Play Us a Song [France]

[Deleted]

It had to be the most blatant display of rudeness he had thus far encountered in this town. There was simply little explanation for it otherwise. Roderich sat on chair looking around and from time to time let out an irritated huff before checking his watch. He could understand maybe five minutes, but twenty? Did Bonnefoy think he wouldn't just get up and leave? Roderich simmered angrily, smoothing out the linen tablecloth as a way of calming down. Herr Bonnefoy had so politely asked him here to discuss work matters, hinting that it would be him paying the bill and that not did this wine bar serve very good wine, but also had a good piano. Naturally, despite the abysmal company, Roderich's interest was perked. Of course, being spent money on and not spending a dime of his own was even sweeter, so Roderich couldn't exactly refuse. It was unfortunate that Francis Bonnefoy was so...garish, so saccharine with his charms that Roderich often found himself highly disliking the man. They just didn't get along for whatever reason. Roderich, however, had never expected to be invited here with reservations and then promptly stood up. He was sure the waiters who had already come by four times were tittering at him. Perhaps they thought that his date had stood him up? Well this wasn't a date, obviously, but Roderich felt just as offended. The one consolation was the fact that for the next half an hour there was beautiful music spilling out of the piano. Roderich couldn’t get a good look at the pianist but whoever they were, they could play. Perhaps he would stay until the music ended. Not a moment later. The Austrian sighed wistfully as he listened to the music, a soft piano waltz. This was a very nice place after all; too bad Francis had to ruin the meeting with his tardiness. Roderich wondered if this wasn't some sort of elaborate prank, a way of Francis laughing at him. He wouldn't put it past it him, to be honest. Perhaps this was his way of knocking Roderich down a peg or two. Well it was working. Roderich sat stone-faced as he looked down at his menu, hoping how absolutely wretched he felt didn't show up. This was really the problem with sitting alone in silence, your mind raced ahead of you by lightyears. “Are you sure you wouldn't like something, Gospodin?” Roderich almost jumped in his seat, instead inhaling sharply as one of the waiters came by once more to ask him to order something. Roderich frowned, unhappy with the thought of spending money after all. But one glass wouldn’t hurt and at least he’d look like he was doing something except staring around. “One glass of the 2042 Sauvignon Blanc, please.” Said Roderich, dismissing the waiter with a wave of his menu. The waiter nodded and walked off, leaving Roderich to staring at a laughing couple sharing a wine glass between them. His eyelashes blinked away a memory of being younger and drunkenly in love. The legal advisor could certainly see why Francis chose this place; a comfortable yet elegant feeling permeated every square foot of the bar. Roderich felt that he’d enjoy this if he hadn't come with a man who can’t bother to show up for a work meeting. His wine was here. Roderich sipped it slowly, while watching the door. The combination of the fragrant wine and the sweet notes of a piano finely played reminded Roderich so strongly of home that for a second he forgot about Francis Bonnefoy and his impertinence. Only for a second.

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GANGNAM STYLE

SPOILER: Click to show

*Gospodin means "Mister" in Russian

[Deleted]

"I need another story, Something to get off my chest"

If there was ever a reason Francis was late, it was usually for a good reason.

Perhaps he had spilled something on his clothes – he had to change, and that took some time to find a suitable replacement whatever garments had been ruined. Or, maybe, there had been an unimaginable, terrible traffic jam; it wasn't his fault if that happened, really, Francis had no control over the roads. Maybe he would abuse his abilities for other reasons, but certainly not for something as minor as being late due to traffic lights that refused to change to green. Anything that could go wrong often would, as he had learned from childhood. It was a lesson that he had actually found genuinely useful for once, and was one he hadn't regretted learning.

Another reason he would choose to be fashionably late was if he had all the intentions in the world to irritate his date for the evening.

Francis laughed to himself as he strode through the door, effectively escaping the chilled air of the dark Russian night; he could only imagine Roderich's horrified expression at the implications of their business arrangement being slotted into the category as a date. He would certainly make sure to refer to it as such this evening; he had several ideas for the night on how to successfully annoy the Austrian in the attempt to make him snap. Already he had taken his sweet, sweet time to arrive at his own specifically selected location – he was only fifteen minutes late. Not quite enough time to assume being stood up, but enough to rile the waiting person up. Now, Francis wasn't so usually dirty-handed – but Roderich was a man who deserved it. They were rivals, if anything else, and to be entirely honest, he wasn't quite sure when their obvious distaste for each other surfaced from the murky depths of black hatred. It was something blatantly ugly – not beautiful at all, unless he took some great deal of effort to squint and see a silver lining over all the shadows. But Roderich wasn't really worth it, so Francis chose not to.

The restaurant was just as lovely as he remembered; the exquisite scent of only the best wine stained the air. It had been far too long since he had last visited – he had unfortunately been too busy to be able to enjoy such an outing. It was wonderful being able to, as the saying goes, kill two birds with one stone. Francis glanced towards the piano in its designated place – he would certainly be using its presence to his advantage tonight, knowing all too well of Roderich's fondness for the instrument. He was capable of playing a few more simple songs himself, but it was nothing in comparison to the Austrian's. Despite his loathing of admitting that he was more adept at some point than him, Francis knew it would ultimately be in his best interest.

Waltzing over to Roderich's table after informing the host it was his reservation, Francis greeted his superior with a hardly apologetic simper. ”Bonsoir, Monsieur Edelstein,” he practically sang as he seated himself in a gracious manner and arranged himself in a casual, charming way, ”I do hope you will forgive my lateness! The fates were not kind tonight.”

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