[AU] Spanish Civil War [R-18+;GerSpain]

It was hard to raise any sort of family during the 1930's. Tension had been rising between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, because of the recent World War. America had lost most of its money in that 'depression', and whatever countries had escaped financial crisis were facing internal collapse. One of the prime examples was, of course, Spain. The once thriving country of passion had quickly gotten entangled in the web of Fascism spreading over Europe, much to most of its resident's displeasure. This, of course, separated the already loosely-sewn together nation into two factions.

Now, for most people, this spelled bad news. War was obvious, if not in Spain itself, then in Europe as a whole. But to Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, this news was quite fine. Sure, war was bad, but it also meant profit. America made all that money during World War 1, what was to say that other people selling goods couldn't make as good a living as America made?

Antonio was determined to do just that. With his 5 brothers and sisters (typical Catholic family), it had always been hard to get by. But in all of this, the Spaniard found a great opportunity for profit in his family's General store. Found in the normally Republican-inhabited city of Madrid, It was in a prime location to get money from not only the normal civilians, but from the Nationalists that had recently been stationed there to prevent any revolts, and from the new Italian and German soldiers.

Of course, there weren't as many foreign soldiers as there were natives, but the foreigners all had foreign money, much more valuable than that mierda that the nationalists had been supplying. Even though Antonio himself despised the Nazis and Fascists, he would honestly kiss those men's boots if they came to his store.

Thankfully, no boot kissing was required. His family's store was conveniently located next to the military base, and had become a popular place to buy candy, tobacco, and various fruits and vegetables from the Carriedo garden. It didn't hurt that Antonio himself turned out to be a fan favorite, his cheerful smile and easy-going eyes making the Carriedo store very wealthy very quickly.

It was only natural that Antonio kept up his lovable façade for these soldiers, and it was no different on that day, a day in early August, 1936. The air was sticky and men were marching in and out, buying themselves cold Sangria (the closest thing to beer in those parts) before a boring day around town. Business had slowed around 2 pm, and Antonio had just stared closing up for siesta when a tall blond male, who really did look like the poster child for 'Nazi', walked in. Antonio resisted his urge to sneer at the man, which was fairly easy, considering who he catered to on a daily basis.

"Hola~ Soy Antonio. How may I help you, señor?" he asked in a saccharine tone, leaning over on his hand on the counter. "I have no more Sangria left. Maybe I will have more if you come back after siesta."

With the furor surrounding the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeitpartei's meteoric rise to power out of the economic and social instability that consumed Germany after the Great War, it came as no surprise that so many young men and women wanted to get involved in any way possible with the government. Heedless or uncaring of the fact that their new Fascist leader was bulldozing other countries and cultures to make way for German supremacy, most citizens praised their new government for growing increasingly stronger and more influential in a time when the world's usual leading powers - like America and Russia - had grown weak.

It was hard for the average German not to feel proud, and Ludwig Beilschmidt was no different. He'd grown up in poverty, learning how to help his family in the struggling bakery they ran before he'd even learned to speak properly. With no money for books, the Beilschmidts had substituted cast-away newspapers; the young boy had quickly absorbed both a knowledge of letters and an awareness for the seething resentment towards 'the enemy'. Who the enemy was changed over the years, from America and England, then Russia, then capitalists, then Socialists, and now more recently, Jews and homosexuals. And so, when war had been declared on many of these threats, Ludwig had eagerly joined both the Party and the army, ready to help his country.

What he hadn't expected was that he'd be sent to Spain. The dirty and impoverished country was on the verge of war with itself, and both Germans and Italians had been sent to support the Fascists' cause. This didn't please Ludwig in the least; everything the soldiers were doing back at home seemed much more important, or at least more exciting. And despite the rank he'd already risen to, he'd have happily taken demotions just to be back in Germany instead of in this hot, ugly place. But he'd forced himself to be a good soldier and to keep his mouth shut, despite how miserable this place could be.

