Of Paint, Secrets, and a Man in a Scarf. [Open]

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

It was one of those long, droll days where the most exciting thing was watching the sun move. Not even the local newspaper, more like a sponsored gossip hub, held any importance, where it was cast aside on a work bench to later be used as protection from paint. Paint cans of bright and unusual colours laid scattered about in haphazard piles, while Ludwig stood in the middle of the vast, open space of the front-most garage, which commonly stored customer's airships. Out of the six garages Ludwig owned, this one, and two others, were actually large hangers sitting side by side, while the other three were small, concrete workshops sitting behind them. Like normal, he left the large rolling doors open for business and fresh air off the bay. However today, only two smaller airships were docked within the hollow confides, complete and ready to go, and so, Ludwig found himself with nothing to keep his wandering mind busy.

Ludwig looked at the paint cans, and the paint cans seemed to be looking at Ludwig. Ludwig's fingers twitched with anxious restlessness. Jogging to the other side of the cool hanger, he pulled two heavy crates from under a desk and placed them on a mechanic's creeper and wheeled them back to the paint cans. Plopping down on the floor, he pried the top off a yellow paint can and pulled out a mechanical thing. It looked like some sci-fi mix between a robot and a llama with a hot air balloon on its back. Worse comes to worst, Ludwig thought, if the paint is flammable at least he'll have a show to watch.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert waltzed down the street radiating an arrogance that was quintessentially him. Nothing seemed to be in the Prussian's way. Not the burning sun on his albino skin. Not the boiling heat covering him in sweat. Not even the crowds swarming around him. No, the Prussian slid through the suffocating people with such confidence that it was as though they did not exist. It was not as though they had much point anyways. The people stepped about every day with similar faces, destinations, and goals. They were nothing to Gilbert.

The pale man had a goal of his own. His metal monster of a ship was in terrible pain. Gilbert was not keen on sharing the details of what happened, but the ship had crashed when a brawl between smugglers turned foul. While the human walked away with few injuries, his ship had died a fiery death. Now Gilbert needed it to be resurrected. He knew the best place for finding gods of metal was the shipyard.

Much to Prussian's delight, as he broke from the claustrophobic crowds to the empty and loud shipyard, it was easy to spot the bored looking mechanics. They needed work, money, a Prussian with a mutilated ship. Gilbert grinned, quickly darting over to the closest mechanic, attracted by the colorful tattoos and piercings.

“Oi, oi! Mr. Bored Little Mechanic! You look so glum! Need some work? Or are ya' just a slacker? It'd be much more convenient if you were in need of some work, luv,” yelped Gilbert boisterously.

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig ignored the man until after he wound the little toy, now painted like a giraffe, and released it, letting the winding gears activate a tiny fan, lifting itself into the air. Leaving the toy to float about, he picked himself up after popping the paint lids back onto their respective cans and spun to face the new man.

Barely blinking an eye, he gave a cursory glance feeling slightly impressed by the albino. He snorted at the slightly reddened skin. Ludwig understood heat and the irritability of sunburned skin from his traveling days, but apparently this man either didn't care or didn't understand the potential dangers of the sun. Like dehydration, Ludwig huffed.

Clapping a heavy hand onto the man's thin shoulder, he jerked his thumb over his own shoulder to a stained and dirty desk near the entrance of the hanger. He swaggered over expecting the man to follow as he began to dig around for the proper forms and paperwork required.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert let out a hiss of a laugh and comfortably let his irritation radiate off his abused body. The albino was by no means a patient person. Waiting around for others was a useless activity for the criminal. People were meant to do things for him right when he asked them to. If some strange feeling had not drawn him to the colorful and shiny man, he would have instantly ditched him for a more reactive mechanic. Instead, he merely hissed in a vaguely malicious tone, “Cute toy.”

