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Hhhhhhhhhhhhh. Yeah, coffee break sounds good about now. Oh man, Natalya and Ivan... I don't even know what to say about them other than holy shit that's heavy stuff. My brain just feels the urge to try and analyze what exactly is wrong with them just to figure out if there's any hope for them. (Yeah, even if it's fiction and I'm not a mental health professional etc. Shut up and let me amuse myself.) Although probably not... considering the level of mental health care at the time. *shudder* Nowadays they might have a chance but...
On the other hand, though, they do have Irina! *trying to think positive* Maybe she can take them in at some point... maybe they could work at home, knitting or sewing for Natalya and maybe some kind of "manlier" handicraft for Ivan... That might not give you much of a living but it'd help a bit. Maybe.
Oh Ludwig! ;;___;; And oh Bella. Both of them. <3 Such sweet kids. I don't actually worry for them that much simply because... idk, I get the feeling they'll be alright somehow. Unless something happens to their loved ones. And that makes me worry less for Gilbert, Lovino and Feliciano, too, since they have people looking after them. (Btw, Gilbert is still fucking adorable!)
Oh Arthur... he's being so typically himself, stubborn little pompous shit. *sigh* Poor thing.
So Francis is there too? I have to admit I can't wait to see him since he's my favourite character. x) I thought earlier he might even be a girl since Austria is too but I guess not since the girls were introduced.
Jeanette is adorable. ;__; I feel so bad for her but at the same time happy too because all things considered she's pretty damn lucky... It could have gone so much worse for her. But I love the image of her as a little British lady. ♥ Shocking everyone with her looks and her sailor chanties. xD
I have a bit of an urge to draw some of these kids now... Idk if I'll do that, though... I might start and then get lazy and give up. x)
On the other hand, though, they do have Irina! *trying to think positive* Maybe she can take them in at some point... maybe they could work at home, knitting or sewing for Natalya and maybe some kind of "manlier" handicraft for Ivan... That might not give you much of a living but it'd help a bit. Maybe.
Oh Ludwig! ;;___;; And oh Bella. Both of them. <3 Such sweet kids. I don't actually worry for them that much simply because... idk, I get the feeling they'll be alright somehow. Unless something happens to their loved ones. And that makes me worry less for Gilbert, Lovino and Feliciano, too, since they have people looking after them. (Btw, Gilbert is still fucking adorable!)
Oh Arthur... he's being so typically himself, stubborn little pompous shit. *sigh* Poor thing.
So Francis is there too? I have to admit I can't wait to see him since he's my favourite character. x) I thought earlier he might even be a girl since Austria is too but I guess not since the girls were introduced.
Jeanette is adorable. ;__; I feel so bad for her but at the same time happy too because all things considered she's pretty damn lucky... It could have gone so much worse for her. But I love the image of her as a little British lady. ♥ Shocking everyone with her looks and her sailor chanties. xD
I have a bit of an urge to draw some of these kids now... Idk if I'll do that, though... I might start and then get lazy and give up. x)
Oh dear. The porn was good--bit short, but nice :D But what I liked most were the interactions--Natalya being a complete bitch to Toris at a time like that was just too hilarious ("My tit is not a doorknob, you imbecile" made me completely lose my shit and start spilling giggles all over the place).
And oh god, Feliks at the end. Knowing. Yes yes yes. This was awesome!
And oh god, Feliks at the end. Knowing. Yes yes yes. This was awesome!
*rolling eyes* Tall buildings are the modern equivalent to obelisks. Nations get ridiculous over them! People knew it was phallic competition long before Hetalia!
Thanks for the fill, a!a! Yes, Sears Tower is still Sears to me. NEVER going to think of Big Ben as Elizabeth Tower. But France's reference to the 'side table clock' made me think of the British clock in Disney's Beauty and the Beast and now I have an odd combination of obscene pictures in my head of the Disney clock as a French sex aide and Big Ben tottering around London giving tourists lectures on history. O_o
Thanks for the fill, a!a! Yes, Sears Tower is still Sears to me. NEVER going to think of Big Ben as Elizabeth Tower. But France's reference to the 'side table clock' made me think of the British clock in Disney's Beauty and the Beast and now I have an odd combination of obscene pictures in my head of the Disney clock as a French sex aide and Big Ben tottering around London giving tourists lectures on history. O_o
Great prompt, OP. Sorry if I don’t have Arthur or the divorce as bitter as you might want, but I hope a general romancey sort of plot with only a minimum of drama will work for you. I also tried introducing them like they were original characters so I’m sorry for the slooooowness of it all. :) It's 90% written, though. And totally, completely unedited and unbeta-read, so please pardon any suckitude in prose or plot holes.
Also, huge apologies in advance for any legal inaccuracies; I set it in Illinois, USA and I’m neither a lawyer nor do I live in that state so there are bound to be some.
Also? There are OCs. Some of them have nations’ human names, but please don’t expect all of them to have canon nation characterizations. :)
All Right, Tonight
The alarm clock sounded, a pleasant bonging of bells that grew in volume slowly, a sound designed to pry one gently from slumber. Arthur had no wish to be pried. He poked his hand out from under his covers to hit the snooze button.
A mere few moments later -- at least, it felt like a few moments -- the alarm chimed again, and this time the bonging was louder, to alert one that it was possibly growing time to arise, if one pleased.
Snooze.
Once more the clock sounded, the third alarm a harsh symphony with fewer pretensions to gentility. Arthur must have hit snooze again, because his alarm next told him, in his own recorded voice, to "get up, layabout; it's time to greet the day because you have work to do."
Arthur groaned and swept his blankets from his face to greet the day. It was a gray day, if the bleary light leaking in from under his shades was any indication. A typical February Tuesday in Chicago. Arthur turned off the clock. He had no wish to hear the next alarm, which also was his recorded voice, this time cursing himself for being a lazy cunt and other nasty things.
He'd bought the alarm clock at an little electronics shop in Tokyo and had felt terribly technological for the purchase. He had many such items, sleek, tasteful souvenirs that had caught his fancy. Travel was his escape and buying things in faraway places sometimes felt like conquering the world.
Some of the things were useful and some merely objets d'art. He'd arranged them around his condo in the hopes that they would proclaim him a homosexual, half-British gentleman of discernment. But they were mostly silent on that score, since people rarely came 'round.
His friend Portia dismissed them as gimcracks and gewgaws. She admitted to loving his antique French writing desk, however, and spent an unseemly amount of time fondling its knobs and gilt edges.
At least something in Arthur's home was being regularly fondled. Arthur sighed and rolled out of bed.
He set the electric kettle to boiling and brushed his teeth. He steeped his tea and combed his hair and sighed at his reflection. People around the world performed this sort of routine every day; he chided himself for finding it unfulfilling. In an attempt to improve his mood he dressed in a new suit, a brown one that he'd been told was stylish yet soberly professional enough for an attorney of his stature. He drank his tea and drove to the office.
There'd been more of these sorts of mornings lately, those mornings where even the allure of law could hardly drag him from his bed. While he may have noticed the pattern, Arthur did not care to examine it. Perhaps Portia was correct and he needed to leave the house more for things that weren't work? It was just that socializing was so ... wearying and difficult. Having a personal life meant expending a lot of effort for very little payoff.
Or maybe it was simply past time he took another trip.
When Arthur finally strode into the offices of Andersen and Kirkland at eight-thirty, the suite was already permeated with the smell of everyone's morning coffee. The smell didn't annoy him as much as it had used to; it seemed he was getting used to it. Twelve years in the States had taught him that the American legal system was powered by coffee, ego, and paralegals.
Perhaps an overdose of caffeine was the reason his assistant was fairly hopping in her seat.
"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland," she said as he approached. Her purple lipstick surrounded a very wide, white grin.
Also, huge apologies in advance for any legal inaccuracies; I set it in Illinois, USA and I’m neither a lawyer nor do I live in that state so there are bound to be some.
Also? There are OCs. Some of them have nations’ human names, but please don’t expect all of them to have canon nation characterizations. :)
All Right, Tonight
The alarm clock sounded, a pleasant bonging of bells that grew in volume slowly, a sound designed to pry one gently from slumber. Arthur had no wish to be pried. He poked his hand out from under his covers to hit the snooze button.