Today was especially bad; the weather had turned humid and oppressive, and most of Ludwig's men had remedied the heat by visiting a nearby store and buying copious amounts of a local alcoholic drink. The store seemed to be a popular place among the soldiers, Ludwig had noticed, and purely out of a combination of curiosity and sheer boredom, he decided to go check it out.

Unsurprisingly, he was the only visitor in the store; the local man who owned it seemed to be shutting things down for that lazy little napping period he and his countrymen took. As the Spaniard clerk fawned up at him with shining green eyes (for Ludwig could tell, it was far too cloying a treatment to be natural), the German glared impassively around at the shelves of the tiny store. "I'm not here for that," he said curtly, stalking around and examining all the place had to offer. Truthfully, it had a pretty good selection, but Ludwig wasn't about to praise the man behind the counter for it.

His eyes settled on a basket of oranges that looked like they'd been freshly picked. Taking one and examining it with a gloved hand, he eventually placed it on the counter in front of the tanned young man who still wore that disgustingly happy look on his face. Dirty stupid liars, all of these Spaniards were. "How much?" he asked, trying not to let his irritation show.

Antonio's ever-present smile almost faltered. Who did this Nazi think he was, waltzing into his store like he owned the place? The Spaniard had half a mind to chuck something at the male's head; maybe he'd mess up his perfectly kept blond locks.

Cold blue eyes locked with his own as shoes squeaked across the floor. Though he continued smiling lazily, he was scared inside. He knew that the Nazis didn't like Spaniards. He knew that the Nazis knew that the Spaniards hated them. The Germans didn't even want to be there. They were just all too good to go against their dear Führer's wishes. Germany wanted to take Spain over, Antonio knew that much. He also knew that the only reason the Nazi leader even spared Spain a second glance was because he wouldn't want a nation that had already torn itself apart. That, and because the Spanish lands held things that the Germans wanted.

The Spaniard flinched as the orange was practically slammed on the table. He blinked for a moment, trying to process the other's words. They were heavily accented, almost incomprehensible to the Spaniard. The other's voice was gruff, stern, and icy, nothing like the speech of his own people. Hell, even other Germans spoke less angrily than the man before him.

"E-erm... 1 mark... 85 peseta..." he replied, giving the number in both currencies, just in case. He opened his little box of money and started shuffling around to find his change. "Lo siento... If I seemed rude, I mean. All of your soldiers seem to love our Sangria!" He babbled, trying to fill the awkward silence in the store. He was standing two feet from a killer. A cold-blooded, filthy, ruthless killer. And that killer was buying an orange. Somehow, the scene just didn't seem to click.

What had first been a lazy afternoon had quickly turned tense and cold, and Ludwig didn't care. The other man owed him respect, and in return, the German wouldn't hurt him, or shut down his store. The problem with the Spaniards, he had quickly learned, was that they didn't know their place. If you didn't get in their faces once in a while, they'd start getting all kinds of bad ideas about what kind of treatment they deserved. Oh, Spain's citizens could hate them all they wanted to, but until they received orders to the contrary, they weren't going anywhere.

But then, thinking about how long he'd be stuck here brought Ludwig's spirits down. He barely batted an eye as the dark-haired man jumped and blinked nervously when he brought over the orange. "One mark?" he repeated, eyes narrowing in the hint of a frown. But the store-keeper looked plenty scared already. And oranges were out of season, right? Ludwig didn't know. But as nasty as he could be, he also liked to be fair. Pulling a five-mark bill out of his wallet, he passed it over so that the Spaniard had tug the money out of his hand. Half-listening to the man ramble an apology, Ludwig scanned the store again. Not really a bad place, actually. He'd probably be back... despite what kind of scum owned and ran it.

"They shouldn't be drinking on the job," he replied coldly, turning his eyes back to the cashier and resting a gloved hand on the counter. "But there's so little to do here, I don't suppose I can really blame them." As to whether or not he accepted the other's apology for his rudeness... well, Ludwig didn't honestly feel like commenting on that. The other would have to win his approval if he really wanted the answer.