As soon as the tattooed man turned to look at him, the Prussian raised a brow. He was a unique man, and while Gilbert knew he never requested his services in the past, he could not shake the feeling that something about him was familiar. Maybe it was something in his build, or his face, that reminded him vaguely of home. Or, more likely, it was a face of someone passed in the street, unimportant but interesting enough to be remembered.

Yet, as he followed him, he did seem important. It was not as though he struck him as famous or as a leader. Gilbert would know the mechanic's name if that was so. He was important personally. On a whim, the young smuggler murmured in his native language. “So, you look quite talented and hardworking, if the finished ships are anything to go by. I should hope that this level of skill is used on my darling ship.”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig's shoulders tensed as his eyes travelled to the man and his hand grazed the hidden throwing knife stuck to the underside of the desk. A few seconds of searching the man with his eyes, Ludwig let out a laugh that sounded more like a wolf's harsh bark with the undertones of a dying man's whistling wheezes; the damage to his voice affect that as well. He shook his head in amusement and moved his hand away from the blade, dropping two forms on the countertop with his other one. Settling on his elbows against the desk, he eased his body into a relaxed, unguarded stance, almost teasing in manner.

Ludwig is a cautious man, some would even say paranoid, but he knows when the cards are stacked in his favor or when to get the hell out of Dodge. Yet as he watched the man from the corner of his eye, he knew that he would get no trouble from him and in return Ludwig would give the man none. But Ludwig doesn't believe in coincidences and he knows fate has a funny way of playing her cards, but the man before him felt familiar. That niggling feeling scratching in the back of his brain was trying to remember something.

He shrugged off the sensation and rapped his knuckles along the hard surface of the desk, motioning for the man to fill it so Ludwig knows what he needs to get done. Ludwig is a patient man, but noon heat even wares him thin while over a hot, molten furnace. And by the way the man is speaking, he's going to have a lot of work ahead of him. He huffed.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching the other man just as carefully. He tilted his head, following the other man's gaze with a carefully chosen bored stare and his fingers twitching at the strange sounds of the blonde's laugh. A very curious creature, tattooed and pierced and so obviously wounded. Gilbert's interest was piqued further. Could this man even speak? Was he a mute? Why was he familiar? Had the smuggler harmed him in the past? Gilbert could recall a few people who lost their ability to speak after dealing with him. Very curious.

The pale customer ran his fingers across the hard desk, as though idly testing the surface. After a moment's thought, the Prussian snatched up the forums, gazing at them with practiced ease. Without any more time wasted on hesitation, he started to fill them out. His scrawl was not messy or fast, but elegant and practiced. His years in Prussia did not treat him well aside from the skills he obtained when prancing around embracing odd religion. He was well-read and his handwriting was beautiful, not the scrawl of a volatile or broken criminal.

“You are fascinatingly quiet. Can you even speak? You do not sound very healthy,” drawled Gilbert easily in German. He was not exactly sure if this man understood him, but it mattered little. Most of the Prussian's questions did not require answers. Often answers were not important. “Nonetheless,” he started, switching to his accented English, “What is your name? It seems right to ask, ja? I don't normally hire people without a name. A bit of simple honesty is always nice in a business transaction. I am Gilbert Weilschmidt.”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig straightened the documents on the desk with an anxious twitch, but left them to lie there, crossing his arms across his broad chest and trying hard not to tense up. That itching feeling, stronger this time, made him cast his eyes to the floor. It was like being blocked by a door, but knowing what should be on the other side. More like a word on the tip of his tongue, in Ludwig's opinion.

He just shrugged, making a deep growl of a strangled grunt in his throat. These were the usual questions everyone asked him, but he preferred to dance around them rather than give a straight answer. For one, mentioning anything about the Brotherhood was potentially dangerous and second off, it would immediately make whatever he was trying to accomplish now a complete failure. Not to mention not knowing one's own last name was an embarrassment. Keeping all potentially dangerous cards to his chest was his best defense plan and one that never failed him.