A mere few moments later -- at least, it felt like a few moments -- the alarm chimed again, and this time the bonging was louder, to alert one that it was possibly growing time to arise, if one pleased.
Snooze.
Once more the clock sounded, the third alarm a harsh symphony with fewer pretensions to gentility. Arthur must have hit snooze again, because his alarm next told him, in his own recorded voice, to "get up, layabout; it's time to greet the day because you have work to do."
Arthur groaned and swept his blankets from his face to greet the day. It was a gray day, if the bleary light leaking in from under his shades was any indication. A typical February Tuesday in Chicago. Arthur turned off the clock. He had no wish to hear the next alarm, which also was his recorded voice, this time cursing himself for being a lazy cunt and other nasty things.
He'd bought the alarm clock at an little electronics shop in Tokyo and had felt terribly technological for the purchase. He had many such items, sleek, tasteful souvenirs that had caught his fancy. Travel was his escape and buying things in faraway places sometimes felt like conquering the world.
Some of the things were useful and some merely objets d'art. He'd arranged them around his condo in the hopes that they would proclaim him a homosexual, half-British gentleman of discernment. But they were mostly silent on that score, since people rarely came 'round.
His friend Portia dismissed them as gimcracks and gewgaws. She admitted to loving his antique French writing desk, however, and spent an unseemly amount of time fondling its knobs and gilt edges.
At least something in Arthur's home was being regularly fondled. Arthur sighed and rolled out of bed.
He set the electric kettle to boiling and brushed his teeth. He steeped his tea and combed his hair and sighed at his reflection. People around the world performed this sort of routine every day; he chided himself for finding it unfulfilling. In an attempt to improve his mood he dressed in a new suit, a brown one that he'd been told was stylish yet soberly professional enough for an attorney of his stature. He drank his tea and drove to the office.
There'd been more of these sorts of mornings lately, those mornings where even the allure of law could hardly drag him from his bed. While he may have noticed the pattern, Arthur did not care to examine it. Perhaps Portia was correct and he needed to leave the house more for things that weren't work? It was just that socializing was so ... wearying and difficult. Having a personal life meant expending a lot of effort for very little payoff.
Or maybe it was simply past time he took another trip.
When Arthur finally strode into the offices of Andersen and Kirkland at eight-thirty, the suite was already permeated with the smell of everyone's morning coffee. The smell didn't annoy him as much as it had used to; it seemed he was getting used to it. Twelve years in the States had taught him that the American legal system was powered by coffee, ego, and paralegals.
Perhaps an overdose of caffeine was the reason his assistant was fairly hopping in her seat.
"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland," she said as he approached. Her purple lipstick surrounded a very wide, white grin.
"Good morning, Monaca," he said.
"I like your suit."
"Thank you."
The smiling and bouncing continued unabated.
"Yes?" he said and stopped by her desk.
"Guess who you have a ten o'clock with, Mr. Kirkland!"
Arthur resisted the urge to pull out his pocket planner or his new smartphone, and instead sorted his calendar in his brain. It was more accurate and he was more used to using it, anyway.
"That would be the Tuesday department review with Ms. Haverstick?" Lili Haverstick was the office manager. "Then an update meeting with the Lukes at eleven, lunch with Mr. Andersen at twelve-thirty, the Edelstein custody hearing at two. Speaking of, did Ms. Sterling get that research done and into the Edelstein file?"
"Yeah, she had that yesterday. The file is on your desk," Monaca said.. "I moved Lili. For a new client."
Arthur sighed. "But I haven't approved any new clients--"
"Possible new client."
"Thank you." They'd had The Talk more than once about preciseness in speech.
"Possible new divorce client with substantial property," Monaca continued. Bounce.
"Yes?"
"A Mr. Alfred Jones. The Mr. Alfred F. Jones."
"Jones. He's..." Arthur trailed off. He'd heard that name before. Or he'd read that name before. He sorted the last couple months' worth of business sections through his brain-file. Monaca leaned forward, nodding as if to say that's it, that's it, you'll get it! "Of AFJ Holdings?"
"Yes!"
Arthur frowned. Saying "substantial property" wouldn't even begin to cover what might be involved in such a case. Property was what The Mr. Alfred Jones did. He was one of the biggest developers in Chicago.
"To see me?" Arthur looked at Monaca. "Strange. He doesn't already have sufficient representation?"
Monaca shrugged. "H.F. Bonnefoy is his regular counsel. He referred him to you for the family law matter. His secretary called me right at, like, eight-oh-one to schedule."
"Whose secretary?"
"Mr. Bonnefoy's."
"Ah," Arthur said. H.R. was one of those hard-edged business types with a smooshy romantic center, the type who could tear down a real-estate competitor but who cowered from the emotional baggage that surrounded family proceedings.
It was a fortunate referral. This could be a very high-profile case, and likely very profitable. Still, he'd have to review the specifics before agreeing to represent Jones. Arthur had a reputation among his colleagues for fussiness, but he refused to take just anything that was thrown at him. Personal life nothwithstanding, Arthur valued his professional time highly and not everyone could afford him. Though Jones could. "Did they send over the paperwork?"
Monaca furrowed her black, precisely trimmed eyebrows. "They said he'd bring the papers with him, which I know is weird. But I guess his wife is filing. Bella looked on the doxpop and there's nothing online at the clerk's office yet."
"Good. Have her check again at nine-thirty, please." He glanced down at Monaca's desk. She had a neon pink sticky note on her desk, with "JOnES @ 10 RICHH!!!" scrawled on it in black marker. She saw him looking and her teeth closed more tightly inside her smile. Her purple fingernails scrabbled across the desk to cover it.
"You should probably tear that up," he told her.
"Yes, Mr. Kirkland," Monaca said. Arthur heard the sound of ripping paper as he moved past her desk into his office.
Monaca had been in the there already. His blinds had been opened onto the city, the sprawling mess of a city with its traffic and smog. The strip of Lake Michigan visible from his window, sometimes very pretty, was gray and dreary. Just like at home.
Arthur had moved away from England for a change of weather, a change of world, but it seemed he was destined for the same discontent the UK had offered. He hated to think he'd brought it with him.
"I like your suit."
"Thank you."
The smiling and bouncing continued unabated.
"Yes?" he said and stopped by her desk.
"Guess who you have a ten o'clock with, Mr. Kirkland!"
Arthur resisted the urge to pull out his pocket planner or his new smartphone, and instead sorted his calendar in his brain. It was more accurate and he was more used to using it, anyway.
"That would be the Tuesday department review with Ms. Haverstick?" Lili Haverstick was the office manager. "Then an update meeting with the Lukes at eleven, lunch with Mr. Andersen at twelve-thirty, the Edelstein custody hearing at two. Speaking of, did Ms. Sterling get that research done and into the Edelstein file?"
"Yeah, she had that yesterday. The file is on your desk," Monaca said.. "I moved Lili. For a new client."
Arthur sighed. "But I haven't approved any new clients--"
"Possible new client."
"Thank you." They'd had The Talk more than once about preciseness in speech.
"Possible new divorce client with substantial property," Monaca continued. Bounce.
"Yes?"
"A Mr. Alfred Jones. The Mr. Alfred F. Jones."
"Jones. He's..." Arthur trailed off. He'd heard that name before. Or he'd read that name before. He sorted the last couple months' worth of business sections through his brain-file. Monaca leaned forward, nodding as if to say that's it, that's it, you'll get it! "Of AFJ Holdings?"
"Yes!"
Arthur frowned. Saying "substantial property" wouldn't even begin to cover what might be involved in such a case. Property was what The Mr. Alfred Jones did. He was one of the biggest developers in Chicago.
"To see me?" Arthur looked at Monaca. "Strange. He doesn't already have sufficient representation?"
Monaca shrugged. "H.F. Bonnefoy is his regular counsel. He referred him to you for the family law matter. His secretary called me right at, like, eight-oh-one to schedule."
"Whose secretary?"
"Mr. Bonnefoy's."
"Ah," Arthur said. H.R. was one of those hard-edged business types with a smooshy romantic center, the type who could tear down a real-estate competitor but who cowered from the emotional baggage that surrounded family proceedings.
