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Apr. 30th, 2010 10:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
historizeI watched a movie called "The Spanish Apartment" this is directly based on the scene where the French guy goes to the apartment to meet his new roommates. One is English, one is Spanish, one is Italian, one is German and one is Danish.
It is a hilariously fun movie.
He had come to London to study. And what a harrowing experience. So many forms and fills and people to go through and red tape to destroy. But was it worth it?
Worth it like his morning run on Sundays so he could swing by and get a fresh, hot doughnut from the local bakery?
Yes.
He looked over the city of London. Alfred was used to big cities. He’d grown up on the slick city streets of New York. His father had been a rural man but his mother had been five feet of concrete and born in that same city. She was blunt and no-nonsense and terrifying. His father drank his gin and laughed at her. And so a braver man Alfred never met.
They’d been proud of his study in London. Unpaid but he was confident he could find a job doing something and he’d saved up a lot of money to stay somewhere cheap while he hunted for an apartment.
Yes…London was beautiful.
But there was a lot of sitting at cafes and combing through newspapers until he found one ad in particular…
And so now he was here, sitting down at a chipped, thick table. It was quite long. And he was faced with several stares, all in a semi-circle.
Arthur Kirkland, who was clearly the one to think he was in control, sat to Alfred’s left. He had rich green eyes and sandy brown hair and a cup of tea in a surprisingly flowery saucer next to his immaculately trimmed fingernails. He was English and the only one in the apartment to claim as such. As Alfred had discovered, everyone here was from somewhere different.
There was another man in a pair of slacks and a button up with stripes. His hair was blond and wavy and pulled back. He was sitting beside Arthur and he was smoking, sharing cigarettes with a dark-haired Italian next to him. This man was Francis Bonnefoy, a Frenchman. The dark-haired Italian next to him was smiling vacantly. His name was Feliciano Varga. He wore a soccer (football, Alfred reminded himself, football) shirt and trousers, headphones hung around his neck.
There was a German, Ludwig, who had bright blond hair and blue eyes and he was studying to be an engineer. He watched Alfred sternly. In the back, Antonio, the Spaniard, was drinking with a large, blond Dane sitting beside him who went by Vidrik.
In the back corner pocket, a Russian. And Arthur the Englishman had given him a particularly hard look as if to say, The political ramifications of housing an American and a Russian in the same place had better not be a problem. Else I will make you eat a chip sandwich, which will make you want to vomit.
And indeed they did make him want to vomit. It sounded like a neat idea, French fries on bread so he’d tried one in a “chippie”. But by the fourth bite, he started feeling sick.
Anyway, Alfred needed a place to stay and while he was aware of politics, he also knew that America and Russia were kinda tryin’ to be chill with each other right now. So Alfred nodded politely to the Russian, who went by Ivan.
Ludwig sat forward at the table and pulled out a notebook and an ink pen. “I will be having some questions for you.” His English was very good and any awkward stumbling was instantly forgiven. His English was much better than Alfred’s German, in any case. Ludwig looked down at his list. “We have many people because more people makes the rent more—cheaper. We will give you an allotment of time in which to find work if you do not have a place. Will you be ready?”
Alfred smiled and nodded. “I’ve already got money put back until I find work.”
“Nationality cannot be an issue here because we are all so different and we need for it to work—for things to be cool between all of us.”
“Yeah, that’s great. America’s really multicultural, so it’s no big deal.”
The Frenchman scoffed softly.
Ludwig ignored that. “What are you studying?”
Alfred blinked. That was a weird question. “Uh. Architecture and history.”
Ludwig nodded. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”
This sent up a din. Vidrik started laughing. “You can’t ask him that!”
Antonio pointed at them. “That is not fair—I don’t know—I’ll bet Arthur doesn’t even know what he’s going to do in five years—“
“Besides reviving the British Empire and taking over some small country in—“
“Shut it, Vidrik!” Arthur said severely.
“See,” said Vidrik, “he doesn’t want anyone knowing his evil plans.”
Antonio leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“You can’t ask him that, Ludwig—“ Francis said, holding his glass of brandy out to one side.
“This is a very normal question!”
“No, it isn’t. You are twenty-three, not forty-five.”
“No, it is important to understanding the psychology—“
“Oh, oh, Ludwig,” said Feliciano, adjusting his headphones and leaning into Ludwig’s space. “I understand—look—it’s okay. It’s okay.” He patted Ludwig’s back comfortingly. “Yes, there, there.”
Alfred just grinned. What a wonderful group!
Antonio said, “You are from America, yes—so you must know some Spanish?”
Alfred nodded. “Si.” He grinned.
Antonio laughed. "You will do just fine."