Carefully, Antonio tugged the five mark bill from the German male's gloved hand. He hummed a small tune as he counted out the male's change, casually listening to the other's complaints.

"Well, our Sangria isn't all that alcoholic... It just has wine to give it a kick! You know, like a bit of energy! Happiness! Some of you look so gloomy... I can't help but want to give you something to brighten your day!" He smiled, his worlds actually almost genuine. No matter what, Antonio was Catholic to the core, and the saying 'do onto others as you would have them do onto you' always forced the Spaniard to act at least a bit civil to everyone. Except Englishmen. He hated Englishmen. They were straight from the devil. At least Germans were respectful to a point.

"... Nothing to do? You must be out of your mind! I-I mean, yeah, to you all, it must seem boring, but there are lots of things to do! Further into the city, there are drinking spots, and even a dancing club! We don't have those fancy stereo things... But the music is better live anyway. Oh! And out behind the old church, there's a small lake with lots of trees by it! It's nice to put your feet in on days like this." Rambling had always been a gift for Antonio, never failing to fly off into a one-sided conversation whenever presented to opportunity. But eventually, he came to his senses and remembered that he hated the man before him, and the real smile that had grown on his face melted away to just a slight curve of his lips.

"Lo siento. Here is your change. Please come again." He pushed the other's change forward and started to undo the goldenrod-colored apron around his waist. "We will be open again in a couple hours. Siesta time, you know. Maybe you should get some rest yourself. You seem tense."

Ludwig's mouth thinned into a frown as the store clerk remarked about how apparently 'gloomy' some of the Germans looked. He'd obviously have to give his men a little talk. And since when had this man been 'giving' anything to them? He'd been selling the Sangria and making a pretty profit from it, no doubt. Ludwig, at least, wasn't going to fall for the man's cheery little pep talk. He'd try to set an example, and maybe his underlings would follow it. As the other continued to ramble, the soldier's blue eyes widened briefly in anger.

"Out of my mind?!" he snapped, but quickly realized it was merely an expression, which didn't make him feel much better. The man's suggestions were poor too; drinking and dancing seemed like something he himself would prefer to be doing, rather than running a store. Or perhaps he had friends in those places, also looking to make some quick money from the soldiers. The lake, though... the severe look on Ludwig's face lightened a little. That almost sounded peaceful. Maybe he could go swimming.

Tuning back to the brunette, his attention returned just in time to see the real smile slide from the other's face. Ah, right - back to the fake one so that he didn't anger the Nazis, Ludwig mused as he took his change. "Siesta time," he muttered distastefully. How thoroughly lazy. No wonder Spain's economy was failing.

Picking up his orange, he tossed it in the air and caught it again. And now the little clerk was calling him 'tense'. This one liked to flirt with danger; even Ludwig's own men rarely risked commenting on his state of mind. Fixing another long, icy look on the Spaniard, Ludwig shook his head, "How I feel isn't your business. Stay out of it." He couldn't get away with yelling - not yet, anyways. Holding the orange securely in his hand, he left the store, wincing as the bright sunlight stung his eyes. At least the city would be quiet, now. He wanted to look for that pond... maybe eat his orange there in peace, with no locals to yammer and kowtow nervously around him. That sounded nice.

The German's little outbursts made Antonio jump, but he returned every hard glare with a playful look of his own. Sure, he knew that he was playing with fire. And when you play with fire, you get burned. But that was a risk that Antonio was honestly willing to take. He was never one to be intimidated by anything, or anyone in this case. Sure, the man was scary, and of course, Antonio feared that he might actually anger the German, but something deep inside told him that it was okay to throw back a little spunk; a plucky, fleeting smile accompanied by a soft glimmer in his emerald eyes.