It was a fortunate referral. This could be a very high-profile case, and likely very profitable. Still, he'd have to review the specifics before agreeing to represent Jones. Arthur had a reputation among his colleagues for fussiness, but he refused to take just anything that was thrown at him. Personal life nothwithstanding, Arthur valued his professional time highly and not everyone could afford him. Though Jones could. "Did they send over the paperwork?"
Monaca furrowed her black, precisely trimmed eyebrows. "They said he'd bring the papers with him, which I know is weird. But I guess his wife is filing. Bella looked on the doxpop and there's nothing online at the clerk's office yet."
"Good. Have her check again at nine-thirty, please." He glanced down at Monaca's desk. She had a neon pink sticky note on her desk, with "JOnES @ 10 RICHH!!!" scrawled on it in black marker. She saw him looking and her teeth closed more tightly inside her smile. Her purple fingernails scrabbled across the desk to cover it.
"You should probably tear that up," he told her.
"Yes, Mr. Kirkland," Monaca said. Arthur heard the sound of ripping paper as he moved past her desk into his office.
Monaca had been in the there already. His blinds had been opened onto the city, the sprawling mess of a city with its traffic and smog. The strip of Lake Michigan visible from his window, sometimes very pretty, was gray and dreary. Just like at home.
Arthur had moved away from England for a change of weather, a change of world, but it seemed he was destined for the same discontent the UK had offered. He hated to think he'd brought it with him.
Well. Arthur shook his head and turned from the window. He had a good practice and a stellar reputation. And a very efficient staff: the Edelstein file was laid neatly and squarely on his blotter, barely disturbing the ordered lines of his desk. In addition, Monaca had already powered up his PC and brought up the website for AFJ Holdings.
Arthur sat. He started to reach for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there. Oh, yes, he'd quit, hadn't he? Not that state code would allow him to smoke in his own office, even if he hadn't. How dreary.
Well, perhaps a new, distinguished client would make getting out of bed worthwhile. AFJ Holdings had a nice website, spare and slick. Arthur was no particular judge of technological matters, but he dearly hated those websites where things popped up and danced everywhere. Not long ago he'd tried to access online pornography from his old laptop at home, and had promptly picked up a computer virus from such a site. He'd set the laptop aside and had never tried again. Sex of any kind, whether electronic or in the flesh, was so much trouble, anymore.
He clicked the "about us" link on the website: the usual corporate mission statement that appeared was enhanced by a green sort of sentiment about buying and beautifying properties for the common enjoyment. Hmm. He clicked on the "about our founder" link.
A spectacled man with sun-bleached hair grinned out at him from the webpage. Rather than going for a standard company CEO-style studio photo, Jones had chosen to have his picture taken at a lakeside construction site. He was jacketless and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing tanned hands fisted on his hips. Likely he'd been meant to be shown beautifying properties himself, to make the point how much he cared. He was also younger than Arthur would have thought, perhaps in his late twenties. It was likely an old photo and Jones was simply vain.
Because the smiling man in the picture was attractive. He wasn't male model material by any means, but he looked fit and his smile was nice. Very genuine. Looking at it made Arthur's belly flutter a little.
Arthur sighed. So he was male, and a visual creature. Not that such a thing mattered in business. He searched for whatever other information he could discover about Jones.
He found several news articles that mentioned him, most of them to do with business transactions of one kind or another, and a couple of "about-town" style mentions, stating that he and his wife Mariel had attended some fundraiser here or party there.
Soon-to-be-ex wife Mariel, it seemed. Arthur wished he had the filing to review before meeting Jones. Would it be a monster of a case with months' worth of settlement litigation, or one of those bitter affairs with copious weeping and wrestling over parenting time? Or both?
Arthur read as much as he could in preparation. By nine-thirty, no filing had yet appeared on the court's online docket, and by ten, Jones was there. Arthur could hear a man's loudish voice outside his office, and Monaca's higher-pitched tones. Within moments she buzzed him and said in a bright voice, "Mr. Jones is here to see you, Mr. Kirkland."
"Thank you, Ms. Carlo. Show him in," Arthur said.
Arthur stood and straightened his jacket. He found himself looking in the decorative mirror on his office wall. It was meant to showcase the Italian glass sitting on the chrome shelf before it, but if he wanted, Arthur could catch a glimpse of his own reflection. He saw the same thing he saw in his bathroom mirror every morning: yellow hair that refused to lay flat, thick Churchill eyebrows, unremarkable nose, unremarkable green eyes. He did think his suit's warm color was kind to his complexion. Otherwise, he was nothing special to look at. Thankfully he was a very good attorney.
Jones, on the other hand, was much better-looking than expected. Arthur felt his stomach flop a little, like his world had turned sideways for an instant. Meeting Jones in person was like the difference between seeing the Grand Canyon in photographs and experiencing it at its very edge, complete with that sense of boundless depths, like you could just fling yourself into empty space and float forever.
Arthur sat. He started to reach for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there. Oh, yes, he'd quit, hadn't he? Not that state code would allow him to smoke in his own office, even if he hadn't. How dreary.
Well, perhaps a new, distinguished client would make getting out of bed worthwhile. AFJ Holdings had a nice website, spare and slick. Arthur was no particular judge of technological matters, but he dearly hated those websites where things popped up and danced everywhere. Not long ago he'd tried to access online pornography from his old laptop at home, and had promptly picked up a computer virus from such a site. He'd set the laptop aside and had never tried again. Sex of any kind, whether electronic or in the flesh, was so much trouble, anymore.
He clicked the "about us" link on the website: the usual corporate mission statement that appeared was enhanced by a green sort of sentiment about buying and beautifying properties for the common enjoyment. Hmm. He clicked on the "about our founder" link.
A spectacled man with sun-bleached hair grinned out at him from the webpage. Rather than going for a standard company CEO-style studio photo, Jones had chosen to have his picture taken at a lakeside construction site. He was jacketless and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing tanned hands fisted on his hips. Likely he'd been meant to be shown beautifying properties himself, to make the point how much he cared. He was also younger than Arthur would have thought, perhaps in his late twenties. It was likely an old photo and Jones was simply vain.
Because the smiling man in the picture was attractive. He wasn't male model material by any means, but he looked fit and his smile was nice. Very genuine. Looking at it made Arthur's belly flutter a little.
Arthur sighed. So he was male, and a visual creature. Not that such a thing mattered in business. He searched for whatever other information he could discover about Jones.
He found several news articles that mentioned him, most of them to do with business transactions of one kind or another, and a couple of "about-town" style mentions, stating that he and his wife Mariel had attended some fundraiser here or party there.
Soon-to-be-ex wife Mariel, it seemed. Arthur wished he had the filing to review before meeting Jones. Would it be a monster of a case with months' worth of settlement litigation, or one of those bitter affairs with copious weeping and wrestling over parenting time? Or both?
Arthur read as much as he could in preparation. By nine-thirty, no filing had yet appeared on the court's online docket, and by ten, Jones was there. Arthur could hear a man's loudish voice outside his office, and Monaca's higher-pitched tones. Within moments she buzzed him and said in a bright voice, "Mr. Jones is here to see you, Mr. Kirkland."
"Thank you, Ms. Carlo. Show him in," Arthur said.
Arthur stood and straightened his jacket. He found himself looking in the decorative mirror on his office wall. It was meant to showcase the Italian glass sitting on the chrome shelf before it, but if he wanted, Arthur could catch a glimpse of his own reflection. He saw the same thing he saw in his bathroom mirror every morning: yellow hair that refused to lay flat, thick Churchill eyebrows, unremarkable nose, unremarkable green eyes. He did think his suit's warm color was kind to his complexion. Otherwise, he was nothing special to look at. Thankfully he was a very good attorney.
Jones, on the other hand, was much better-looking than expected. Arthur felt his stomach flop a little, like his world had turned sideways for an instant. Meeting Jones in person was like the difference between seeing the Grand Canyon in photographs and experiencing it at its very edge, complete with that sense of boundless depths, like you could just fling yourself into empty space and float forever.
Jones had long limbs that moved with a quick grace and energy as he stepped forward and thrust out his hand.
"Hi. I'm Alfred Jones. Frannie said you were the best."