Ivan said, "Certainly. He may."
Alfred looked at him. "Yeah..."
Ivan smiled.
....well. He'd see how it went.
It is a hilariously fun movie.
He had come to London to study. And what a harrowing experience. So many forms and fills and people to go through and red tape to destroy. But was it worth it?
Worth it like his morning run on Sundays so he could swing by and get a fresh, hot doughnut from the local bakery?
Yes.
He looked over the city of London. Alfred was used to big cities. He’d grown up on the slick city streets of New York. His father had been a rural man but his mother had been five feet of concrete and born in that same city. She was blunt and no-nonsense and terrifying. His father drank his gin and laughed at her. And so a braver man Alfred never met.
They’d been proud of his study in London. Unpaid but he was confident he could find a job doing something and he’d saved up a lot of money to stay somewhere cheap while he hunted for an apartment.
Yes…London was beautiful.
But there was a lot of sitting at cafes and combing through newspapers until he found one ad in particular…
And so now he was here, sitting down at a chipped, thick table. It was quite long. And he was faced with several stares, all in a semi-circle.
Arthur Kirkland, who was clearly the one to think he was in control, sat to Alfred’s left. He had rich green eyes and sandy brown hair and a cup of tea in a surprisingly flowery saucer next to his immaculately trimmed fingernails. He was English and the only one in the apartment to claim as such. As Alfred had discovered, everyone here was from somewhere different.
There was another man in a pair of slacks and a button up with stripes. His hair was blond and wavy and pulled back. He was sitting beside Arthur and he was smoking, sharing cigarettes with a dark-haired Italian next to him. This man was Francis Bonnefoy, a Frenchman. The dark-haired Italian next to him was smiling vacantly. His name was Feliciano Varga. He wore a soccer (football, Alfred reminded himself, football) shirt and trousers, headphones hung around his neck.
There was a German, Ludwig, who had bright blond hair and blue eyes and he was studying to be an engineer. He watched Alfred sternly. In the back, Antonio, the Spaniard, was drinking with a large, blond Dane sitting beside him who went by Vidrik.
In the back corner pocket, a Russian. And Arthur the Englishman had given him a particularly hard look as if to say, The political ramifications of housing an American and a Russian in the same place had better not be a problem. Else I will make you eat a chip sandwich, which will make you want to vomit.
And indeed they did make him want to vomit. It sounded like a neat idea, French fries on bread so he’d tried one in a “chippie”. But by the fourth bite, he started feeling sick.
Anyway, Alfred needed a place to stay and while he was aware of politics, he also knew that America and Russia were kinda tryin’ to be chill with each other right now. So Alfred nodded politely to the Russian, who went by Ivan.
Ludwig sat forward at the table and pulled out a notebook and an ink pen. “I will be having some questions for you.” His English was very good and any awkward stumbling was instantly forgiven. His English was much better than Alfred’s German, in any case. Ludwig looked down at his list. “We have many people because more people makes the rent more—cheaper. We will give you an allotment of time in which to find work if you do not have a place. Will you be ready?”
Alfred smiled and nodded. “I’ve already got money put back until I find work.”
“Nationality cannot be an issue here because we are all so different and we need for it to work—for things to be cool between all of us.”
“Yeah, that’s great. America’s really multicultural, so it’s no big deal.”
The Frenchman scoffed softly.
Ludwig ignored that. “What are you studying?”
Alfred blinked. That was a weird question. “Uh. Architecture and history.”
Ludwig nodded. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”
This sent up a din. Vidrik started laughing. “You can’t ask him that!”
Antonio pointed at them. “That is not fair—I don’t know—I’ll bet Arthur doesn’t even know what he’s going to do in five years—“
“Besides reviving the British Empire and taking over some small country in—“
“Shut it, Vidrik!” Arthur said severely.
“See,” said Vidrik, “he doesn’t want anyone knowing his evil plans.”
Antonio leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“You can’t ask him that, Ludwig—“ Francis said, holding his glass of brandy out to one side.
“This is a very normal question!”
“No, it isn’t. You are twenty-three, not forty-five.”
“No, it is important to understanding the psychology—“
“Oh, oh, Ludwig,” said Feliciano, adjusting his headphones and leaning into Ludwig’s space. “I understand—look—it’s okay. It’s okay.” He patted Ludwig’s back comfortingly. “Yes, there, there.”
Alfred just grinned. What a wonderful group!
Antonio said, “You are from America, yes—so you must know some Spanish?”
Alfred nodded. “Si.” He grinned.
Antonio laughed. "You will do just fine."
Ivan said, "Certainly. He may."
Alfred looked at him. "Yeah..."
Ivan smiled.
....well. He'd see how it went.
