#dancing-death

“Of course I want it. I’m greedy and I like gifts.”

Grinning wildly at his dry sense of humor, he takes the gift. But as he does, he leans in close, giving a low, pleasing rumble of a growl of thanks. Enough to breathe into the man’s ear. Just enough to potentially make him flush or squirm.

“It’s not every day a Prince gives a commoner a gift. But I guess commoners have to make offerings to royalty, so, here.”

Still exuding his smarmy, impish charm with his well placed words, he hands him a package as well. It’s a gift bag, not a wrapped present. It’s weighty, but not heavy, and its contents smell good. 

Pfeh. You, I can understand why. You’re attractive to many. Ask that one man. He’d agree with me.

But why follow me? I’m bitter, and old, and I’m easily pissed off if I don’t get my morning coffee. Do they get off on old, mad German men who enjoy the sight of blood, taking delight in ripping apart cadavers to see what makes their innards tick? 

It takes everything in his power to keep himself from grabbing the jar and chucking it the nearest teammate. It’d probably bean someone whom he disliked. The chances of that were quite high these days.

Staring at the jar with an almost deadpan expression, he coyly asks, “what is this? What is this that you’ve brought me?”

“I could kill you now, if you want. If you think that’ll do the trick. I just sharpened my Vita-saw.”

Aldous Haswell pinned the older Medic with quite the withering stare. His expression said it all: no joking, no sarcasm. He was serious. Perhaps not about killing him in all actuality, but he was determined to get the man to GO TO BED.

Crossing his arms, he stood resolute before the man, blocking Karl von Blau from whatever it was he was trying to do in order to stall the idea of sleeping. Yes, he had visited the Medic from the BLU base, knowing damn well some triggerhappy mercenary could attempt an attack, even during ceasefire. But he risked it because his brother alerted him to Karl’s lack of proper rest.

“So? What will it be?” Raising an eyebrow, his stare intensified. “Dying? Or sleeping?”

“N–Nevermore, Nevermore!”

Lenore, the petite little leucistic raven (cursed with genetics to fail in the wild, saved by a ‘madman’), hopped up and down, beak parted in amusement at the silly, skinny man’s little poem. She liked this man. He smelled nice. And he moved like a wisp on the wind; delicate, and graceful. Like a geist, or someone who flitted, dancing the lines, between life and death.  

“Karl,” it croaked out, eagerly flapping over to him. She perched on his shoulder, taking a moment to rub the flat side of her beak against his hair. “K–Karl, rrrk.”

“Kuh, kuh.” The grand, elder raven, perched atop a skull on a strange man’s desk, looked rather pleased with himself. Or with the man. He wasn’t sure. Maybe the raven knew the importance of the little parodied poem. Maybe it knew the theme. Maybe. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering the stately bird’s name… was Poe.

“ARSCH!”

A gift this well wrapped could only come from one person. And, no, it wasn’t his brother. It was his ‘other’ brother. A brother adopted into the family, so to speak. A brother not of blood but bond. 

He stands there, soaking up the silence in the room, as he re-reads the card another time. There’s something about the words that Karl chose to write that sticks with him. Something so profound, coming straight from the heart…

He doesn’t think the card’s message is accurate, nor ever would be, for one reason only. But he won’t dispute it. Not with the gift giver. 

But this gift. Oh, this gift. He hadn’t expected anything like this. He’s in awe. Running his hand over the immaculate surface of that coffee press, he held his breath. Something this beautiful had to be a dream. This couldn’t be reality. He was holding a piece of art. A masterpiece in itself.

…He had to make Karl a proper cup of coffee. He promised himself this. That he’d go and make the first cup ever for him. As a celebration of sorts. 

He hadn’t expected this. And the sight of the gift almost brings tears to his eyes. He knows who the mysterious ‘K’ is. In fact, the gift giver wasn’t that mysterious at all. Abelärd knew him well. It was a man whom he loved. He considered Karl von Blau to be a brother of his. Yes, another brother. Bonded by ties, not blood. But sometimes those bonds were thicker than the blood of family itself.

He can’t help but kiss the card, quietly wishing Karl knew how much he often brightened his life, and the life of his twin, Aldous. Karl meant so much to them. 

The gift. A silver tea service, complete with the tray, teapot and all, each stunningly crafted. How beautiful they were. He was almost afraid of using them. After all, he’d hate for something this lovely to obtain a ding or a scratch. But, then again, what’s the point of a gift like this if you didn’t use it? You wouldn’t honor the memory of the giver, nor the memory of the occasion, if you kept it locked behind a glass case.

…It was decided then. He’d make Karl a lovely cup of tea with it. Maybe invite the base’s new arrival, too. And who knows. Maybe he’d invite Aldous and Alexei, Jane, and…