Instead, Ludwig went through the typical customer-laborer procedures. Thumping his boot against the bottom of the desk, the sleepy, black pelted ferret scrabbled from a hole with a white business card, with only Ludwig scrawled across the front, in its jaws. His nails clicked as he dug into the wood and pulled himself up the side of the desk with practiced ease, handing the card out to the man, Mr. Weilschmidt, Ludwig corrected himself. Ludwig nodded for him to take it, while he grabbed another sheet of quoted prices and tidbit information.

His mind skipped a beat out of sync with his calm beating heart. He knew this man. A petty smuggler he's caught wind of a couple of times. That itching intensified.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert's brow shot up, enraptured by the small ferret approaching him. He reached down with a giant smile on his face, taking the card gently from the creature's mouth. With one last small indication of delight, he patted the black creatures head, relishing in the feel of its fur. The smile did not leave his face, even as the Prussian stood up straight again, facing his curiously familiar mechanic. “Your little creature is very cute,” he softly praised.

It took a few seconds to remember where he was and what he was doing. Snapping out of his delighted reverie, the albino took the sheet of prices and looked it over carefully, nodding and humming. It would do, he could pay. He put the sheet back on the desk and then flipped the business card over, examining the single word on the pristine paper.

Gilbert froze.

Ludwig. It was so simple. There was no reason to get worked up. There were countless people with that name; Gilbert even encountered quite a few of them. Yet, no. It could not be. Yet, Gilbert could not look up to confirm it. This tattooed man who seemed unable to speak? It was unthinkable. Nonetheless, the Prussian's mind flooded with childhood memories. Blue eyes and gorgeous blond hair. The perfect, innocent, safe child. His brother. Here. Broken!

“Ludwig Weilschmidt?” Gilbert hissed, tearing his eyes from the slip of paper. There were those blue eyes. There was that blond hair. It seemed all so correct. All the other changes distracted from the simple build that was his brother. The pale and burned man choked on the air, recoiling in vague horror. “No! Ah-! Nonsense!”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig didn't know whether to step closer to help the man or take a step away and grab his knife from his waistband. He did swipe his hand across the desk, scooping Blackie up and out of the way. Taking a wary stance, he eyed the man critically. The simple Ludwig Weilschmidt brought the itching in his mind to a broiling ache. Settling one hand on the hilt of his knife, he pressed the heel of his other into his temple. He knows this feeling, though rare it was, and that meant that only one thing could be happening: he is about to remember something life changing.

Faceless people floated through his mind of happy dinners and playing in fresh, green yards. A man and a woman and a boy. And Ludwig. He had to be there. Those were his eyes he had to be staring out of. Yet, the faces were blurred and the voices were muddled and all Ludwig could get out of it was the glimpse of white hair.

Shaking his head from the fog that clouded it, his eyes focused intently on bright red ones. Familiar bright red eyes. Drawing a deep breath into his chest, he slowly pushed it back out in a hissing, whistle of a wheeze, 'Who?' Years of misuse layered upon the damage of his voice causing it to be deep and crackled, but Ludwig is determined to find answers.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert leaned forward, not letting the man even attempt to escape. His eyes narrowed as he examined the man across from him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind as to the identity of the man in front of him. He snarled, completely disregarding the pained look from Ludwig as he rubbed fiercely at his head.

“Who? WHO? Don't pull that bullshit!” hissed the Prussian, not at all sure how to properly react. Neither of the men crossed paths for around ten years. This was a shocking and unwelcome discovery. His brother had been living right under his nose. For how long? Days? Months? Years? “I'm no fool! You may look a little different, bashed about, older, hidden under layers of that artsy crap, but I can recognize my own brother!”

He jolted back from the desk, as though it stung him, glaring at his relative in confusion. Gilbert did not intend to have a reunion like this. They were supposed to run into each other in some bar in Germany, laughing over the past and drinking themselves into a daze. Part of him still wanted to celebrate, but he mostly wanted to berate his beloved sibling. What happened to him? Was he hurt? Was he sick? Where were their parents? Dead?

