Character(s) or Pairing(s): Unrequited Prussia/Spain, hinted France/Seychelles, Spamano, mentioned GerIta
Rating: T (to be safe)
Warnings: Gender Bent Characters, AU, crack pairing
Summary: If anyone has asked her why she was standing in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, she would have laughed and told them to mind their own business.
If anyone has asked her why she was standing in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, she would have laughed and told them to mind their own business. However, she wouldn't have been able to explain the actual reason she was where she was, doing what she was doing. She wasn't entirely sure of it. She had always gotten compliments on her long thick white hair, had always been proud of it.
But, all of today at school a feeling of hatred for her hair had followed her around. It just seemed to be in her way. In her face, and making her neck and shoulder hot. She didn't like the way it fell around her, like she usually did, and when Francis sunk his hands into it at lunch, she'd nearly shrieked at him to get away from her. As if someone else touching it was some horrible sin.
So, rather then try and figure out why her hair was suddenly so annoying, she had come home, grabbed the scissors from the kitchen and went straight to the bathroom.
She had the house to herself for about another hour. Ludwig wouldn't be home until after his club, and after that his little Italian girlfriend would probably beg him to take her out for pasta or something. Not that Mathilda had a problem with Felicia, she really liked the girl. Right now, she was grateful. Ludwig would just try and stop her.
Pulling a lock of silvery white hair away from the rest, she stared at it. The scissors suddenly felt heavy, and the way her hair reflected the fluorescent light of the bathroom looked more appealing then it ever had before. She stared at it, shifting her hold, and watched the light move.
Licking her lips, she raised the scissors, and opened them, picking a spot at random, somewhere near her chin. She held her pose, the scissors ready to cut through silky strands of hair, her red eyes locked on the mirror, not the actually hair.
For just a moment, she wondered if she was making a bad move. She looked so odd, standing there in her hoodie, all white and red, the scissors a shiny silver that drew her attention.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she finally made herself do it.
The first cut was the hardest. Long silver strands falling to the sink. Her eyes opened, and her breathe caught in her throat, as she stared at the hair. She felt almost as if she'd committed some horrible crime. As if she'd killed someone, not just cut her own hair.
“I met a girl.” Antonio said, as he ran up the steps towards Francis and Mathilda.
She frowned, as those words echoed in her head, the image of her friend's face all lit up and excited flashing through her mind.
“She's cute! Like Felicia.” He practically squealed, arms waving and smile bright.
Eyes narrowed, she grabbed a fistful of hair, and started cutting again.
“You mean Catelina? Felicia's twin?” Francis asked, noncommittally, his eyes locked on the dark haired girl from Homeroom.
Antonio's face took on a shocked expression, and his words came out a bit airy, “She has a twin!?”
More hair fell into the sink, some of it clinging to her hoodie, and shirt, or falling down to the floor.
Francis snorted, “Oui. She's the older one, I think.” He didn't look interested.
Antonio got that goofy grin he always had.
Mathilda tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.
Snip snip snip
Antonio spun around on the stairs, nearly falling. The girl in question had arrived, she was yelling at Felicia, who was clinging to Ludwig, with teary gold eyes.
Catelina Vargas was a looker, but that temper of hers was well known. Even with her curly brown hair, bright gold-green eyes, and that perfectly tanned skin, she was not someone you approached easily. She was known for throwing things, and pitching a fit over the smallest detail.
Antonio hadn't heard about any of this, it seemed. He left Francis and Mathilda, rushing down the stairs, and throwing his arms around the brunette. She squirmed and shrieked at him to get his hands off of her, but he just held her closer, and went on about how cute she was.
Francis tsked, and looked at Mathilda. Blue-violet eyes boring into her, until she couldn't ignore it anymore, and turned her head away from the sickening display, to look at him directly. His expression was a bit worried, like the one he gave his younger brother whenever Arthur did something stupid.
“Êtes-vous bien, ma chère?”
She dropped the scissors. They made a clank sound when they hit the corner of the sink and fell to the floor. Her vision seemed blurry, when she looked up at herself. Her hair was a ragged mess, all uneven, though most of it did fall somewhere around her chin. For a moment, she thought of cutting it shorter, maybe shave it off? Her hands shook too much for her to hold the scissors though.
Her eyes were watery, the red more noticeable as tears filled them. Her hoodie and shirt were covered with clinging strands of hair.
She sniffed, and rubbed at her eyes, which seemed determined to leak. Giving a nasty glare at her reflection, she shrugged her hoodie off her shoulders, and pulled the ruby-red tank-top off. She left them on the floor, and stalked out of the bathroom. The white of her skin more pronounced by the black lacy bra she wore.
A booted foot slammed into the wall opposite of the bathroom door. She hated this feeling. Stalking through the house, she turned the TV in the living room on, turning it up loud enough that she couldn't hear herself think. She flipped through soap operas, cartoons, and the news, before settling on a music channel playing a block of loud angry sounding songs.
She stood and listened to it for a while, fists clenched at her sides, and eyes squeezed shut. Focusing on the sound of the music, thrumming through her, and wiping her emotions away. Soon, her painted nails were tapping against her leg, head bopping to the beat of the song. By the time next song was playing she was swinging her hips, and spinning around the room.
That was how Ludwig found her when he finally got home. In the living room, with the TV blaring music he didn't recognize. Hair sheered into an uneven tangle of white, and her body clad in nothing but a bra from the waist up, dancing on the couch. It took a total of five minutes for this to change. The first two found Ludwig in shock. Cheeks pink, and eyes wide, not sure what to do about this lewd display. The last three, he yelled at her, turned off the TV, and waved his arms frantically, telling her to get dressed.
She stumbled off the couch, laughed at him, and told him to grow up. When he sputtered, she threw bare arms around his broad shoulders, and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek, before dancing away. She left him in the living room, red from the shoulders up, glaring and tense. When she reached her room, she slumped against the closed door, and slid down to sit on the floor, running her fingers through her hair.
Alone in her room, listening to the muffled sounds of Ludwig cleaning the living back up through the door, Mathilda couldn't help but feel the tight knot of feelings form again. She glared at the wall opposite her door, and pushed up. Ignoring the shout of annoyed her brother let out when he found the mess she'd left in the bathroom, she turned on her radio, locked her bedroom door, and sprawled out on her bed.
Tomorrow at school, she knew people would ask about her hair. She would laugh and tell them to mind their own business. Because, in truth, she wasn't entirely sure why she cut it in the first place, and the little voice in the back her head that told her why, she shoved aside, because it couldn't be right.
She just wanted a new look, that was all. It didn't have anything to do with Toni and his little Italian bitch. Or the sad look Francis had given her before she brushed him off, and he went to chase his little Island girl.
Of course not.
She was too awesome to be bothered by those lame things....
Mathilda – Prussia
Felicia – North Italy
Catelina – South Italy
Êtes-vous bien, ma chère? - Are you well, my dear?