#lud his art studio? surprise me ^^

[mephistosfaust]

The words flow from him easily, too easily. Like he’s been waiting for someone—anyone—to finally ask. His voice weaves the story of Lily and their father, their mess of a childhood, all those twisted bonds that still haven’t snapped. I hear him, every word, but I’m not sure I want to.

This conversation… it got too personal, too fast.

I could say I didn’t see that coming, but that would be a lie. I brought it upon myself. Like always. Ever since she stepped into my path back in the early ’90s, everything’s spiraled. She became part of my world, whether I liked it or not. Not that I mind her, really. She’s irritating in the way younger siblings often are—a bit too noisy, a bit too eager to prove herself, and far too invested in people who don’t deserve it.

I shift slightly in my seat, feel the nervousness rise up from somewhere in my chest, tightening around my ribs. It’s not his words—it’s what they poke at. What they stir. What I don’t want to examine too closely. I take a slow breath, pretending it’s nothing, pretending I’m just listening. But my fingers betray me. They start tracing the rim of my glass, slow circles, again and again. The glass is damp with condensation. Cold. It steadies me, barely.

I kept telling myself I had enough to carry on shoulders. That I couldn’t carry someone else. But that night, I did. Out of pity, maybe. Out of pride, certainly. Out of something close to love—not the kind that burns or binds, but the kind that makes you put yourself between someone and the blow meant for them. I stepped in. I didn’t think. I just did it. Like an older brother should have. Like maybe she always hoped someone would.

“My words changed something in her?” I hear him say. It sticks in my head. Echoes. Maybe I even nod slightly. Maybe not. I don’t know anymore.

My fingers keep moving.

Maybe that’s what responsibility is. The real kind. Not just owning your mistakes and standing for consequences—that part I know. That part was beaten into me. Say yes, sir and thank you, sir, and take the punishment. Nod. Correct. Endure. I can do that. I’ve always done that.

But stepping in for someone else? Holding a line not because it’s your duty, but because no one else will? That’s different. That’s the part I’ve always avoided. Because it feels like once you start, you can’t stop. Because it means you matter. To someone. And if you matter, you can fail them. But I’m not good at that. I disappoint people. Often. I know I promised her to be there. But does she really expect me to be there?

I stare at the condensation running down my glass, watch it gather at the base and pool on the table. My hand twitches once, and I still it. No one notices, I think. Hopefully.

Eventually, I wrap my hand firmly around the glass and down the rest of my weizen—hoping it’ll wash the thoughts away with it. “What’s he planning to do with her once she has a Staatsexamen?” I ask, my tone dry, skeptical. “Use her to dismantle the institutions from the inside? Twist public law until no one knows which way is up?” Their father grows more absurd by the minute. Perhaps I should just—As I set the glass down with a heavy clink, the memo scrawled on my right hand resurfaces. Don’t start WWIII. Right. I’m not here to cause chaos. So, maybe it’s time for a change of scenery.

I raise my hand and call for the personification of Prenzlauer Berg. “That’s 6,90,” he says, not even trying to hide his Swabian accent. He holds the card reader under my nose, and while I skillfully avoid tipping 10%, 20%, or 30%, I think to myself: Almost 14 D-Mark for a fucking alcohol-free beer? Dönerpreisbremse, my ass. We need a Bierpreisbremse!

“I’m going for a smoke. And if you don’t mind,” I say as I rise, fishing out a cigarette and reaching for my briefcase, “you may take me somewhere else. My fingers are starting to itch. Maybe having a certain thirst for blood runs in the family. Even across worlds.”

He nodded. "Right. She said something about meeting you after doing a...'job.' Usually, that means she's going to show up bloodied, bruised, and grinning like a cat that just escaped with its last life. I can let her know you're with me here." He pulled out his phone and shot her a quick text. No response came yet, but he didn't expect it to so soon. He put his phone face down on the table for now.

Ludwig's questions elicited a long sigh from Alex. His face grew dark, and he drank most of his beer before he would answer. "No, I wouldn't say he did. In fact, he kind of preferred me for a while. Well, I was a boy, after all. Though, that didn't stop him from showing her affection when she did do better than me. Which just made her want it more. She pushed herself all the time for him, but he'd only acknowledge it when she was at the top. And even then, there was always some bit of criticism with it.

"I think things must have changed when I went West. I wasn't a defector, mind you. I was still as loyal as her. But I was out of the house and away from him, and he must have started giving her more attention. I don't really know much of what happened while I was away though. Just that, when I came back to visit now and then, she was happier, but also fiercer, more determined than ever to be a perfect capital. There was a weird tension between us too, but nothing happened until she was dating Thomas, and we got into a bad fight. We didn't talk much after that for a while.

"Then, the Wall came down, and everything kind of went to shit for her. She expected to die every day. And we still didn't get along. I embraced a lot of what West Germany brought to us. She didn't want any part of it. And I think that drove her closer to the old bastard. When no one else was around for her at that crucial moment, he was. Just as he'd always been." Another sigh, and he looked at the building outside the window. "He's not stupid, you know. He knows how to give the carrot as well as the stick. He told her all the things she wanted to hear and then gave her a mission to save himself and her. And when she succeeded, he rewarded her with affection and approval, albeit privately. She's always been chasing that high, and he knows just how and when to give it to her. She could never take up drugs, because he's the ultimate one she wants. And he knows it. He keeps her close because she's probably the last one of us who will still want him now. And now he's focused on molding her to be exactly what he wants. Did she tell you he's sending her to study law soon?"

He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. "You know, this isn't the first time he's killed her. The other time he did it, she was just a kid. Got caught up in the feelings of the '53 Uprising and was seen throwing bricks at tanks. Oh, to say he was pissed is an understatement. I don't think I've ever seen him that mad, even at me now. I keep hoping maybe this time will make things different. Maybe now, she'll stop wanting him. But I can't tell yet. She hides things and plots and plays the long game. Maybe she's putting him at ease for now until she figures out a plan, or maybe she's still chasing that high. I don't know. But something you said changed something in her. Of that, I'm certain."