After he had locked up the store, Antonio took a little walk along the back of his store, following a cobblestone path to his house. A quaint thing on top of a hill, seated right next to a huge tree. At the base of the hill sat a tomato grove, along with other various fruits and vegetables alongside it. Out of said grove came a squealing girl, followed by two older boys (who seemed to be chasing after with rats in their hands). The girl quickly ran up to Antonio, who promptly picked her up and stuck his foot out to stop one of the mischievous boys.

"Alejandro, what have I told you about bothering Esmeralda? And Lucas, you're supposed to be at the church, helping mother clean." Antonio chided, though not in a stern tone. These were his brothers and sister, he couldn't stand to be cruel to them unless he absolutely needed to. "Esme, it is siesta time. Go up to the house and rest for a bit." With that, Antonio let down the female child, who gave a wave before running up to the home on top of the hill. The male children dispersed with a grumble, but Antonio simply smiled. These were his kin, his reason for living, and he'd really do anything to protect them.

Antonio climbed the hill soon after Esmeralda, but instead of going to the house, he sat himself under the tree. This particular tree had been his favorite napping spot for 15 years (ever since he was 5 and his parents allowed him out of the house for siesta.). It had a perfect view of the city and lake, upon which Antonio would gaze until he fell into a deep sleep each day, his dreams sweet and peaceful. 

Listening with faltering interest to the sounds of residents closing up shop for their naptime, Ludwig headed down one of the dusty Spanish streets, toying with the orange. An old woman resting in a chair on a porch shot him a nasty glare; the soldier ignored it, keeping his eyes forward and his mind focused on his destination. He didn't need to be told that the Spaniards didn't like the German presence here. But they had no choice at the moment, so their complaints were worthless.

Taking a deep breath of the moist air that hung heavily over the city, Ludwig felt a bitter taste enter his mouth. He didn't pass many of his fellow soldiers on his route; some of them had already picked up the siesta habit, which displeased Ludwig greatly. No, no matter how horrible the weather got or how tired he personally felt, he wasn't going to nap - not with these people, anyways.

It didn't take him long to find the old church (he'd learned the city routes like the back of his hand the instant after he'd arrived), and as he'd predicted, the lake behind the building was deserted, save for a few scrawny looking ducks. Finding a bench near the edge of the lake, Ludwig sank down and let out a small sigh, flexing his toes within his boots. He'd been walking all day, and it felt good to rest. Peeling off his gloves, he undid the top button of his uniform jacket and loosened his collar a little, hoping for some small breeze to sooth how hot the town felt. When he got nothing in response, he set to work on the orange, stripping hunks of rind from it and tossing them carelessly into the grass. The fruit tasted better than it had looked: sweet and tart and juicy, even a little cooling, and Ludwig quickly slowed down, trying to savor each bite as long as he could.

Antonio's dreams were always simple. He never had outlandish or prophetic dreams (like his mother, who happened to descend from a line of gypsies; not that anyone knew that besides close family), so his naps were always a relaxing time. Today seemed no different. It started out with Antonio sitting in a large field of carnations, similar to the ones that would bloom over the countryside in the spring. But something was a bit off in this field. Instead of the normal pink carnations that bloomed, they all happened to be light red with white stripes. Of course, these occurred naturally, but not an entire field, like this.

Bells from the church roused Antonio from his odd dream. Striped carnations? What in god's name would cause a bunch of striped carnations to grow? Antonio sighed and rubbed his temples before standing and stretching, giving his beloved city a once-over. Of course, fairly empty looking, as everyone was just waking from their siesta. The Spaniard's gaze came to rest upon the lake. He missed going to that lake. He hadn't been over there in at least a month; work had kept him rather tired (which wasn't saying much, the Spaniard seemed to be in a perpetually lethargic state). But he'd visit later. Maybe take a swim in the water or catch a few fish.

Reluctantly, Antonio returned back down to his store, mixing some more Sangria before re-opening the doors. Business was always slow right before and right after siesta. Sometimes he wondered why he even came back so early.

