Another pretty face (Liza/Gil)

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

Things had gone different than expected. Picking up his beer and taking a large swig, Gilbert's mind could only go over what had happened. It had been a regular job, just fixing a woman's lighting problem and then he could have been on his way. But no, of course that wasn't the case. Instead through a weird turn of events, he found himself agreeing to marry her, to be her husband to help her avoid some sort of scandal. To him, what had happened wasn’t worthy of making a fuss, it could have all been easily explained and everyone’s lives continued as normal. Taking another large swig, he could only look in the mirror, hoping that some sort of answer or some miraculous idea would be revealed to him.

Staring back at him was his own reflection, the eyes looked like they were hiding something beneath there reflective surface, and indeed they were. This faux engagement was the biggest one, the one that was forefront in his mind. He had spent all of his life avoiding this very thing. Marriage just wasn’t a cup of tea, or his favorite brand of alcohol in this case. There really wasn’t a reason why he avoided it that he could think of, he just didn’t want to be tied down to one person only. He wanted to be able to go out with his friends whenever he wanted and do what he wanted without having to arrange it with someone else. Deep down though, something was trying to tell him he avoided it so much cause he didn’t want to be hurt; he didn’t want to open himself up to another person the way marriage would have and have it all come falling apart around him, leaving jagged wounds in his psyche.

His vision drifted across his face, taking in the frown that was plastered across his visage and could only sigh. It had been a long time since he had taken to drinking to try to solve an issue. Mostly he was just trying to figure out if he was doing the right thing in the long run, to think about someone else’s life and how his own actions could affect it. Gilbert knew he was a selfish individual; more concerned about keeping his life comfy in the way he liked it than going out of his way to help people.

Lip twitching some, a thought floated through his head and he latched onto it. The agreement had been made, and he was being rewarded for it, monetary gains at least. Of course he couldn’t say no to her when she was desperate for his help. He just had to remember right now that it would all be worth it in the end. He ignored the part that tried to tell him he would enjoy it and it would show him there was nothing wrong with the institution, but he ignored it for now, it wasn’t a concept he wanted to mull over.

Picking up his free hand, and running it though his hair, he admired himself. Messy white-blond hair, unusual eyes and a great sense of humor to round out the handsome package, of course he was a great catch. Laughing silently, he was able to smile for the first time in days. It would all work out, they both go something out of it, and who knows, perhaps he could get her out of her tight shell and get Mari to enjoy herself for once in her life.

“The night is young and I’m merely starting.”

[Elizabeta Hedevary]

if i'm a danger to myself Just think what I could do to you Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt

Sometimes, she absolutely hated bureaucracy. Bureaucracy prevented her from jumping right in and taking action at times. Sure, sometimes she would go off and do things on her own, things that politicians probably weren't supposed to dirty her hands with, but if politicians were meant to be civil servants, why not do something for the people? Why order people around, when you could simply do whatever needs to get done on your own? It was times like these that she wished she pursued the law enforcement route, but by gones will be bye gones. She probably would have switched to that path midway through education, had she not been so hung up on her exhusband... but that was a whole other world of troubles.

Her marriage was in ruins. It was restrictive, it was damn frustrating, and she knew in her heart that it was best that they had split. However, that didn't excuse that there was still love in her heart. She was cold, and she was hurt, but damn it, that didn't excuse that there was still love in her heart. This sort of love was poisonous, however. She very well knew that. It was painful, and she inflicted it upon herself. It was relatively clear to her that he quickly moved on. She read about it every month, with every copy of The Sun she brought to the bar. He was disowned and probably had half a dozen illegitimate children running around Europe by now for all she cared. 

But damn, she tortured herself with the fact every single time she came to the bar. Every single time. She had her copy of The Sun in front of her with her glass of gin and tonic. Off bedding the heir to the title of Duchess of Rothesay, aren't you? How does it feel there? I hope you're warm. 

