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Post by Tiger on May 15, 2010 17:56:50 GMT -5
Some would have found it odd to take furnishings along for a trip to a three-star hotel that was internationally renowned for being meticulously clean, but Luka did not even hesitate to bring along his own linens, towels, robe, and even an antimacassar for the chair. For as long as he could remember, he had lived with one or more others in his house, and for as long as he could remember, he had annoyed his housemates with his reluctance to use communal furniture without putting a slipcover on it. The behavior did not result from fear of disease; it was just a simple albeit irritating quirk. (Interestingly, he had no problems sharing a bed with Montenegro after their marriage a few years back.)
So now he sat in the chair, absentmindedly stroking the embroidery on the antimacassar. That piece of fabric had been through a lot. It was on the back of his chair when he signed independence from the Ottomans, when he received the July Ultimatum, and when he signed the Dayton Agreement. From the extensive travels it bore wounds, namely, burns from shrapnel and a Å¡ljivovica stain, the latter of which was directly attributed a plum brandy fight. Its latest destination: South Africa, where its owner had been traveling to visit the venues for the World Cup. Luka, although never managing to win these tournaments--he boasted two fourth-place finishes, both of which were the work of Yugoslavia and not just him--seemed to make them consistently. Maybe, he thought, this'll finally be my year.
A bird screeched from outside and he stood abruptly before dashing to the window. He could not see it. Then he heard footsteps in the hallway, he swore he did but he could be wrong, and jumped. His right hand went to his waist to make sure that his pistol was there before he approached the door and tentatively pulled it open. "Hello?"
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Post by Jimmeh on May 15, 2010 22:04:59 GMT -5
On the other side of the doorway stood Gilbert, grinning with the same sadistic expression he used on the occasions that he wanted to look intimidating, but fell into his usual archetype of a jester. "'Lo," he greeted Luka in a flat, bored tone. The truth was, though he planned to con a poor soul into thinking otherwise, the feat of harassing the general public for attention--or, on some occasions, some spare change--was performed out of complete boredom. Ludwig had warned him beforehand that he was expected to keep himself occupied while he was away. (He had also said something about how Gilbert should have been the one trying to set an example for him, to which the Prussian had merely scoffed at. Who needed to set an example when they were already holding the highest title of awesomeness?) [/color] [/size]
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Post by Tiger on May 15, 2010 22:33:55 GMT -5
"Prussia?" he asked, almost stupidly. Although Luka had no personal experiences with Gilbert, he had seen him acting up at world meetings and certainly heard about his reputation as the egomaniacal occupier of vital regions. Luka had a bit of a reputation too, and it wasn't much better: foolishly arrogant warmonger of the Balkans with a knack for shooting important people. "Any reason why you're just randomly kind of outside my hotel room right now?"
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Post by Jimmeh on May 15, 2010 22:41:41 GMT -5
"Oh, no reason," Gilbert replied coolly. That's right, keep it suave as hell, he thought. It was not very often that he dropped his cover for a split second, but when he did, it was in a dramatic way. Gilbert himself was not lucky; he was simply manipulative and talented at getting his way. "No reason besides...besides those few hundred euros you said you'd cough up a few years ago." Though it was completely untrue that Luka owed him anything, he could make it true. "C'mon, get it over with or I'll start adding interest. Or you could barter..." [/color][/size]
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Post by Tiger on May 15, 2010 22:58:50 GMT -5
Luka folded his arms defiantly and tried to ignore the faint reddish tint he could feel pouring to his cheeks. "I don't owe you a thing," he spat while inwardly cringing with fear. What if he really was indebted to Gilbert? Although his economy was by no means in shambles, he didn't want to throw money around, especially if he had no way of knowing whether or not he actually owed it. "Besides, I'm not part of the Eurozone." Not that that matters--exchange is perfectly feasible and--no, I can't think like this. What if it gives him an idea? The notion that Gilbert could read minds, however awesome he proclaimed himself to be, was absurd, but enough to send Luka into a panic nonetheless.
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Post by Jimmeh on May 15, 2010 23:05:34 GMT -5
"Then grab a goddamn calculator and convert the twelve grand in euros to your lousy Serbian Dinar," he replied, smirking devilishly. A voice springing from his subconscious reminded Gilbert to turn tail and run as soon as things got out of hand. "Unless you're willing to barter--I need the cash for the rave I'm planning to turn West's hotel room into anyway. Do you happen to have two hundred sixpacks of Heineken and a strobe light machine handy?"