Spoiler:

Ludwig took his good sweet time eating that orange, and for a while after that, he sat quietly on the bench, watching the hungry ducks peck at the peels he'd thrown away. It was a strangely peaceful place, this lake. Something still felt off, possibly because of the heavy air that still stifled the city, but in the evening, the world would be much cooler. And for a man who had rarely known peace, it was a precious spot. Standing and stretching, Ludwig fixed the button on his jacket and pulled his gloves back on, starting off again on his route back to the barracks.

Now that the city was stirring, the streets weren't nearly as peaceful anymore, which was quite a shame; the soldier weaved around porters running some early goods to restaurants and energetic children tossing around a ball. Quiet wasn't afforded to him at the barracks either; the soldiers who had missed out on the Sangria were eager to hurry back to the general store.

"Sir, you should come with us," one of them suggested, cleaning up the cards he'd been playing with, "it's really pretty good." Ludwig stared flatly at the other man, "Not interested." "Come on, sir, you haven't even been yet!" another protested, and the officer shook his head, "I have too. I bought an orange." "You're just saying that because you don't want to go. Even if it's run by the Spaniards, it's not all bad."

Rolling his eyes, Ludwig shut the book he'd just started to read. He wasn't going to get a moment's peace until he proved that he hadn't been lying. "Fine, then," he muttered, "but I'm not buying anything." Perhaps elated that they'd gotten indirect permission from their superior to drink while on patrol, the other soldiers led the way, talking loudly in German about a multitude of things, with Ludwig following slowly and more stiffly behind.

Antonio sprawled out on the counter, internally cursing the humidity of the climate. He loved his country just as much as the next Spaniard, but feeling as if he had just gotten out of the bath wasn't the greatest feeling in the world. He had just been about to roll off the counter onto the floor when he heard the distant barking laughter of men. He sat up, trying to listen for conversation. German. He didn't speak German. But at least he knew he was about to get a few customers.

The door opened, and the little tinkling sound made by the bell on the door was overshadowed by booming voices. Antonio smiled lazily and leaned on his hands on the counters. "Hola. How may I help you today, boys?" He asked in his native tongue, disrupting the loud German. He looked over the male's faces, and every single one looked familiar. Even... Even a certain face that belonged to a very stoic man, who looked as if he were trying to stand straight and still enough to disappear. A mischievous grin tugged at Antonio's lips. And here he thought that the blond was too good for Sangria.

Catching a brief glimpse of the very I-told-you-so grin on the clerk's face, Ludwig did his best not to let his anger show. He hadn't wanted to come here. Folding his arms across the top of his chest, he let one of his men deal with the man behind the counter. "Let's see," the other soldier mused, counting heads in the group before turning back to speak in broken
Spanish, "five cup of the Sangria-"

"I'm not having any," Ludwig interrupted, "so just four. Do you believe me yet?" The man looked quizzically at his commanding officer for a moment before realization dawned in his eyes and he turned back to Antonio. "Four cup of the Sangria, and... and boss-... is you seen boss today?"

He nodded at Ludwig, who replied with a frown. Even he'd manage to learn a little more Spanish than this... and although he quite disliked using it, it was the only way the locals could understand them. "Tell them I was in here earlier," he commanded of the clerk, "they don't believe it." His eyes went back to scanning the shelves so he'd have somewhere other to look than at the Spaniard's still-smiling face. The man was insufferable.

"Ehhh~? Boss? Oh... Him?" Antonio just gave a cute, quizzical tilt of his head before pointing at Ludwig. "I... I don't know! He seems familiar..." He continued, tapping his chin with a free hand. Upon seeing the other male shift uncomfortably, the Spaniard just sighed before shrugging. "Yes. I met him before siesta. He wanted Sangria, but I didn't have any. I promised him a free cup whenever he came by again." The Spaniard finished with a small chuckle. Yes, he had lied, but the blond had gotten what he wanted, right? Confirmation of his presence?