“Why are you here?” asked the man in a frantic whisper of English. “You should be safe at home!”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Home and brother rung sharply in Ludwig's twisting mind. This was getting to be too much at once. And whether this man, this petty smuggler, was either one damn fine actor or this man actually knows who he is, Ludwig is tempted to wring his scrawny neck to find out by this point. However calm Ludwig usually is, all of his patience goes straight to hell as soon as a headache comes on and, boy, does he have a migraine.

He rounded the desk in two easy strides, keeping the man between him and the hard desk with a dark look. Ludwig had enough and he sure as hell doesn't believe that the object of his obsession for years just so happened to wander into his workshop by coincidence. He snarled at the man, which sounded more like a untamed animal's. He hates coincidences.

Slipping the knife from his waistband, he stepped forward close enough to be invading his so called brother's personal space. Using his height and bulk advantage, he stared the man down, keeping the knife arm length away from him, just incase. With eyes narrowed into slits, he sucked air through his teeth and let it whistle again through as his voice, 'Who? And what home?'

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

For a split second, the smuggler found himself absolutely baffled. In that moment of confusion, he doubted himself. Could he have been wrong? Could this man just look somewhat similar to his beloved brother? Could he just share his name? It could all just be some horrible coincidence, something that was never really meant to happen.

However, the doubtful thoughts disappeared in a flash once Gilbert found himself being cornered. He raised a brow, licked his lips, tensed. Casting a quick glare at the knife and leaning forward, he wormed a hand over quickly and curved his pale fingers around the German's wrist. “No weapons,” he snarled.

“You sound so forgetful,” hissed the Prussian, adopting an outraged tone. “Is something the matter, dear brother? Who? What? Hah! Ludwig Weilschmidt! Brother of Gilbert Weilschmidt! Have you really forgotten? All those years in Germany, playing in the same house, eating the same meals? You were supposed to stay there, taking care of Mutter and Vater! And you've forgotten!”

Gilbert paused, his voice softening and revealing an almost relieved fondness. Here he was, standing in front of his young sibling after such as long time apart. “You do look fantastic, even if you are an idiot, bruder.”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig's eyes went to the fingers around his wrist almost immediately. They felt familiar, like backyard wrestling matches or running along to school down busy morning streets in a rainy town, laughing. Letting the knife hang loosely in his grip, he eased his muscles, settling himself. Turning his eyes to those bright, piercing red ones, he knows the man is telling him the truth. He just knows. Looking at the fingers around his wrist again, he realizes that he feels a sense of comfort that he hasn't had in along time. Not wanting to rid them of their perch, he dropped the knife so his other hand could swiftly grab it and as an act of understanding, he presented the other end to the man.

No, he corrected himself, to Gilbert.

He may not truly believe Gilbert just yet, but the itching in his mind has stopped, so he knows that the dull ache of the slowly soothing headache means he has learned something important. He just has to work deliberately and carefully to figure out what, even if it means time, lots of time.

Flicking his eyes to Gilbert once more, he felt not only wary and cautious, but also embarrassment and shame. To forget someone so special and important should have severe punishment. But now to discover that he left his duty as caregiver and protector of parents? Parents he didn't even know he had anymore, but dreamed of what it could be like. All those thoughts and wishes and the what if's could have been true if he just worked harder to remember. Maybe he really is just a big idiot.

His larynx is getting sore from this much use, though how little it seems, it is still a lot more from a person who never uses it. Yet, he pushes one more time to get just two words through as clearly as he can, but it came out as a whisper, hoping the man would hear it this close.

"Memories. Gone."

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert could not help but let a grin spread across his face. With great care, the Prussian smuggler took the knife and placed in on the desk behind him. Then, without further frustration, flung his arms around his brother, eager to show the man that he had been missed. There would be plenty of time in the future to figure things out and bicker incessantly. Right now, even if it was only for a few seconds, Gilbert wished to bask in the company of his younger sibling.