"Ah?" Arthur shook his hand. Jones's grip was solid and warm enough to hold him grounded. "Hello, Mister Jones. Arthur Kirkland."
Jones was a little taller than Arthur, perhaps an inch or so, and of medium build. One thing his photo had gotten right was his age; he was young -- at least, younger than Arthur's thirty-five. Quite young to have amassed such an empire in real estate.
Jones's blue eyes behind his spectacles had widened as Arthur spoke. "Oh my god, you have a British accent. That's awesome."
"Indeed. Er, thank you," Arthur said, a little embarrassed.
"Where are you from? England? I mean, the UK? Someplace over there, anyway?"
"Yes, England. I grew up in Oxford," Arthur said, trying to sound polite and not ... eye-rolly. At least Jones's uncultured-sounding brand of American brashness offset the vertigo he engendered. Somewhat.
"Is that close to London? I was in London once."
"Er, somewhat." Arthur composed himself and gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk. Like the smell of coffee, uncultured and brash businesspeople were another thing he'd gotten used to while living in the U.S. "Do you travel?"
"Only for business! I figure I'll have time to actually look at stuff when I retire."
A pity. "So how can I help you, Mr. Jones?"
"Call me Al." It seemed like Jones winked, but Arthur couldn't be sure. He waved a manila envelope. "I guess I'm getting divorced."
"I'm sorry to hear of the end of your marriage, Mr. Jones."
"Al. And it wasn't a surprise, really." Mr. Jones -- Al -- plopped into the chair with an oof. He crossed his long legs. He was wearing socks with stars and stripes on them. " Mariel -- my wife -- moved out a few months ago. She said she wanted space. Like nobody's ever heard that before, right? But I guess it was time."
"Ah. Thank you," Arthur said, taking the envelope as Mr. Jones - Al -- held it out to him. He opened it and laid the papers on his desk. It was a dissolution pleading with no court stamp. An unfiled copy.
"Do you know when she plans to file?" Arthur asked as he scanned the caption: State of Illinois, County of Cook, Mariel Jones v. Alfred Jones.
"Today, she said. At least, that's what her sister said, since her sister was the one who brought me the paperwork last night."
"Hmm. We did not see a filing as of nine-thirty this morning; things may change from this copy to the official court document. So this is not a proper service of process. She -- ah-- may not even file."
Jones's forehead wrinkled a little for the first time. "Why else would she give it to me?"
"To get your attention, perhaps? To prompt a reconciliation?" Jones continued to look stymied. Arthur swallowed a sigh. He'd never been very good at playing psychologist, and he hadn't expected it in this case. He had learned, however, which questions to ask. "Are you sure she wishes to be divorced, Mr. Jones?"
Jones crossed his arms. "Al. And, well, yeah. I mean, she does, obviously. She's the one who left me."
Arthur set the papers aside. This might be a waste of his time. He sat up straight. "How about you? Do you want to be divorced?"
Jones frowned. "Yeah. I guess.”
“Are you sure?” Arthur really didn’t want to have The Preciseness In Speech Talk with a prospective client.
“Yes."
Arthur offered a small smile. "If you like, we can proceed with this consultation, then, as if she had indeed filed this document. Is that agreeable?"
Jones nodded and his forehead unwrinkled at last. "Yes. I just want to get this moving. Get my ducks in a row right away."
"Hi. I'm Alfred Jones. Frannie said you were the best."
"Ah?" Arthur shook his hand. Jones's grip was solid and warm enough to hold him grounded. "Hello, Mister Jones. Arthur Kirkland."
Jones was a little taller than Arthur, perhaps an inch or so, and of medium build. One thing his photo had gotten right was his age; he was young -- at least, younger than Arthur's thirty-five. Quite young to have amassed such an empire in real estate.
Jones's blue eyes behind his spectacles had widened as Arthur spoke. "Oh my god, you have a British accent. That's awesome."
"Indeed. Er, thank you," Arthur said, a little embarrassed.
"Where are you from? England? I mean, the UK? Someplace over there, anyway?"
"Yes, England. I grew up in Oxford," Arthur said, trying to sound polite and not ... eye-rolly. At least Jones's uncultured-sounding brand of American brashness offset the vertigo he engendered. Somewhat.
"Is that close to London? I was in London once."
"Er, somewhat." Arthur composed himself and gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk. Like the smell of coffee, uncultured and brash businesspeople were another thing he'd gotten used to while living in the U.S. "Do you travel?"
"Only for business! I figure I'll have time to actually look at stuff when I retire."
A pity. "So how can I help you, Mr. Jones?"
"Call me Al." It seemed like Jones winked, but Arthur couldn't be sure. He waved a manila envelope. "I guess I'm getting divorced."
"I'm sorry to hear of the end of your marriage, Mr. Jones."
"Al. And it wasn't a surprise, really." Mr. Jones -- Al -- plopped into the chair with an oof. He crossed his long legs. He was wearing socks with stars and stripes on them. " Mariel -- my wife -- moved out a few months ago. She said she wanted space. Like nobody's ever heard that before, right? But I guess it was time."
"Ah. Thank you," Arthur said, taking the envelope as Mr. Jones - Al -- held it out to him. He opened it and laid the papers on his desk. It was a dissolution pleading with no court stamp. An unfiled copy.
"Do you know when she plans to file?" Arthur asked as he scanned the caption: State of Illinois, County of Cook, Mariel Jones v. Alfred Jones.
"Today, she said. At least, that's what her sister said, since her sister was the one who brought me the paperwork last night."
"Hmm. We did not see a filing as of nine-thirty this morning; things may change from this copy to the official court document. So this is not a proper service of process. She -- ah-- may not even file."
Jones's forehead wrinkled a little for the first time. "Why else would she give it to me?"
"To get your attention, perhaps? To prompt a reconciliation?" Jones continued to look stymied. Arthur swallowed a sigh. He'd never been very good at playing psychologist, and he hadn't expected it in this case. He had learned, however, which questions to ask. "Are you sure she wishes to be divorced, Mr. Jones?"
Jones crossed his arms. "Al. And, well, yeah. I mean, she does, obviously. She's the one who left me."
Arthur set the papers aside. This might be a waste of his time. He sat up straight. "How about you? Do you want to be divorced?"
Jones frowned. "Yeah. I guess.”
“Are you sure?” Arthur really didn’t want to have The Preciseness In Speech Talk with a prospective client.
“Yes."
Arthur offered a small smile. "If you like, we can proceed with this consultation, then, as if she had indeed filed this document. Is that agreeable?"
Jones nodded and his forehead unwrinkled at last. "Yes. I just want to get this moving. Get my ducks in a row right away."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. So Jones was one of those who expected the world to jump around him and then fall into place. He didn't seem to realize that Arthur hadn't even reviewed or agreed to take his case, but it felt impolitic to mention that until necessary; Arthur was used to dealing with people who had a great deal of money and personal delusions of power. And, in his experience, the legal system did seem to jump about them. As an attorney, he himself had to juggle the desires of his clients -- who paid him -- with his own advice and preferences in any legal situation.
"Well, Mr. Jones, divorce can be an emotional, intimate and painful process," the indifferent psychologist in him said. "I will need to ask you some personal questions."
"Ha ha. More? Okay, yeah." Jones shifted in his chair. He didn't ask again to be called "Al." Arthur felt like he'd gained a point, anyway.
"Thank you. First, I must ask how long you've been married, and if you've been separated at least six months? State law requires six months for a no-fault divorce."
"Eight years this May. And, uh, not quite. Maybe four months?"
"I'm surprised she didn't wait, though by the time the documents would go before a judge, the six-month requirement will have been met." Arthur gestured over at the papers. "What do you think about her requests?"
"Aww, I haven't read 'em. That's what you lawyers are for, right?"
"Wha-- oh, yes, of course, but--" Arthur started. Surely the man wasn't serious? Just because he was rich and good-looking, did he think he ... And Arthur decided to try and scratch that from his own mental equation. There was no way Jones could possibly be as blithe and clueless as he appeared. Perhaps he was being disingenuous. Arthur slid the not-filing back over to his blotter and flipped through the pages, scanning the document for the pertinent details.
"I tried to call her just to talk about it, but she wouldn't answer," Jones added.
