The Antimacassar

[Jimmeh]

"You look pretty damn flustered to me," Gilbert observed, catching his reflection in a glass window and liking what he saw. He felt vaguely amused at the idea of escaping now--personally, unless luck was not on his side, he would be safe, or not wounded badly. Though there would be consequences, pain being the most prevalent one, it would be worth the entertainment. Though his philosophy, suffering was much worse than boredom. "But then again, you're kind of an open book, so no surprise there. So, are you gonna punk out, or what?"

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[Tiger]

Luka frowned and looked at his knees while gripping the pistol. "I'm thinking," he said, unusually terse. "I'm not that smart, but I try to think." Although he closed his brown eyes, he refrained from pondering the decision further. One of the most important lessons in life he had read in a science book. It was Newton's Third: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The law worked in a very simple way. If you shoot a dog, then it dies and its master seeks revenge. If you shoot an archduke, you start a world war. And if you shoot Prussia, all hell breaks loose.

[Jimmeh]

"Think away," replied Gilbert, gesturing with one hand towards the ceiling fan. "But I'm not getting any younger, y'know. Knowing you, Serbia, I'll have died peacefully in this chair before you ever get to shooting me." Provoking him was not the greatest idea the Prussian had had, but he could not look terrified. Then again, he thought, like he could--no one holding such a title of awesomeness could feel even the slightest pluck of of fear in their heart.

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[Tiger]

"I don't think dying of dehydration is that peaceful," digressed Luka, picking a bit of dirt from under one of his fingernails while still holding the gun. "Bullets are quick and don't hurt that much if it hits you right. Of course, they never do...but it's a much nobler death, don't you think?" Being shot, unless, of course, it was the culmination of an execution by firing squad, had a heroic sort of connotation to it. Survivors were naturally hailed as even more heroic.

[Jimmeh]

"S'pose so, provided that you don't do anything like leave my body in a dumpster or something," he pondered, and for a moment, though it was irrelevant, thought over the concept of dying of starvation or something of the sort. It would certainly be slower and much more painful than getting shot ever would. "Oh, and it's better than getting decapitated. Or waterboarded. Then again, people won't feel very sorry for me whenever they read the article about my death on Wikipedia. Someone would just see the words 'demented idiotic Serb' and then go look at something else."

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[Tiger]

"I'm not a mobster," he scoffed. "I've got some dignity. Besides, torture is too time-consuming. Bullets aren't exactly tidy but they get the job done. And I can always go and edit Wikipedia." In Luka's younger days, he had been a better fighter than everyone had expected him to be--and probably a better fighter than he should have been. His work ethic was simple and efficient: get it done, brag, do fun things. (Naturally, the greatest importance and most fun lay with the second step.)

[Jimmeh]

"Hmm." Gilbert paused to stroke his chin between his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly. "Well, I think you're the first murderer I've ever met who actually discusses a person's death before shooting them. I knew I was destined to get popped off by some moron--ach, idiot, I mean--but I didn't know there'd be this much glory in it." He dropped his hand from his face and let it fall with a light thud onto the chair's arm. "I s'pose I understand your cause--pacifism is overrated. Nice guys finish last, am I right?"

[Tiger]

"Too right," agreed Luka, purposely ignoring the mild insults that had just been thrown his way. "If you don't stand up for yourself then no one will. Pacifism might be what they call 'noble' but it never solved anything." That last bit was a lie, he knew, although everyone seemed to be a pacifist between wars and a militarist between peaces. It made sense, too, unless one was fighting a defensive or otherwise necessary war or in the midst of an intolerable, unjust peace. As he leaned back in the chair and gripped the frayed edge of the antimacassar, he did not ponder this but instead tried to think of an intelligent response to make to Gilbert's next words. The attempt was futile; he could not read the future.

[Jimmeh]

"Then we don't appear to have a problem," he concluded, "yet we've got a conflict somehow. Maybe that's the upside of pacifism. I don't get it." Now he knew he was just speaking nonsense--because silence between the two would just be awkward and speaking logically would be boring. Changing his mind about his position again, his hand flew back up to his chin and stayed there, the inside of his forearm resting on is chest. "Oh, and are you gonna pay me those million dinara or what? Or will you just kill me and feel more guilty later?"

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[Tiger]

"Are we really up to a million now?!" exclaimed Luka, slapping his knees in exasperation. "Do those dinara multiply exponentially or what? No, that's just how national debt behaves, but--oh, wait. Exchange. That's still ten thousand euros!" He had forgotten half of the previous conversation about being indebted to Gilbert until he started to comment on the behavior of national debt. Now he felt like an idiot, and he sighed inwardly when he realized that his stupidity would surely be a topic of conversation yet again.

[Jimmeh]

"Well, twelve thousand euros equals a million dinara. I'd think you had some idea about your own currency." He grinned, ruffling a shock of white hair behind his neck in a vain attempt to diminish the heat that had collected above his collar. "Anyway, I'm thinking about charging interest. Or are you up for some barter? Well, it would be an exchange of me forgetting this ever happened for whatever you have, if anything."

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[Tiger]

"Twelve thousand euros is over a million dinara. Way over." He paused to think over the second offer. Yes, forgetting this would be nice, but what did he have? Luka ran his fingers over the back of his chair and found the answer there. "I have this antimacassar," he began, then hesitated. The chair cover had a lot of sentimental value, true, but it was practically worthless after all of the damage. A new, more durable one would be easy to obtain anywhere. And what would Gilbert possibly want with this? Still, it would be a small price to pay compared to a million dinara. "It's an antique and would fetch you a lot if you showed the right people. The embroidery is very traditional, very Serbian, very difficult to find well-done anymore."

[Jimmeh]

Gilbert paused, looking over the cloth warily as if he knew how to judge an opinion on it. He knew this would be enough to irk Luka and stay out of trouble at the same time, which was a talent he had not entirely acquired and felt thankful he had gotten lucky today. "Fair enough," he decided. "Am I supposed to apologize for the trouble? Or is it just Austria who would do that? Not saying I will, but just making sure."

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[Tiger]

Luka stood, removed the antimacassar, and folded it neatly. He looked longingly at the cover--he felt like a child handing over an old teddy bear--and then extended his arm to Gilbert. "I don't care. No one apologizes anymore. Besides, it's just an unnecessary formality; honestly, who really means it when they say they're sorry? And if you really feel bad about it then I should be able to realize it, and I don't think you do." Until he obtained a replacement, he would not be sitting on that chair again, not without a cover, anyways.