The brunette quickly whipped out a few glasses from under the counter, freshly washed by his little sister, before ladling the sweet, chilled drink into each one. "Half a mark each. Just because I feel generous~" the male's voice came out in a very sing-song tone, obviously gathering joy from teasing the German. He didn't quite know why it was enjoyable, he just hoped that it wouldn't blow up in his face.

He lined up four glasses of Sangria, leaving the fifth at the edge of the counter to see if the blond would actually come up and take the free offering. 

Ludwig ground his teeth together as the Spaniard happily pretended not to know him for a little while. He would have given the other a real piece of his mind, but he didn't speak enough of the language to do so. Luckily, fate seemed to be on his side, and the other gave up harassing him - at least openly. Giving a short sigh, his frown deepened; he hadn't come for the Sangria... but he had no idea how to react when the other poured him a free glass of his mens' beloved drink. As the other soldiers paid for the drinks and chatted amongst themselves, Ludwig stared moodily at the single glass left for him, feeling torn. It was a generous gesture, of course, but did he honestly want to give the other the satisfaction of having gotten to him?

Feeling eyes on him, Ludwig glanced over and saw his men were looking at him expectantly. Oh... fine, if he had no other damn choice. Crossing to the counter, he picked up the glass and took a very slow, small sip of the dark cool liquid. It was actually quite good, he had to admit - very refreshing. But this one would be the last he'd be having for a while. He wasn't keen on being so close to somebody who could obviously manipulate him so easily.

"What do you think, sir?" one of the other soldiers asked. "Not bad," Ludwig answered flatly. "Still not as good as beer."

"I'm glad it's up to par, sir. I'd never want to serve something bad to a great soldier such as yourself. That would just be disrespectful." Once again, Antonio rested himself on the counter, his hands and long fingers cradling his face, and his gaze fixed on the 'boss'. Of course, the knew that most of the men wouldn't understand what he said, but maybe, just maybe, the stuffy blond man would catch on to his dry sarcasm. He wondered how the other would respond. The blond didn't seem like a man that was messed with often, and Antonio was a man that loved to walk on egg shells.

"If you like it, you should definitely come back for more." Antonio said, raising his eyes to meet the other's. "What was your name again? I don't think I caught it last time you were here." he asked in a more hushed tone, his voice giving off the impression of innocence, which really did fit perfectly with the Spaniard's face. In his head, he tried to compare the blue of the other's eyes to something. He went through quite a few things, before finally coming up with something.

A stormy sea.

Deep, twisting, churning, painful. What had happened to make this man look this way? Antonio didn't understand it. Maybe Nazis were just trained to be broody and angry. But whenever he looked at the other men's eyes, though still stern most of the time, they still had a bit of life in them. This man... he was full of turmoil.

Finally, he willed himself to look away, feeling oddly shaken. Something inside wanted to make that storm go away. Maybe if he showed the other God's love... maybe even if he showed the other how to loosen up...

No, no. He couldn't do that. He was a filthy Nazi. He shouldn't even be talking with them. If he wasn't selling them food and drinks, Antonio was sure that they would have beaten or ridiculed him by now. He had no place to help one of those demons. They deserved whatever hell they lived in.

Observant as he was, the sarcasm in the other's tone did not miss Ludwig's attention. His temper flared and boiled in his veins; this is what happened when the locals didn't know their place. But this man especially seemed to delight in pissing off just him. He knew the brunette could see the gun strapped at his hip and the military insignia on his jacket; he also knew that if he hurt or even killed him, the grinning Spaniard would still somehow have the last laugh. Ludwig had never met anyone before who so readily flew into the face of authority.

Draining the glass of Sangria, he set the empty vessel on the counter, unwilling to let go without at least one more dig, "Next time, you can give me something that isn't so obviously made with ditch water. I think I'll stick to the oranges and tobacco." As the other soldiers were occupied with talking amongst themselves and examining the various goods, Ludwig had free reign to abuse the clerk as much as he wanted.