"Hmm." Arthur read quickly. "Irreconcilable differences are her grounds, which is general enough. I see you have no children."
"No, thank God."
Well, that would make things easier. Hmm. No protective order had been filed and there was no mention of spousal abuse... Ah-- there was something taped to one of the inside pages.
It was a handwritten note on a sheet of lavender, lined paper. Um, interesting. I know you won't even bother to read this. You are emotionally distant and that makes it impossible to discuss anything about us. Still, I'm sure you were expecting this. Plus, Alfred, you are gay-- gay was underlined twice -- and maybe we'll both have better relationships with other men--
Arthur forced himself to stop reading. "Ah. Mr. Jones. There is a note inside here for you. I read part of it, pardon." He handed the stack of papers across his desk. Jones leaned forward, eyes wide.
"What?"
"Shall I give you a moment alone to--"
Jones waved at Arthur without looking, his eyes behind his glasses intent on the page. "No, just gimme a sec. What? Really, Mariel?"
Arthur resisted the urge to clear his throat and renew his offer of privacy. But Jones read the note in record time and looked up at Arthur again. He slapped the stack of papers against his thigh and then held them out for Arthur. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur took them.
"I can't believe she-- Plus, I'm not gay. God."
"Oh?" Arthur said in a bland voice. He tried not to sneer. Jones was probably one of those Type-A homophobes.
"I'm bi."
"Oh," Arthur said, managing not to choke.
"Yeah, and she knew that. At least, you'd think she did. I mean, I was married to her for eight years. It's not like we didn't have enough sex."
"Ah?" Arthur swallowed, unable to stop listening to Jones's ramble.
"And it's not like my past was a surprise. I met her the night I broke up with my boyfriend. She was the owner of the restaurant where Ivan -- my ex -- dumped me."
"Oh."
"Well, Mr. Jones, divorce can be an emotional, intimate and painful process," the indifferent psychologist in him said. "I will need to ask you some personal questions."
"Ha ha. More? Okay, yeah." Jones shifted in his chair. He didn't ask again to be called "Al." Arthur felt like he'd gained a point, anyway.
"Thank you. First, I must ask how long you've been married, and if you've been separated at least six months? State law requires six months for a no-fault divorce."
"Eight years this May. And, uh, not quite. Maybe four months?"
"I'm surprised she didn't wait, though by the time the documents would go before a judge, the six-month requirement will have been met." Arthur gestured over at the papers. "What do you think about her requests?"
"Aww, I haven't read 'em. That's what you lawyers are for, right?"
"Wha-- oh, yes, of course, but--" Arthur started. Surely the man wasn't serious? Just because he was rich and good-looking, did he think he ... And Arthur decided to try and scratch that from his own mental equation. There was no way Jones could possibly be as blithe and clueless as he appeared. Perhaps he was being disingenuous. Arthur slid the not-filing back over to his blotter and flipped through the pages, scanning the document for the pertinent details.
"I tried to call her just to talk about it, but she wouldn't answer," Jones added.
"Hmm." Arthur read quickly. "Irreconcilable differences are her grounds, which is general enough. I see you have no children."
"No, thank God."
Well, that would make things easier. Hmm. No protective order had been filed and there was no mention of spousal abuse... Ah-- there was something taped to one of the inside pages.
It was a handwritten note on a sheet of lavender, lined paper. Um, interesting. I know you won't even bother to read this. You are emotionally distant and that makes it impossible to discuss anything about us. Still, I'm sure you were expecting this. Plus, Alfred, you are gay-- gay was underlined twice -- and maybe we'll both have better relationships with other men--
Arthur forced himself to stop reading. "Ah. Mr. Jones. There is a note inside here for you. I read part of it, pardon." He handed the stack of papers across his desk. Jones leaned forward, eyes wide.
"What?"
"Shall I give you a moment alone to--"
Jones waved at Arthur without looking, his eyes behind his glasses intent on the page. "No, just gimme a sec. What? Really, Mariel?"
Arthur resisted the urge to clear his throat and renew his offer of privacy. But Jones read the note in record time and looked up at Arthur again. He slapped the stack of papers against his thigh and then held them out for Arthur. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur took them.
"I can't believe she-- Plus, I'm not gay. God."
"Oh?" Arthur said in a bland voice. He tried not to sneer. Jones was probably one of those Type-A homophobes.
"I'm bi."
"Oh," Arthur said, managing not to choke.
"Yeah, and she knew that. At least, you'd think she did. I mean, I was married to her for eight years. It's not like we didn't have enough sex."
"Ah?" Arthur swallowed, unable to stop listening to Jones's ramble.
"And it's not like my past was a surprise. I met her the night I broke up with my boyfriend. She was the owner of the restaurant where Ivan -- my ex -- dumped me."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Jones shrugged. He sat back in his chair and tapped his lips with his pen. "Maybe she was more upset about that threesome with her friend Felix than she let on? I mean, it was her idea in the first place. God, Mariel, what crawled up your ass?"
Felix, maybe? Arthur managed not to say it aloud but was unable to stop the mental image his brain conjured of Al -- Jones -- in a sexual threesome. Arthur's heart may have been secure and his practice choosy, but his gonads were utterly indiscriminate.
He needed to get back to business. Jones was being a font of information, but not the information necessary to get the proceedings back on track. "Ah, Mr. Jones, perhaps the rest of the document will reveal further information we can discuss now, even if it is not a proper-- would you like this note?"
Jones shook his head and crossed his arms. "Nah. Keep it. Toss it. I don't care."
Perhaps Mrs. Jones was not far off about her husband's emotional inaccessibility. Well, it took one to know one. Not for the first time, Arthur was thankful that he'd avoided such entanglements. He peeled the note off and folded it unobtrusively to the side. He flipped the pages. Mrs. Jones did not seem to be requesting a lump sum or spousal maintenance. There were, however, a large number of exhibits regarding property.
"It seems she plans to request a great deal of real estate."
"I just want to do whatever she wants. To get this over with."
Arthur frowned without meaning to. "She claims that she supported you through your MBA and thus she deserves fully half of your property, their earnings and dividends."
"Huh? Really? I mean, she was totally supportive. But it's not like we paid rent, because I owned our building."
Arthur made a note to that effect. What property before marriage? CPA? Bonnefoy? "I must ask-- you have a lot at stake here. Why don't you want to fight this -- any of it?"
He sensed more than saw Jones's shrug. "Well, I still care about her. We were totally in love once. You don't just get over that right away, you know?"
Arthur wondered if Jones had ever told his wife that. "Hmm. I shall never fall in love."
Arthur heard a noise that sounded like "ha." Arthur couldn't believe he'd said it; feeling his cheeks heat, he glanced up to see Jones staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Pardon my familiarity," Arthur said.
"Nah. I like it." Jones waved a tanned hand at him. "Not what you said, because that's stupid. But I like knowing what the people I work with are like. What they're thinking. I'm gonna hire you."
"Well, I must first decide if I'm going to take your case, Mr. Jones," Arthur said. He had some pride, dammit, even when faced with a handsome and admittedly fascinating puzzle. A puzzle who sounded like a college boy with a gaping chasm of a clueless streak. How had Jones possibly amassed such a fortune? "Any one of my associates could handle a case where the client wishes to roll over. I prefer a client who will trust me to protect his or her interests."
Jones smiled again, a dangerous thing for Arthur's innards. "Haha! I like the idea of you protecting my interests, Arthur."
"Hmm," Arthur said. Americans! And their propensity for casual use of first names. "Is your wife currently employed?"
Al -- Jones, dammit-- nodded. "Yeah. She directs operations at three of my properties. Mary's at Lincoln Park, Americana on Grant, and Evolve. On--"
"Rush Street," Arthur supplied.
Jones's eyes brightened. "Yeah! Have you been there?"
"No, I'm sorry," Arthur said. He'd merely recognized the names of all the establishments, even if he hadn't patronized them. The first two were bar/restaurants, and the last was an LGBT-oriented downtown nightclub.
"Oh. Because – well, never mind, I guess. Okay. It's a really cool place."
Felix, maybe? Arthur managed not to say it aloud but was unable to stop the mental image his brain conjured of Al -- Jones -- in a sexual threesome. Arthur's heart may have been secure and his practice choosy, but his gonads were utterly indiscriminate.