“I missed you, little brother,” he hummed softly, “Even if I'm a little mad at you. Or a lot. Whatever. Still missed you.” Without much warning, the elder brother untangled their limbs, standing back to properly look at Ludwig. He sighed, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, not sure how to proceed.

“No memories, huh? I'd ask what the hell happened to you, but I s'pose you don't know the answer to that question. I hope everyone's okay back home. I should probably pay 'em a visit. I think I owe you a few years of birthday gifts too, huh. You're what, twenty-five now?” He paused, doing the math in his head. “Yeah, twenty-five. Getting old, lil'bro. You're looking a little worse for wear. How far do ya' remember back?”

The Prussian paused, his eyes narrowing. He sent a spindly hand forward, ghosting it down the younger man's neck. “And what, bruder, happened to your voice? Are you sick? Or have you been hurt whilst gallivanting off from home, hmm? Or have you forgotten your voice too?” A sigh. “You were supposed to be the one with the good life.”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Huffing, Ludwig let Gilbert hug him. It'd been a while since he let someone this close and it was nice to just feel someone who wasn't trying to kill him for once. He rubbed Gilbert on the back in circles, letting him know that he appreciated little things like this and he allowed Gilbert to pull away from him.

Little, however, was definitely not a word Ludwig would use to describe himself nor the world old. Pointedly looking down at Gilbert, he ruffled the man's hair teasingly, not quite believing Gilbert was the older sibling.

The twenty five bit caught him off guard slightly. He'd always believed he was in his twenties just on physical age alone, but with most of the paper pushers who worked in the circus dead, no one who had survived was for sure. But now that he was for sure on an age at least, he felt more confident on who he is. Now that he had something the base his time line of memories he currently had, he might be able to piece in more.

However, the feel of a hand ghosting over his throat pulled him out of his thoughts and the mercenary in him tensed. Refocusing his eyes on Gilbert as he chattered away, Ludwig grabbed his hand and pushed it into the tender flesh of his throat, hoping he could feel his larynx. Humming slowly and in English this time, he formed the words 'Couple years,' with a few pauses just to space them out and continued on with the word 'damaged,' searching Gilbert's eyes for confirmation that he got the message.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

“You grew terribly tall too,” huffed the Prussian into their hug. “What the hell! I still had an inch on you when I left. Now you're taller! What the hell were you eating? Sheesh, so not fair!” He cast his younger sibling a fond look, despite his irritated grumbling. The magnitude of changes in Ludwig were baffling and scary. He was barely the same man.

Gilbert wrinkled his nose in distaste, but left his hair in its messed up state. It was never very well-groomed anyways, always full of sand and blown everywhere by the hot winds. Ludwig did no damage, but he could see no reason for the gesture. Nonetheless, he ignored it, merely appreciating the fleeting moments of affection. Ten years was far too long to go without a brother.

His eyes widened, as his fingers were forced into the large blonde's throat. At first he did not quite understand why Ludwig was doing this, but it did not take Gilbert long to clue in. His throat! The damage was all to clear to the smuggler's pale digits. He recoiled, pulling away and staring at his hand then his brother in horror. Damaged! That could not be correct. Surely Ludwig, and his own fingers, made a horrible mistake. He had to be fine. Such damage would not be fair Yet the evidence was there, and Gilbert could not deny it.

“Shit!” simply stated the Prussian with eloquence. “Who the hell? What sort of sick bastard would do that to you? I oughta tear out his puny throat. He wouldn't even deserve a death that nice! Tch. Is this pre-memory loss or post-memory loss?”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig knows enough English to understand when something he didn't wish to share was being brought up. He may have the feeling to trust Gilbert whole heartedly, but he refuses to bring up the Brotherhood, especially just after reuniting with his possible brother. In all fairness, those of the Brotherhood should be killed on sight, but when there is one, a second is not far behind and their skill outmatches many.