Of course, she didn't try to do this often. Drinking tended to make her contemplate the problems even more. Plus, being a politician in a bar didn't make for a good public image. Unlike some people, she still had enough dignity to try to maintain a good image. She already had to deal with the harried image of being a divorcee to one of the most prestigious houses in continental Europe, and so being at this bar really wasn't the best thing she could do for herself. Not that she was very good at knowing what was good for herself.

The Sun really was a piece of trash, she had to admit to that. Besides the stories they often exposed of her former husband, there really wasn't much else that she enjoyed reading. At least what they ran these days were exposure pieces, rather than real time. Someone would approach The Sun with what they claim to be a story of one of her ex's conquests. Or they would expose an alleged illegitimate child. He seemed to be living life quieter nowadays. She wasn't sure whether she should feel good about that fact, or not. It gave her less material to grovel about, and less material for The Sun to milk.

“The night is young and I’m merely starting.”

She rarely tried to talk to any of these types that she met at the bar, but his voice rang pretty darn loud and clear. She raised an eyebrow at the statement, though. He didn't seem drunk (yet), but that was a bit of a bold phrase to announce at a bar. Starting what? Living? 

"Starting what? Not a bar fight, I'd hope, because if you are, you'd have some strong adversary."

OWL

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

"Starting what? Not a bar fight, I'd hope, because if you are, you'd have some strong adversary."

Blinking as someone actually responded to him, he turned his head and his eyes landed on a bold figure of a woman sitting near him. When did she sit down? Was she always there. Had the alcohol invaded his brain enough to where he was imagining people now? Though he did admit that if she was a fleeting figure of his imagination, he had to give it points for making her quite handsome. He wouldn’t say that she was pretty, no; she was more than that. Mari was pretty, a strong confident pretty. This lady though. She radiated a strength that was more than business. Perhaps it was because he could see the lines f muscles as he looked her over, gauging the threat she could have been to him if he were meaning to start a fight. He could tell this woman had a story, but fortunately, it seemed enough to make her resort to drinking like it did himself. Slowly, his lips slipped into a grin and he leaned against the bar, eyes sparkling.

“You think you could take me if I were gonna start a bar fight, girly?”

Alright, he knew that was a bit much for him, and he really did no better, but sometimes he acted before he spoke, the words sliding out of his mouth before the little thing in his brain could put pull them out of the lineup and ground them into dust. Dust, honestly like he could probably be if this lady decided to take him to task on unfortunate word choice. And despite the fact he didn’t look drunk, give it just a little bit of time before those drinks caught up with him. Coughing once, he waved the bartender over and sat down.

“Nother drink for my new friend here, she looks like she could use it Heh, even more than I could a few minutes ago. And another for me too, might as well make this shit fest a real party.”

Swiveling himself around so he could face her, he narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment. Looking her over again, he huffed and shrugged before downing the last of the drink he had before. If anything, he’d have a drink with a pretty lady. Worst case, he got the last of his drink before she decked him and he had a souvenir of his night out, more than likely having it resulting in a black eye which he would get taken to task over by his future bride. It took him a bit not to shudder at that thought, but he held it in, no need for anyone to think it was the alcohol or the woman he was talking to.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere… you look familiar to me…. But I can’t place where…. And what’s your story? You look like you got one the way your nursing that drink of yours.

[Elizabeta Hedevary]

if i'm a danger to myself Just think what I could do to you Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt

Normally, a proper British politician would not pick fights in bars. Nor would she try to interact with the unruly types. It seemed that politicians were there to please the rich, who placed them in positions of power. It's not as if the votes were truly the deciding factor on who is in power. But of course, they could be just what the institution of government needed to oust people out of its coveted seats.

“You think you could take me if I were gonna start a bar fight, girly?”

None of that protocol mattered when a challenge had been issued and her pride had been put into question (though in this case, the challenge didn't question her pride— she easily did that herself through coming to this bar in the first place). So, in a move that would have made Michael Collins roll his eyes and insult her for being "an impulsive Hungarian," and her old ex-mother-in-law that bastardess Viktoria von Edelstein scoff at her improperness, she responded to the challenge instead of steeling herself as any poker-faced Brit would. The Hungarian equestrian spirit within her stayed strong in the face of a challenge, after all. 