He needed to get back to business. Jones was being a font of information, but not the information necessary to get the proceedings back on track. "Ah, Mr. Jones, perhaps the rest of the document will reveal further information we can discuss now, even if it is not a proper-- would you like this note?"
Jones shook his head and crossed his arms. "Nah. Keep it. Toss it. I don't care."
Perhaps Mrs. Jones was not far off about her husband's emotional inaccessibility. Well, it took one to know one. Not for the first time, Arthur was thankful that he'd avoided such entanglements. He peeled the note off and folded it unobtrusively to the side. He flipped the pages. Mrs. Jones did not seem to be requesting a lump sum or spousal maintenance. There were, however, a large number of exhibits regarding property.
"It seems she plans to request a great deal of real estate."
"I just want to do whatever she wants. To get this over with."
Arthur frowned without meaning to. "She claims that she supported you through your MBA and thus she deserves fully half of your property, their earnings and dividends."
"Huh? Really? I mean, she was totally supportive. But it's not like we paid rent, because I owned our building."
Arthur made a note to that effect. What property before marriage? CPA? Bonnefoy? "I must ask-- you have a lot at stake here. Why don't you want to fight this -- any of it?"
He sensed more than saw Jones's shrug. "Well, I still care about her. We were totally in love once. You don't just get over that right away, you know?"
Arthur wondered if Jones had ever told his wife that. "Hmm. I shall never fall in love."
Arthur heard a noise that sounded like "ha." Arthur couldn't believe he'd said it; feeling his cheeks heat, he glanced up to see Jones staring at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Pardon my familiarity," Arthur said.
"Nah. I like it." Jones waved a tanned hand at him. "Not what you said, because that's stupid. But I like knowing what the people I work with are like. What they're thinking. I'm gonna hire you."
"Well, I must first decide if I'm going to take your case, Mr. Jones," Arthur said. He had some pride, dammit, even when faced with a handsome and admittedly fascinating puzzle. A puzzle who sounded like a college boy with a gaping chasm of a clueless streak. How had Jones possibly amassed such a fortune? "Any one of my associates could handle a case where the client wishes to roll over. I prefer a client who will trust me to protect his or her interests."
Jones smiled again, a dangerous thing for Arthur's innards. "Haha! I like the idea of you protecting my interests, Arthur."
"Hmm," Arthur said. Americans! And their propensity for casual use of first names. "Is your wife currently employed?"
Al -- Jones, dammit-- nodded. "Yeah. She directs operations at three of my properties. Mary's at Lincoln Park, Americana on Grant, and Evolve. On--"
"Rush Street," Arthur supplied.
Jones's eyes brightened. "Yeah! Have you been there?"
"No, I'm sorry," Arthur said. He'd merely recognized the names of all the establishments, even if he hadn't patronized them. The first two were bar/restaurants, and the last was an LGBT-oriented downtown nightclub.
"Oh. Because – well, never mind, I guess. Okay. It's a really cool place."
"I'm sure," Arthur said with what he hoped was a general smile. Inwardly, however, he wondered what that "never mind" had been about. He swallowed. "I'm sorry to come back to it, but it seems strange to me that, considering what she wants, she gave this to you before she formally filed for divorce."
Jones's eyebrows drew down in an expression of innocent puzzlement. "I know, right? Huh."
There must be something else going on that Jones was forgetting to mention, Arthur thought. Or, considering the note, neglecting to mention out of a sense of guilt. Well, he, Arthur, would uncover it. If he took that case, that was. He opened the document to the last page, the signature page, to see who the attorney for the petitioner was. It was Ludwig Schmidt. Arthur couldn't stand the man. He began to see why Bonnefoy had sent him this case. It seemed tailor-made for him.
If Arthur could get past the fact that Jones was an obvious, if good-looking, idiot who had probably inherited his money, and past any interest his own gonads had despite that fact, this case would be a very satisfying challenge. And he was totally going to take it, wasn't he? Arthur sighed. He was such a jelly, sometimes.
“Well, if you truly want to end your marriage, the first thing I would recommend would be a cross-petition for dissolution. That way, if she does not pursue her case, you will have a filing of your own and will not need to re-file in the future, dragging out your divorce and paying more court fees.”
“Sounds good.”
That was all he had to say about his own strategy. He needed a bloody keeper, for Christ’s sake.
"May I have this copy of the document for further review?" Arthur asked.
"Absolutely, Arthur," Jones said. He smiled. He smiled like a cat would smile, if cats could. It dampened the innocence of his expression. He unfurled from his chair and stood. He placed his palms on Arthur's desk and leaned forward, so far forward that Arthur could smell his cologne. Arthur perforce stood as well and for a moment it seemed almost as if Jones meant to kiss him, so much had he invaded Arthur's space. But then he stuck out his open palm, thumb up. "Great to have you on my team."
Before Arthur could protest or indeed even have second thoughts, he found himself clasping hands with Jones once more. "I will --- ah -- be in touch," he managed to say.
"Fantastic." Jones released his hand and strode, long-legged, for the door, rushing out as quickly as he'd blown in. Arthur practically jogged to reach the door first and open it; it was his office, after all. Jones paused in the open doorway, and it seemed as if he looked Arthur up and down for a bold moment. "Nice suit, by the way," he said.
To his mortification, Arthur felt his cheeks heat. He hated, hated, hated that he blushed so easily. "Thank you," he said and turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss Jones's grin.
Behind him, Monaca giggled. "Bye-bye!" she called at Jones as he left.
When he was sure Jones was gone, Arthur turned and gave Monaca a Look. "Bye-bye?"
Her face crinkled with amusement. "Sorry, Mr. Kirkland."
He sighed. "If Ms. Haverstick is available, please let her know that I am free for a few minutes."
He'd have a short department review-- Lili Haverstick was a tiny blonde who ran his office like a Swiss watch-- and then he'd set himself and his paralegals to reviewing the Jones file until lunch.
In fact, the official court filing appeared online at eleven-thirty; it was the same as their copy, just as Jones had said it would be. So he wasn't one-hundred-percent deluded, anyway. Arthur took the file home with him that night. He did force himself to set work aside long enough to go to the gym, but he put off dinner with Portia until the next evening.
Jones's eyebrows drew down in an expression of innocent puzzlement. "I know, right? Huh."
There must be something else going on that Jones was forgetting to mention, Arthur thought. Or, considering the note, neglecting to mention out of a sense of guilt. Well, he, Arthur, would uncover it. If he took that case, that was. He opened the document to the last page, the signature page, to see who the attorney for the petitioner was. It was Ludwig Schmidt. Arthur couldn't stand the man. He began to see why Bonnefoy had sent him this case. It seemed tailor-made for him.
If Arthur could get past the fact that Jones was an obvious, if good-looking, idiot who had probably inherited his money, and past any interest his own gonads had despite that fact, this case would be a very satisfying challenge. And he was totally going to take it, wasn't he? Arthur sighed. He was such a jelly, sometimes.
“Well, if you truly want to end your marriage, the first thing I would recommend would be a cross-petition for dissolution. That way, if she does not pursue her case, you will have a filing of your own and will not need to re-file in the future, dragging out your divorce and paying more court fees.”
“Sounds good.”
That was all he had to say about his own strategy. He needed a bloody keeper, for Christ’s sake.
"May I have this copy of the document for further review?" Arthur asked.
"Absolutely, Arthur," Jones said. He smiled. He smiled like a cat would smile, if cats could. It dampened the innocence of his expression. He unfurled from his chair and stood. He placed his palms on Arthur's desk and leaned forward, so far forward that Arthur could smell his cologne. Arthur perforce stood as well and for a moment it seemed almost as if Jones meant to kiss him, so much had he invaded Arthur's space. But then he stuck out his open palm, thumb up. "Great to have you on my team."
Before Arthur could protest or indeed even have second thoughts, he found himself clasping hands with Jones once more. "I will --- ah -- be in touch," he managed to say.
"Fantastic." Jones released his hand and strode, long-legged, for the door, rushing out as quickly as he'd blown in. Arthur practically jogged to reach the door first and open it; it was his office, after all. Jones paused in the open doorway, and it seemed as if he looked Arthur up and down for a bold moment. "Nice suit, by the way," he said.