Ludwig's walls and masks quickly resumed their positions as his face turned to calm disinterest like stone. He patted Gilbert on the head as if he were a child and turned to walk back behind the desk. Itching for a smoke, he needed to get to his coat, after finding his pockets devoid of his pack. Deciding on a quiet approach instead, Ludwig didn't answer Gilbert.

Bringing up the Brotherhood always made is back ache; the ridges of calloused skin and divots of missing flesh suffering from phantom pain. Rolling his shoulders to loosen the built up tension, he'd have to grab some of that cooling cream he just bought, but for now he'd just have to put on his coat as soon as he managed to get himself to the hanging rack.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert tilted his head, but did not press upon the issue further. That is, only after letting out a small noise of confusion. He could see something was wrong; he looked uncomfortable. It would be an issue to press upon further in the future. For now the young Prussian blatantly lounged about, despite the awkwardness of the entire situation. What else was he to do with himself now? He certainly could not leave. Nonetheless, the feeling that a dream descended upon them left Gilbert unnerved. The calmness of the reunion scared him.

The smuggler perched himself on the desk, carelessly brushing away the knife and forgotten forms. Making himself comfortable, he pulled out a cigarette of his own, oblivious to his own brother's hunt for one. He lit it lazily, tossing away the match to watch his sibling with vague interest. For the first time in years, Gilbert found himself feeling proper guilt for abandoning his family. If Gilbert stayed, Ludwig could have avoided the beatings he appeared to have suffered through

“You've already gone back to treating me like I'm a child,” huffed the Prussian, not truly annoyed. “You're still you, huh. You doin' okay? This business looks good. Hardworking and talented, heh. I'm almost jealous.” He glanced nosily down at the things on the desk, hoping for some insight into the other man's life. “Made any friends? Girlfriends? They must love ya', all tall, sexy and mysterious. And tough-looking! God, brother! How the hell did you get so muscular?”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Grabbing his jacket and stuffing a now lazing ferret in the empty pocket, he pulled out his own pack of smokes and calmly moved back to the desk. This whole thing seemed surreal in a way and Ludwig still despised coincidences, but maybe fate was finally jumping on his side for awhile. However, Ludwig knows there has to be a catch. After sitting down and lighting his smoke, he stared at Gilbert. Something in this situation is going to have some sort of consequences somewhere down the road. Ludwig just hopes it's something easy this time.

Blackie must have decided that the coat was too hot to be all curled up in, because, first, he popped his head out and let it hang. Then, he slowly inched his way out until he finally made a mad scramble onto the slick desk top. Yipping and yapping, he went digging for anything and everything possible to eat. He finally gave up though on his third circuit and decided that the new person must enjoy soft, furry things, so the best option was to play 'starving to death.' he flipped onto his back besides Gilbert, whimpering like a pouting child.

Ludwig just rolled his eyes and the both of them; Gilbert and Blackie, what a perfect match. He relaxed once more as he sat besides Gilbert on a stool. Simple talk he was fine with. Now he just wished his back would stop hurting. He idly nodded as Gilbert chattered about how the business was running and that, yes, the business ran smoothly, bringing in quite a purse at the end of the month. Coughing and blushing and rolling his eyes, he had a feeling that something like that would come from Gilbert. No, he nodded shyly, he does not have someone significant, and to be honest, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't really have friends. Sure, people like Ludwig well enough, but not talking put a damper on making friends, but that is okay to Ludwig. Silent company is better than no company.

Snorting, Ludwig is just fine with talking about what little he remembers of the circus. He figures that is where he started his more physically concerned activities began. He's sure that with muscles like his even before the Brotherhood, he wasn't a popcorn boy. To explain it to Gilbert, he pulled out two oranges from a desk drawer and Blackie, who curled into a tight ball, and, careful not to drop his smoke, juggled them into the air.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

The sight of the small ferret darting about instantly filled Gilbert with glee. He was already enamored with the small creature, due to the mere fact it was tiny and adorable. His adoration for the creature expanded exponentially the moment it poked its head out of Ludwig's pocket and rushed about in search of food. Had Gilbert been less awesome, the sight of the whining creature next to him would have caused him to let out a girlish exclamation of joy. He did not do so, however, as he was not girlish or unawesome. He was Gilbert Weilschmidt. He just happened to also harbor a tiny, miniscule, insignificant adoration for all things cute.