"I could easily take you. Five times over."

And she probably would have taken him on, even if he were much more physically built than her. But this guy seemed scrawny (not to the extent of her ex-husband), so she had some confidence in saying so. And even if he managed to get her down on her knees, she probably would still stubbornly try to pick a fight with him at this point. The Brits were a bit more restrained for her taste, and her restraint has been put on test time and again. But here in this place, she felt less restrained by her job and her broken marriage. As free as the time she rode through the fields outside Tiszagyenda barefoot. All she had to do was down a drink as justification and let her words run free.

However, it didn't seem as if he wanted to pick a fight. Maybe he felt amused at her counter. Seemed a bit arrogant at the very least.

“Nother drink for my new friend here, she looks like she could use it Heh, even more than I could a few minutes ago. And another for me too, might as well make this shit fest a real party.”

She happened to like the feeling of purchasing her own drink, being her own breadwinner. So the fact that he was offering to purchase a drink was a bit of a weird feeling. Even if Roderich had done so for her all the time. But oh well. Free drink.

"Gin and tonic for me, then," she said. 

The bartender set down the drinks, and she nonchalantly took her gin and tonic, taking a swig without looking to her benefactor.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere… you look familiar to me…. But I can’t place where…. And what’s your story? You look like you got one the way your nursing that drink of yours."

"I prefer keeping my name out of the bars, thank you very much. But if you pay attention to the news, if anyone does, you're sure to know me," she said, putting down her drink. She crossed her arms at that last statement. Which story would he be asking for anyways? The story of the Hungarian immigrant success story, or the story of the scandal that followed her from the cold reaches of Austria?

"You tell me which story you want to hear. I tell two."

OWL

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

”I could easily take you, five times over"

Gilbert could only keep up his grin at her response. He liked people able to have witty retorts to the lines he left out there, wanting someone to bite down on. With how circumstances were, this would probably be his last night out; randomly having fun...the night with his friends would come later. He hoped she would suit his needs, even if it was only a funny story.

"I prefer keeping my name out of the bars, thank you very much. But if you pay attention to the news, if anyone does, you're sure to know me,"

Well this was embarrassing, for all he worked in news, he really only paid attention to stuff he could write about, or the stuff that his rivals did. If she was famous, he really had no idea. Scratching the back of his head for a minute, he grinned and laughed. Turning more to face her, he leaned his elbows on his knees and studied her. She was interesting alright; more interesting than a lot of people he had met recently. He wanted to get to know her, even to only try and make friends with her. He needed more feisty friends to keep him on his toes and to keep him from getting too bored, and this lady promised that in spades.

"It’s alright to keep your name out of the bar, I won’t tell a soul. But you can call me Gilbert. And the story? How about your favorite pet? If you ever had one that is. Either that, or if you could explain to me the saying all roads lead to Rome, thats a good tale I hear."

She said she only had two stories; he was going to show that she had more, just not all of them on the forefront of her mind.

[Elizabeta Hedevary]

if i'm a danger to myself Just think what I could do to you Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt

If there was one word Eliza's enemies would describe her as, it would be "cocky." And if one knew a thing about having enemies, would would be able to say that there will always be a grain of truth in what the adversary says about you. They didn't tend to hold the delusions that fanatics held. And in truth, she could be a bit cocky. Impulsive, even. Some of the many characteristics that drove her marriage apart, in truth.

She didn't know what she was saying. She hated talking to people when she was on the path to intoxication. All the wrong words would come out.

"It’s alright to keep your name out of the bar, I won’t tell a soul. But you can call me Gilbert. And the story? How about your favorite pet? If you ever had one that is. Either that, or if you could explain to me the saying all roads lead to Rome, thats a good tale I hear."