To his mortification, Arthur felt his cheeks heat. He hated, hated, hated that he blushed so easily. "Thank you," he said and turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to miss Jones's grin.
Behind him, Monaca giggled. "Bye-bye!" she called at Jones as he left.
When he was sure Jones was gone, Arthur turned and gave Monaca a Look. "Bye-bye?"
Her face crinkled with amusement. "Sorry, Mr. Kirkland."
He sighed. "If Ms. Haverstick is available, please let her know that I am free for a few minutes."
He'd have a short department review-- Lili Haverstick was a tiny blonde who ran his office like a Swiss watch-- and then he'd set himself and his paralegals to reviewing the Jones file until lunch.
In fact, the official court filing appeared online at eleven-thirty; it was the same as their copy, just as Jones had said it would be. So he wasn't one-hundred-percent deluded, anyway. Arthur took the file home with him that night. He did force himself to set work aside long enough to go to the gym, but he put off dinner with Portia until the next evening.
Clever and hilarious, A!A! Even in such a short, comedic fill, the characterization was great and there was clearly thought put into everything. Thanks for sharing such a great fill!
HHHHNNNNGGGHHH this continues to be awesomely HOT, Anon. I love how the three women slot so neatly into Germany's fantasies. And yay for him getting hard just looking at them :D I can't wait to read more!
I really loved fat!Lithuania in this story. And manboobs!Russia.
I apologize for the long wait, op! Just to let you know, I will be writing this story with the characters communicating to each others via letters followed by intermissions in the third-person narrative. You might not know immediately what's going on behind the scenes but I decided that this method would be for the best given the unique nature of Vatican City among nations. I didn't want this to be depressing to read. Enjoy!
Letters from Vatican City
February 1929
To the Representative of Switzerland,
To the Representative of Switzerland,
I wish to make your acquaintance for I know you only from books! I did not have the fortune of meeting my predecessor; he left long before I arrived here in Rome. For a period of time, I did inquire about you through members of my family until I realized what a poor substitute it was for actual conversation! Conversation, when properly carried out, is a fine thing in our lives as poor beings. It refreshes our thoughts, develops our personalities and brings us closer to others. I would like to learn more about you. I patiently await your reply.
Yours,
The Representative of Vatican City
Oh god, Francis be careful, you idiot! D: What if the owner was a friend of Arthur's? What if he tells Arthur? At least disguise yourself and speak so the owner doesn't hear. Why didn't he pay, btw? I mean pay and then use the time to talk. Doesn't he have money?
Wow, Sean is one tough bamf. I don't know how long he's been there (was it mentioned somewhere? I forget...) but it has to be at least months, right? And he's still fighting. Although it might be just the surface. Or maybe he's hoping to get killed for being too difficult...
Arthur has a plan? o_o I actually wouldn't have even suspected that. I thought he just did all this shit because he hated Rhys and co. But now I'm even more interested... And I agree with OP, he is a magnificent villain, as much as it bothers me to see one character vilified over others (it IS an AU, though, so...). And I do like villains that hold such power over everyone.
Wow, Sean is one tough bamf. I don't know how long he's been there (was it mentioned somewhere? I forget...) but it has to be at least months, right? And he's still fighting. Although it might be just the surface. Or maybe he's hoping to get killed for being too difficult...
Arthur has a plan? o_o I actually wouldn't have even suspected that. I thought he just did all this shit because he hated Rhys and co. But now I'm even more interested... And I agree with OP, he is a magnificent villain, as much as it bothers me to see one character vilified over others (it IS an AU, though, so...). And I do like villains that hold such power over everyone.
Great start A!A! I love Alfred's characterization and Arthur all round :D Also I'm not much of a legal expert but everything in here sounds plausible enough to me! XD
To the Representative of Vatican City,
I don't understand the purpose of your letter. You already have enough guards. Whatever your intent is, the answer is NO.
Yours,The Representative of Switzerland
"Feliciano? Was Switzerland a friend of the Papal States?"
"Of course, they were! Switzerland wouldn't have helped him out if they weren't friends. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," he said.
Then, he took a sheet paper and in neat, delicate cursive, began to write.
"Of course, they were! Switzerland wouldn't have helped him out if they weren't friends. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," he said.
Then, he took a sheet paper and in neat, delicate cursive, began to write.
ZOMG! OMG!!! I have so much love for this story. Way you write Arthur here! I just want to squish him! <3
(Romulus is Rome, Nour is the Ottoman Empire, jawdat is sadik's father, isis is ancient egypt and Aya is fem!egypt)
Sadik stood there, nervous. Normally going to help Isis at the restaurant wasn't so nerve wrecking. He would work his shifts and be done with it. He didnt come to work. He had a different reason in mind. He went to the kitchen and cooked even though it was his day off. He would ask her later about the important question. Isis eyed him wearily. Why would someone work for no pay at all? Also why was he so clumsy today? Messed up on three orders and shaking just a little. Once she headed out to close the restaurant he waited until she was free.
"You know Sadik you usually aren't so dysfunctional," she scrutinized him further, "what do you want?" Sadik could only gulp. Clearing his breathe and trying his best to ignore the Egyptian intermediating glare. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side awaiting a response. For a moment it seemed possible that she could be a pharaoh from those times. Her regal appearance and over powering personality made it clear she was made to be a pharaoh. Tough if you told her you would get an earful of curses.
"Isis I came to ask if I can have your blessings," he declared quietly, "I want to marry your daughter Aya." Sadik shifted from foot to foot, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked Isis square in the eyes. She seemed shocked. Her mouth formed a perfect 'o'. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stood in the vacant parking lot. Not saying anything. Sadik almost kissed his chances goodbye. What happened next shocked Sadik. Isis hugged him.
She embraced him and nothing else was said. Sadik stood awkwardly until he finally decided to hug her back. "You have my permission, I'm not muslim myself so I don't know if there is any ritual but I do know if you dare hurt my daughter I will murder you in the slowest and most painful way possible." Isis decreed. The death threat fell to deaf ears as the adrenaline surged through Sadik. He can ask Aya to marry him! The woman he has been in love with! Now all he has to do was ask Aya. Isis watched as Sadik relaxed visually. She coughed and headed towards her car. The past couple years her health has been declining. She didnt care. She vowed she would live to see the day her daughter got engaged. Her only daughter was soon to be married.
Isis made a note to study Islamic marriage customs. Isis herself wasn't muslim, her daughter had chosen that but not Isis. A firm atheist. Even when Aya's father suggested Christianity, Isis refused it. The proud catholic man frowned. She also refused any religion. Now she had to study Islamic customs to make sure she doesn't embarrass her daughter in one if the most important day of her life.
------------------
Sadik had invited his parents over to tell them the great news in person. Well more like let them know. He rushed to get everything he needed to make them feel at home and even went as far as to make Turkish ice cream. He set up everything in his house. Not a single item was out of place.
Sadik stood there, nervous. Normally going to help Isis at the restaurant wasn't so nerve wrecking. He would work his shifts and be done with it. He didnt come to work. He had a different reason in mind. He went to the kitchen and cooked even though it was his day off. He would ask her later about the important question. Isis eyed him wearily. Why would someone work for no pay at all? Also why was he so clumsy today? Messed up on three orders and shaking just a little. Once she headed out to close the restaurant he waited until she was free.
"You know Sadik you usually aren't so dysfunctional," she scrutinized him further, "what do you want?" Sadik could only gulp. Clearing his breathe and trying his best to ignore the Egyptian intermediating glare. She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side awaiting a response. For a moment it seemed possible that she could be a pharaoh from those times. Her regal appearance and over powering personality made it clear she was made to be a pharaoh. Tough if you told her you would get an earful of curses.
"Isis I came to ask if I can have your blessings," he declared quietly, "I want to marry your daughter Aya." Sadik shifted from foot to foot, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked Isis square in the eyes. She seemed shocked. Her mouth formed a perfect 'o'. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stood in the vacant parking lot. Not saying anything. Sadik almost kissed his chances goodbye. What happened next shocked Sadik. Isis hugged him.
