughts, Gilbert disappeared into the kitchen and brought out a loaf of bread and a platter of various processed meats. Hopefully the Italian would find something enticing enough to eat. Sliding the plates onto the kitchen table, he took his seat at the head and gestured for Feliciano to sit down, fingers knitting together as he gazed at him expectantly.
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“I’ll eat just about anything.” Feliciano stated. “I’m not exactly picky anymore.” The last time the Italian showed his pickiness ended in complete disaster, so he learned to try new things-and learned to like most of them! Though part of it could simply have just been the fact he doesn’t wish to pass out again.
Waiting patiently, Feliciano looked at his surroundings once more, a slight smile forming on his face once Gilbert returned with food. He thanked the other, before sitting down and starting to eat.
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The German watched him carefully, silently observing his mannerisms and the way his body moved. He found it easy to assess people’s dispositions and what was going on, and prided himself on being as observant as possible. He couldn’t exactly figure out what was going on with Feliciano, couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong…
He waited a good few minutes before speaking, eyes averting and thin brows drawing together in thought. He sipped his cold coffee, strategically spiked with some hard alcohol. Hey, it was a habit.
“So.” His words were posed cautiously as he ventured into unmapped territory. “What has been going on? Anything happening?” There was no room for objection in Gilbert’s tone, because there was very obviously something going on, and he was decisive in his search for answers.
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“Not too much has been happening lately.” The Italian stated. “Been pretty lonely back home, to be honest.” Feliciano continued eating once there was a pause in the conversation. It didn’t occur to him just yet that the other was asking about his health-a subject that, due to failed attempts at finding friends, he often kept quiet about.
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Annoyance briefly flashed across his expression. He really needed to keep that under control. Taking a sip from his coffee, red eyes focused on the other.
“Isn’t your brother around?” Surely the southern Italy would be there for Feliciano, right? Gilbert chewed the inside of his lip and took a slice of bread and a few slices of salami, making himself a sandwich.
“…Feliciano. Look at me. What is going on? You’re clearly ill or injured.” He didn’t want to beat around the bush further, eyes narrowed sharply but expression still open and inviting for further information. He wanted to get down to the crux of the matter as soon as possible, so he could help the Italian through whatever was happening.
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“Fratello’s been busy.” The Italian stated, falling silent once the other started speaking once more. He was cornered. He couldn’t cover it up anymore, and he didn’t want to lie. So Feliciano simply opted for the truth.
“I have a medical condition. Have to eat a lot because of it.” The Italian explained. “Unfortunately, several times I was unable to get anything to eat in time. Hurt my legs because I pushed myself too hard while recovering.” Feliciano sighed before continuing. “It’s really difficult to make friends because of this-some people just aren’t very nice.”
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Gilbert’s expression shifted, becoming something almost gentle. He sat back in his chair and his lips pursed in a particular way that made his whole features soften, from the sharpness of his cheekbones and his jaws to the way his mouth was usually set in a hard line.
He spoke slowly, as if approaching an injured animal. “There’s always food and shelter here, you know. I’m not gonna let a friend go hungry.” Not again. It would never be like those days, he promised himself. He would work, and provide, and justify himself to the world. He wondered if it was morally sound to use another’s suffering to build his own redemption, but disregarded it a moment later.
“If you need anywhere to stay I’ve got a spare bedroom. My doors are always open, Feliciano.”
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“I’ll gladly keep that offer in mind.” The Italian mused. “And grazie. Grazie for everything.” Feliciano was grateful that the other offered him so much, even if it was just simply food and shelter. He did have food to eat and a roof over his head, but he couldn’t easily get that when seeking companionship-he was often turned away by others. But now was different. Things were looking up, even though it had been a while since things had gone bad, it was good to see things go from neutral to great.
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He shrugged non-committally. “Eat. I’ll make something for you to take home.” He slid out of his chair with a brisk movement and disappeared into the kitchen, starting to get out the pots and such required to make the stew. It would be able to be frozen and stored away for months at a time. He smiled to himself, remembering his confusion when Sofia pulled a pack out of the snow as if it was a casual thing to do. Of course, once she had heated the broth it tasted like heaven on earth.
After setting up the water to boil, he returned to the dining room and to his seat, reclining casually but still keeping a careful eye on the other. “…Has anyone been making life difficult for you? I can convince them otherwise.” He cracked his knuckles, almost casually, his eyes slightly darkening with the beginnings of that terrible violent possessiveness he always kept firmly on a leash.
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“I’d appreciate that, would help when I’m not feeling well enough to cook.” Feliciano stated, smiling a bit.
He waited patiently as the other headed out for the kitchen, partially wanting to ask if he could help out, but also wanting to rest his legs for the time being. He seemed a bit surprised when Gilbert asked if someone was giving him a hard time. “A lot of people had in the past.” Feliciano admitted. “Lately nobody has, but it’s also been pretty lonely. Fratello’s around sometimes, but he’s often busy, so I don’t see him as much as I wish.”
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He nodded and returned to eating his own lunch, hands delicately holding the knife and fork. Table manners and etiquette had been effectively beaten into him to create an unusual dichotomy between his violent and volatile persona and the precise mannerisms he used in everyday life, from the way he held his cutlery, to the way his lips pursed as he bit back replies that were not as polite as they should be.
“I can teach you how to make it, if you want. It’s pretty easy. I managed to make it when I got out of the camps, and lemme tell you I was not in a good place–” He visibly cringed at the memories. The lingering touches of the Siberian winters ran down his spine and his tongue ached with the Volga German he had used to hide his identity from those that did not know of his true crimes.
He paused, though, humming tunelessly. “…If anyone does give you shit, just call me? I’ll… Make sure they don’t from then on, I promise.”