And now begins a game of Twenty Questions. This Gilbert fellow seemed a bit too curious with the way he wanted to get a story out of her, but from the way he prompted her, well... It looks like she wouldn't be able to play the same old records that she parroted with every interview and conversation that arose about her past. In her political experience, she found that people were only interested in the dirt of the past. 

"I can't tell you anything about all roads leading to Rome. I'm no philosopher," she said, swirling her glass of gin and tonic. "Heck, I probably can't tell you anything about Freud or Plato. Not that they'd concern me. But favorite pet?"

She snorted at the idea of telling a stranger about her favorite pet. That was a new one. After all, it was always the hard, concrete questions that people asked. Or the questions that could turn up dirt and scandal in the past. No one went about asking Ludwig Beilschmidt, up and coming politician and potential Prime Minister, what his favorite pet was, or what he liked having for dinner. No one cares about those kinds of things, anyway.

Her current pet was a Hungarian Komondor, a huge living mop by the name Traian. A very lovable, noble creature that protected her home and would affectionately greet her every night. But favorite pet of all time... The most beloved one had to be...

Well that's depressing. She was a great horse, but...

"Her name was Rózsa. She was a Mezohegyes Sport Horse. My first horse. My main competing horse. " she said, staring into her liquid poison. 

Rózsa was one of the most beautiful horses that she had ever seen. Her father glowed with pride when he presented his young five-year-old daughter the bold pony, which he had personally bought in Mezohegyes itself. Rózsa had served her well and had grown up with her. She was the kind of horse that could replace human friendship for her. In fact, she preferred Rózsa's company, rather than the company of her classmates and neighbors. 

Erzsi and Rózsa are one and the same! Inseperable. her father had said

Don't you think the girl needs to spend a little less time at the stables? You spend way too much time there as it is. A girl needs friends. her mother replied.

"She was a good horse. A very good horse. I still have no clue as to why she would have... Well, I wasn't there to see it, and adults were inclined to believe what they believed. Rózsa wasn't quite as tiring to be around as Traian could be," she said. "Though I wouldn't consider Rózsa to be journalistic material if that's what you're looking for. I will say that Lutz is probably an even bigger dog person than me. His three dogs play like playing with Traian when we have Labour Party retreats."

OWL

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

"Heck, I probably can't tell you anything about Freud or Plato. Not that they concern me. But favorite pet?”

Gilbert could only laugh as she snorted at his question. Yes, he knew it was an odd question, but he was typically an odd guy. He could tell this woman was wary of him and he wanted to relieve that wariness. He wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't dream of it. He only wanted to pass the time and if making a stranger laugh was what was needed, that’s what he was going to do.

"All you need to know about Freud and Plato was that all Freud cared about was dicks and Plato about logic and shit." He had to chuckle at his own words, dick jokes could still make him laugh, even though he was a usually a mature adult. He watched her though for her reaction to the joke, to see if she would laugh along with. "But yes, your favorite pet?"

"Her name was Rozsa..."

He continued to look at her as she told him about her beloved horse. From watching her face, he could really tell how much she loved that horse. Though, he was confused and slightly concerned as to why she mentioned journalistic material. Did she recognize him as a freelance journalist from some of his small columns? He hoped not… Though he was even more confused as to why she mentioned Lutz and his dogs.. was this the same man he met in the park with the dogs?

"Lutz? Is that short for Ludwig? I met him in the park some time ago. I must admit he has cute dogs. The only other German person I've met around here actually. ...Labor Party? You two in government? Well shit, no wonder he didn't want to talk to me very much. Can't say I blame him, though I told him wasn’t looking for anything, just a regular conversation that’s all."

Running his hand through his already spiky hair, he frowned and sighed. "Verdammt. So uncool. I'll have to find a way to make up for it… Perhaps ask Mari if she knows a way to smooth things over. I thought I had recognized him from somewhere."

Looking back at her after his little outburst, he took a drink of his alcohol and set it back down, letting the warmth burn down his throat and calm him. Smiling at her, he looked slightly embarrassed for his outburst, though he was stubborn enough to not admit it.