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Post by Tiger on May 16, 2010 13:27:15 GMT -5
"I--twelve--what the hell? You just said that I owed a few hundred and now it's up to a few thousand? More than a few thousand anyways," Luka grumbled, reaching for his laptop. Some quick keystrokes, four clicks, and he had found a conversion site. Twelve thousand euros went to one million, one hundred ninety-four thousand, five hundred ninety-nine and a half dinars. He inhaled sharply. "That's over a million dinars, godevo!" Jerk. "I'm not Croesus! And who would even go to a rave that you were hosting?"
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Post by Jimmeh on May 16, 2010 14:08:43 GMT -5
"Yes, and about fifty more for every second you're in a state of denial," Gilbert replied, folding his arms in a self-satisfied way. "Obviously, everyone awesome. And I don't care if it's just me--I've still got company." He smirked at his last sentence and the expression sheer horror that appeared on most people's faces if he said something of the sort. Shock value was a favored tactic of his--often, the best way to get one's own way was to disgust their adversary into it. If only they knew.
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Post by Tiger on May 16, 2010 14:47:19 GMT -5
"Company? But wh--eaugh." Luka grimaced. "Anyways...I don't have the money. And if I did, I wouldn't just give it away. I earned it." He thought back to long, hot days spent in raspberry fields, or wandering the streets of Belgrade with a tour group, or in the midst of some other tedious task done for the need of dinars. "If you need euros now, then maybe you shouldn't have helped cart a few billion of them off to Greece."
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Post by Jimmeh on May 16, 2010 15:01:04 GMT -5
"So be it," he replied, and shifted positions so all his weight was on his left foot and his shoulder barely touched the doorway. Gilbert held his gaze on Luka for a short moment, challenging him with his eyes, then spun to call, "West! Somebody! This guy owes me money!" Though no one he new was anywhere near, it was enough to get attention, which was pretty much all he wanted. [/color][/size]
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Post by Tiger on May 16, 2010 16:57:27 GMT -5
Luka paused and instinctively rested his hand on his gun, half-expecting a shout of "Serbia, you whore, just give him the damn money!" But no such shout came, not from anyone, for that matter. "I heard you were quite the fighter back in the day. Not doing so hot now that you have to call Germany for help, then?" His fingers tightened around the grip. To any person capable of rational thinking, the constant threat of being shot, while effective, was not the best way to force someone to do something. A while had passed since Luka was one of those rational thinkers. Assassinations and wars had ruined it for him, or, rather, he had ruined it for himself.
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Post by Jimmeh on May 16, 2010 17:07:04 GMT -5
[[ooc: I keep on mixing up Gilbert's font color with Arthur's. Dx ]]
"You have no idea," he replied, and paired it with an inward scoff. Part of him knew that if no one was on his side, he was out of luck--he had no weapons in his possession at the moment, since airport security had confiscated them. It was his fault he did not stow them properly, he thought--if it wasn't for paranoia, he could have jerked a handgun from his waistband within seconds. "Back in my day you either practiced vital region invasion or fighting." Gilbert gave him a brief glance of superiority before going on. "And Old Fritz taught me well--and now I am willing to do both." There was a sentimental tone in his first sentence, but he went back to his cynical way of speaking afterwards.
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Post by Tiger on May 17, 2010 19:55:19 GMT -5
"I used to--" He frowned. What had he done other than be split between two empires along the line of Vojvodina and Serbia proper? Then there was the war, then another war a little later, and then more war at the turn of the century. Somehow, that didn't seem like something to be proud of. Luka let his hand fall to his side, leaving the gun in its holster. "Fight. But I think I've changed. I know what can happen now..." Statistics outweighed tragedies; one million is greater than one.
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Post by Jimmeh on May 17, 2010 20:25:21 GMT -5
"They've let you go soft," he remarked dryly. "Or rather, you're still soft." Gilbert frowned at the thought of that--he could remember when he was soft. He still was, sometimes, internally, at least. There wasn't much he cared for, nor would there ever be, after the outcome of his previous attempts at dodging courtship (and in some cases, pursuing it). "But whatever. It's better than sitting around like a coward, like Austria or something." [/color][/size]
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Post by Tiger on May 20, 2010 17:53:04 GMT -5
He tensed at the word "soft" but held his tongue. The word could not be aptly applied to him, and he wondered how such an accusation could be made. Even stereotypically--how many Serbs does it take to change a lightbulb? Two: one to shoot the old one and another to screw in the new one--he could not really be called peaceable. It did not occur to him the Gilbert might just be saying things to infuriate him. Then he perked his head. "Oh, thank God I'm not like him." A common vein of thinking had been struck. Luka definitely possessed a streak of arrogance, and he most definitely possessed a streak of I-am-really-not-that-fond-of-Austria.
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