Instead, the Prussia dug through his pockets, hunting for some sort of treat to give the small weasel-like creature. It took the albino a few moments of scrambling about, but he eventually dug out some dried bananas that he usually saved for his beloved birds. With an unrestrained grin, Gilbert ruffled the ferret's belly fur and then offered him a generous amount of the sweet fruit.

“He's adorable, bro. I can't imagine where you found him. Never seen one before. I've got a few birds, but I'm not sure they're nearly adorable as this guy.” He turned his gaze back to his sibling just in time to catch the obvious blush spreading over his cheeks. The elder sibling felt his face break out into an entirely new grin, this one playfully mocking his little brother.

“Oooh? You're like a blushing virgin, bro. We'll have to take you to the bar then. Get ya' to socialize. I'm sure we can find you a nice girl or two. Then she can keep you company while you're working on all these ships. Or maybe just some friends. We'll hafta see. Whatever time we get, yah?” His smile slowly changed from mocking to a fond one. Despite the ten years having passed. Gilbert could not help but still view his brother as the boy he left as a young teen who needed his amazing brother's guidance.

The Prussian blinked, obviously impressed with the display. However, for a few seconds it remained unclear and senseless. Random juggling explained so little to Gilbert. “Huh...Just by juggling? All those? Really? How-...oh. Oh! The circus! You ran away and joined the circus?” The smuggler sat up slightly, intrigued and amused by Ludwig's past.

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Well, Ludwig supposed he ran away and joined the circus. It seemed weird if he had a good home, but he guesses it could have been worse. Grabbing the oranges in one hand and Blackie in the other, whom immidately stole one of the oranges to push around the desk, Ludwig returned to his almost dead smoke. Juggling wasn't his favorite thing to do in the world, but it was an easy parlor trick that the kids seemed to like.

Rolling his eyes at Gilbert's incessant teasing, Ludwig stamped out his smoke with the heel of his boot. It wasn't like he couldn't get a girl, or even a man on a few occasions, it just wasn't something he absolutly needed. To be honest, it was more if a liability than anything else and he would have an easier time killing them off himself before someone else does. Instead of contradicting his brother, he figured going to a bar couldn't be that bad. Seriously, who would turn beer? It was also one of the best places to get information on people.

Speaking of which. Ludwig feigned innocent curiosity as he elbowed Gilbert gently and nodded towards him, implying to what he's done with his life.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert gave his brother a pleased looking grin, openly praising his brother for the fact he did not seem to be turning his ideas down. Already the Prussian started to concoct plans for forcing his brother to meet women. He knew Ludwig's lack of a lover lay in Ludwig himself. If childhood memories served the more mischievous brother correctly, Ludwig was the lame one. Now reunited, Gilbert could continue his quest to make his brother as awesome as himself. Ludwig would be powerless to his charming sibling, or so he hoped.

He blinked, glancing down at his curious brother in confusion. It took the pale smuggler a few seconds to register the man's request, but upon figuring it out, the Prussian laughed awkwardly, looking away. He settled his gaze safely on Blackie, almost embarrassed to share his lack of success with Ludwig. Ludwig, who achieved a reasonable business and comfortable looking life despite his intimidating appearance and lack of voice or memory. It was not fair.

Eventually Gilbert tossed his own cigarette away, watching it simmer on the floor, before letting out a small sigh. “I've been traveling. I guess I haven't done much. Left the house when we were kids, ditched you guys, I guess, and joined a church. Stuck around there for a few years. Got pissed off and left. Lived as a pauper for a bit. Got into smuggling and a bit of thieving. Been doing that for a few years now. Pretty routine life lately. Except last week. Got shot. That was interesting.”