She embraced him and nothing else was said. Sadik stood awkwardly until he finally decided to hug her back. "You have my permission, I'm not muslim myself so I don't know if there is any ritual but I do know if you dare hurt my daughter I will murder you in the slowest and most painful way possible." Isis decreed. The death threat fell to deaf ears as the adrenaline surged through Sadik. He can ask Aya to marry him! The woman he has been in love with! Now all he has to do was ask Aya. Isis watched as Sadik relaxed visually. She coughed and headed towards her car. The past couple years her health has been declining. She didnt care. She vowed she would live to see the day her daughter got engaged. Her only daughter was soon to be married.
Isis made a note to study Islamic marriage customs. Isis herself wasn't muslim, her daughter had chosen that but not Isis. A firm atheist. Even when Aya's father suggested Christianity, Isis refused it. The proud catholic man frowned. She also refused any religion. Now she had to study Islamic customs to make sure she doesn't embarrass her daughter in one if the most important day of her life.
------------------
Sadik had invited his parents over to tell them the great news in person. Well more like let them know. He rushed to get everything he needed to make them feel at home and even went as far as to make Turkish ice cream. He set up everything in his house. Not a single item was out of place.
Briliant anon! I adore your inclusion of Ivan and Natalia (my god poor kids...) and Erika's reaction to meeting them, as well as Sechelles was beautiful :) you threw me for a loop there makeing Ludwig older than Gilbert... But it actually makes sense when you think about it. That is if we're going off of the Germany=Holy Rome theory. But I digress. This story is amazing so far. And while I'm a little nervous to ask (because I might be wrong) is Feliciano autistic?
Lol no worries anon! This is great so far! Though I would recommend you post a like to this thread in the fill list (I didn't realise you update XD)
This fic is going fabulously so far! I just love Ivan, and Alfred is perfectly written. General Winters appearance *shivers* that man gives me chills. No matter where he is. I love it :)
This fic is going fabulously so far! I just love Ivan, and Alfred is perfectly written. General Winters appearance *shivers* that man gives me chills. No matter where he is. I love it :)
Sorry I'm late anon!
This is just beautiful! I love Prussia (his character just seems so spot on to me!) and Alfred's reaction to figuring out his sexuality (only took him a couple hundred years) was just perfect. Slightly!Homophobic!Alfred has been a head cannon of mine for god knows how long... I'm so worried about poor Matthew as well... Even though you're hinting at a happy arrangement :P
As a side note I was following the other fill you mentioned 'A fine line' and I really do hope you continue it :3 all of your writing is just fenominal, and I'm really cureous about /everything/.
This is just beautiful! I love Prussia (his character just seems so spot on to me!) and Alfred's reaction to figuring out his sexuality (only took him a couple hundred years) was just perfect. Slightly!Homophobic!Alfred has been a head cannon of mine for god knows how long... I'm so worried about poor Matthew as well... Even though you're hinting at a happy arrangement :P
As a side note I was following the other fill you mentioned 'A fine line' and I really do hope you continue it :3 all of your writing is just fenominal, and I'm really cureous about /everything/.
His parents were the strangest people ever, more because his father was a quiet and simple man while his mother was the exact opposite. They greeted Sadik with a hug and chatted aimlessly until Sadik made them dinner. His father whispered his thanks while his mother shouted her appraise. Sadik practically lept out of his chair if his parents needed anything. Nour, his mother and Jawdat just raised their eyes at him.
"So Sadik what did you want to tell us?" Nour teased. Her smirk prominent on her face. Jawdat just stared in wonder. A small smile graced his lips.
"I want to marry this girl I know," Sadik started, "and I know I should have informed you two first but I couldn't help it and I went to her parent to ask for blessings she said yes now all I have to do is ask her!" Sadik had to refrain from screaming. Nour started to shake jawdat screaming on how she knew it and that her only son was finally getting married. Jawdat gently placed his hand on her shoulders.
"My son I am very happy for you but who is this girl?" Jawdat asked sincerely. His vice barely above a whisper.
"She is a Muslim also is an I.T specialist. She is born in Cairo," Sadik stated.
"We'll Sadik we welcome any girl you marry," Nour congratulated her son. If only he knew what he was getting himself into.
--------
Aya was in her work place. As an information technology specialist she managed and supervised any and all computers and programs in the company. Running to fix one of the computers she ran into Hercules. Her half brother. He smiled at his older sister and helped her up.
"What's wrong?" He asked. Aya was never unorganized but at the moment she seemed to be ripping at the seams. Stress etched itself onto her face. Dark circles and her hair drizzling was more than enough to show her stress.
"My mom she isn't feeling to well I'm scared," she whimpered. Her mother has been coughing up blood, some days Isis couldn't even move without Aya's help. Disease was deep within Isis and yet she refused any doctors appointment. Hercules nodded in understanding and wished her the best. He knew how he felt when his mother passed away. At the time he was young and had to live with their father Romulus. Aya dashed towards the broken computer and started to fix the problem. Entering in sequence codes until the computer came back to life. Once it was fixed she headed home. No reason to have an sour attitude at work. Her boss would understand, right? Oh well. She checked her phone as she drove home. A text from Sadik. He had asked if she was free. Normally she would respond no I'm expensive bu today she felt horrible. After rejecting to meet him, Aya drive to where her mother Isis lives and assisted her in anything that needed to be done. Isis would just have an all too knowing smile on her face while Aya cleaned. Isis forced Aya to watch a romantic comedy about marriage hoping Aya would understand what she was trying to hint at. Nope.
------------
Sadik was persistent in trying to meet up ith Aya. She eventually agreed to meet up with him at the sunrise theater. She wore a casual little black dress while Sadik dressed himself semi casual. Preferring jeans a button down shirt and blazer. He had the ring in his pocket. It weighed a ton and somehow that puny ring had left him scared about her reaction.
"So Sadik what did you want to tell us?" Nour teased. Her smirk prominent on her face. Jawdat just stared in wonder. A small smile graced his lips.
"I want to marry this girl I know," Sadik started, "and I know I should have informed you two first but I couldn't help it and I went to her parent to ask for blessings she said yes now all I have to do is ask her!" Sadik had to refrain from screaming. Nour started to shake jawdat screaming on how she knew it and that her only son was finally getting married. Jawdat gently placed his hand on her shoulders.
"My son I am very happy for you but who is this girl?" Jawdat asked sincerely. His vice barely above a whisper.
"She is a Muslim also is an I.T specialist. She is born in Cairo," Sadik stated.
"We'll Sadik we welcome any girl you marry," Nour congratulated her son. If only he knew what he was getting himself into.
--------
Aya was in her work place. As an information technology specialist she managed and supervised any and all computers and programs in the company. Running to fix one of the computers she ran into Hercules. Her half brother. He smiled at his older sister and helped her up.
"What's wrong?" He asked. Aya was never unorganized but at the moment she seemed to be ripping at the seams. Stress etched itself onto her face. Dark circles and her hair drizzling was more than enough to show her stress.
"My mom she isn't feeling to well I'm scared," she whimpered. Her mother has been coughing up blood, some days Isis couldn't even move without Aya's help. Disease was deep within Isis and yet she refused any doctors appointment. Hercules nodded in understanding and wished her the best. He knew how he felt when his mother passed away. At the time he was young and had to live with their father Romulus. Aya dashed towards the broken computer and started to fix the problem. Entering in sequence codes until the computer came back to life. Once it was fixed she headed home. No reason to have an sour attitude at work. Her boss would understand, right? Oh well. She checked her phone as she drove home. A text from Sadik. He had asked if she was free. Normally she would respond no I'm expensive bu today she felt horrible. After rejecting to meet him, Aya drive to where her mother Isis lives and assisted her in anything that needed to be done. Isis would just have an all too knowing smile on her face while Aya cleaned. Isis forced Aya to watch a romantic comedy about marriage hoping Aya would understand what she was trying to hint at. Nope.
------------
Sadik was persistent in trying to meet up ith Aya. She eventually agreed to meet up with him at the sunrise theater. She wore a casual little black dress while Sadik dressed himself semi casual. Preferring jeans a button down shirt and blazer. He had the ring in his pocket. It weighed a ton and somehow that puny ring had left him scared about her reaction.
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