"I'm Officer Beilschmidt. You don't get my first name," he replied cooly, noting that the other man had gotten more sincere. Well, he was either a weirdo or a very good liar. And he had a surprisingly sweet face for someone with so tricky of a mind. That was dangerous. More dangerous than the two factions of Spaniards fighting here and there in the streets as the government slowly crumbled.

After another moment or so, Ludwig noticed that the clerk hadn't looked away. "Why are you staring at me?" he demanded, looking somewhat bothered. The clerk's green eyes were very searching; Ludwig felt as though he'd been looked through rather than looked at. "Are you jealous that I've got purer blood than you?" he added, not feeling sure enough in his position with just the one simple question.

Officer Bielschmidt's words struck him like a hard slap, even visibly making the Spaniard flinch. Oh, how his lips wanted to curl into a cruel sneer; to take that glass bowl of sangria and dump it over the soldiers head. How he wanted to watch that dark liquid run over the other's arrogant face like the blood that he spoke of. But he was a good Catholic, and good Catholics did not hurt others, lest it be in the name of the Lord.

So instead of all the biting remarks that Antonio knew he could spew, the brunette just let his smile slip, leaving only a soft grimace. "I will speak in terms that a hound like you can understand. King James Bible-- You all still read the bible, right?" he spoke softly, his eyes lowered so as not to set himself off by looking upon the light-skinned demon. "17:26. 'And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation.'" he finished, reciting the verse in perfect English, knowing that the other probably didn't speak enough Spanish to understand it in his native tongue.

Sure, Antonio had never been very bright. He had failed the bit of schooling he had been allowed, and knew little to nothing of things beyond the lands of Spain. But he did have extensive knowledge of the bible, both the Christian and Catholic versions. He often visited churches along the countryside, speaking with priests about the the word of God and the languages of said words. Antonio had always been intrigued by languages, and took to learning certain verses in different tongues.

"Now, my dear soldiers, I am sorry to say that I need to close up. I must head home to cook dinner for my family. I do hope that you all come back and visit me soon!" Antonio flashed one of his fake grins, motioning airily to the door. Before the officer could turn to leave himself, Antonio caught his eyes again, his own stare fixed on the male as if he were trying to stab him with his gaze alone. "And may God have mercy on your souls." he added in a whisper before finally tearing his stare away.

Spoiler:

Oh, Ludwig could tell the other man wanted to hurt him or insult him. That was the point. The blond hated to be messed with in a way he couldn't control, so he'd thrown out one of his nastiest insults. And the effect had been perfect: the Spaniard had flinched, and acidic anger rose in his green eyes, but he and Ludwig both knew that if this escalated to blows, the German would win. The clerk hadn't apologized, though, which was new. Ignoring the casual slights interspersed within the other's words, Ludwig folded his arms and listened with narrowed eyes to what the brunette had to say.

Of course Ludwig had read the Bible; it had been one of the few books he'd managed to obtain. But his leader had adapted and reinterpreted parts of it, saying it had been written specifically to lie to certain peoples. Ludwig felt confused. But before he could raise the issue, he and his men were being ushered out.

The others, who hadn't taken part in the argument, waved happily and thanked the merchant for the drinks, returning the glasses to the counter. Ludwig followed behind as always, his icy gaze becoming even colder as he caught the last parting words the clerk had to offer. No, no, he certainly wouldn't be coming back here any time soon - not even for the oranges. But as the group of soldiers walked back to the barracks, Ludwig couldn't deny that he'd been a little shaken up. He hadn't seen many people at all speak with the kind of fire in their voice and expression that the other had just shown him. The clerk wasn't just joking around to scare the men. Sighing, Ludwig tried to shake the chills out of himself, but the feeling didn't entirely leave his system.

At dinner, he picked at his meal reluctantly before giving up, grabbing a well-worn book and a small canvas bag and setting out once again for the lake. Maybe he could get in a little reading time before the sun set; they'd been ordered to conserve electricity so all the funds could be put into the German war machine. Ludwig didn't mind, but he did miss reading, and he really needed something to take his mind off of the images of fury and fire that kept sliding into his thoughts.