The smuggler pulled his shirt up, showing off the stitched up wound along with a multitude of nasty old scars. Gilbert scowled slightly, obviously irked by the wound. “Had to go to the doctor for it. Sucked. Doctors are always annoyingly rude sadists.”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig nodded absently as Gilbert spoke. A gunshot wound isn't unheard of, but guns are usually reserved for the higher on the food chain criminals. He'd seen guns from the homemade, one shot to the twelve round, exceptional rifles with damn near precise shooting. Then there are the pros and the wanna-be's in both weapons and ammo. By the looks of Gilbert's wound, with is cleaner lines and less tearing edges, he had come into contact with either a professional or someone with cash. And Ludwig is curious, besides, he's got a long line of people on his 'To-Do' list.

He flicked his fingers against the skin under the wound in reprimand. He knows firsthand of the back alley doctors. Some of them he's killed for their dispucable acts of cruelty and some he's worked with to dispose of bodies. But he's never trusted them enough to help with his wounds. He's heard the horror stories and the terrifying rumors of patients gone missing or worse.

If Gilbert planned on getting hurt like this in the future, then Ludwig thought, he'd have to check in with the doctor and get some info on him. At least keep an eye on him. And the possibility to clean up his untouchable 'To-Do Top Ten' list is so very tempting.

[Gilbert Weilschmidt]

Gilbert scowled, swatting Ludwig's hand away. “Stop looking at me like that. I know how to take care of myself. You forget I'm the elder one here. I know what I'm doing. I wouldn't go to a doctor I thought'd harm or kill me. Roddy's got a good rep, even if he is a fussy prick. And we're both well aware of the fact we can maim each other with ease. So don't go hunting him down and giving him that face. You'll make the pansy cry. He's way too much of a pansy to kill me or anyone else.” He sniffed huffily, giving his brother a condescending look. “You're the one without much of an ability to speak. It looks to me like you get into more trouble than me. Who the hell are you dealing with?”

The Prussian sprawled out, claiming the entire desk as his own, completely blocking the larger man from grabbing any papers if he needed them. “And really, it wasn't the guy who shot me's fault either. I kinda pulled a gun on him first. So, I mean, can't really complain about any of it. He was just bein' a brat. Needed to be shot a couple of times, put in his place. Shame it didn't work out that way.”

Biting his lip, Gilbert stared awkwardly over at his sibling. He seemed almost scary, now that the Prussian looked at him closely. He did not appear to be the kind of person to mess with, lest Gilbert wanted to be discovered a mangled mess in an alley. It was a strange revelation, one that was unwelcome. He ended up coughing to dispel his own mood.

“So, uh, since we're brothers and all, d'ya think you'd give me a bit of a deal on fixing my wreck of a ship?”

[Ludwig Weilschmidt]

Ludwig gave Gilbert the driest, flat-eye stare he could muster up with a single raised brow. At least he got a partial name. Roddy. He may seem timid, but Ludwig knows better than to believe the inside is just as lovely as the outside; like biting into a rotten fruit. Having to stifle a snort, Ludwig still doubted the fact that Gilbert was older and that he knows how to take care of himself, but before he could show his disbelief, he stiffened minutely and refused to answer, again, about who he's worked with. He huffed.

He flicked his fingers against skin again, just to piss Gilbert off. Gilbert seemed the type to try and build a gun, but it would end up exploding in his face. Or he would steal one. Ludwig sent a questioning glance towards the other man. Just how petty is this man supposed to be? Because to Ludwig, he sounded pretty well off.

Stretching is tired body, he clapped one solid hand against Gilbert's leg and nodded to one of his arm, plastering a man eating shark grin across his face. They may be brother's, but Ludwig has a business to run, yet truth be told, Ludwig just wants to rile the man up some.

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