Finding a quiet tree by the shore, he sat down against it and lit a cigarette, flipping his book open. The pages were stained and filthy; luxuries like books weren't usually in a soldier's possessions and Ludwig had brought only a few, reading them over and over just for comfort.

Spoiler:

It wasn't until the last of the soldier had left the store that Antonio sunk to the ground, letting out a loud grunt of frustration. Stupid Nazi and his stupid glare and his stupid words! In all honesty, though, it wasn't the fact that the other spoke such vile words. Deep down, Antonio knew he was frustrated because the German male looked so cold and dead. He wished with all of his heart that he could change people like that. He wished with all of the passion in his soul that people who taught young men like that man in the store to be so hateful would be sent to death, and then to the deepest pits of hell so that they could face the wrath of El Diablo himself.

It took a good 10 minutes before Antonio had calmed himself down enough to stand. He closed the store early and walked back up to his house, a frown still on his face. What he had told the soldiers hadn't really been a lie; when he got in the house, his second sister, Lucinda, was standing at the stove, preparing dinner. She called out for Antonio to help her, which he did, until their dinner was ready. They had more than most of the people in town. Starvation was common at the moment, so having even just the slightest bit of meat was an extreme rarity. But they had a small portion of salted beef to share amongst themselves, and for that, the Spaniard was thankful.

After dinner, Antonio excused himself to go bathe in the lake below the hill. He figured that a nice dip in the lake was just what he needed to feel better. The Spaniard peeled his work clothes off before sinking into the lukewarm water, and sure enough, his anger seemed to melt away. Antonio let out a large sigh before starting to swim along in the water. Little fish nipped at his toes, eliciting an actual smile from the Spaniard, unlike the ones that he so frequently flashed at his store.

The bath was peaceful for a good 10 minutes. That was, until the scent of tobacco hit his senses. He crinkled his nose before chuckling and swimming over to the offending odor. Maybe one of his friends had decided to have an early evening smoke.

"Hey! Hey, who's over there? Ina? Alonzo? Why are you smoking so early? Don't drop it if it's lit, you might start a fi-" Antonio cut himself off mid-sentence as he saw who resided behind the tree. How very strange. Antonio sunk as far into the water as he could without loosing sight of the other male. When he was just relaxing... He didn't look all the dangerous. In fact... he looked fairly normal. A bit stiff, but nothing like he had earlier.

'I wonder' Antonio mused, floating silently behind the safety of so driftwood, 'what God's reason for this is.' Antonio was a strong believer in the idea that 'everything happened for a reason', and meeting someone three times in the same day was no coincidence. What was God trying to say? Antonio intended to find out.

Hearing native Spanish break the peaceful silence of the lake - and understanding a little bit of it - Ludwig looked up sharply and glanced around with suspicious eyes. Whoever had been looking for their friends had obviously spotted him and realized their mistake, though, so the problem resolved itself. Heaving a short sigh, he flicked the finished cigarette into the shallows, listening to the sharp hiss of the dying ember with a satisfied face before turning back to his book.

The long orange rays of the evening sun had yet to disappear entirely, but around the edges of the lake, shops and homes that could afford electricity were blinking into life, probably just to flaunt their good fortune. The city had been hopeless for a while... the residents were poor, and the shops barely catered to anyone but the foreigners nowadays. The atmosphere, instead of being lively, just felt depressing to Ludwig, which is why most evenings, he ended up someplace quiet with a book before turning in early for the night.

A sloshing noise from the water drew his attention yet again; his head jerked back up and he scanned the area. He couldn't see the ducks from earlier... maybe turtles or fish lived here? It was an awfully big lake. The rustling returned after a moment, closer and sounding a lot more like swimming, and Ludwig's frown intensified. "Who's there?" he snapped in German, shutting his book and standing to his feet. "Is this some kind of prank?"