Beilschmidt Family Circus [Ludwig]

[GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT]

The smallish cardboard box had been delivered to Gilbert in the beginning of his fourth year at Asher Academy along with the news of his uncle's passing. The teen had taken the parcel, in shock, and had returned to his room in a dazed silence.

Half of him had wanted to tear open the box and desperately grasp at whatever it was that his uncle had left him. The other half was reluctant, afraid that opening that box would make it all real. It seemed as though opening it would only finalize his uncle's death, and he couldn't bear that thought. Instead, he had shoved the box back into the darkest corner of his closet and had forgotten about it... almost.

However, the damned thing had been sitting there for about four years by the time Gilbert had found it there, covered in dust. The anxiety and sorrow washed over him again, hitting him in the gut and leaving him breathless. But now he was older, more mature, and he knew that hiding the box again wouldn't change anything.

Steeling himself, he finally pulled it open with trembling hands.

The item sitting on top of everything else, addressed to him in neat, familiar handwriting, was a yellowed envelope. There was a three page letter inside, the contents of which Gilbert would never share or forget. With tears in his eyes, he brushed them back to examine the other contents of the box.

Beneath the letter was an album, six journals, and an old picture that Gilbert had drawn for his uncle nearly eleven years before. He smiled at the crayon scrawl where he had misspelled both his name and his uncle's beside the picture of what he could only describe as a blue potato with facial features.

The journals were filled with careful observations of Gilbert's growth and development. It was fairly obvious that the old man had intended his nephew to someday read them, and he had written in many helpful notes on how Gilbert could improve himself or things that he should consider.

But, of all the items, the one that drew Gilbert's attention the most was the album. Inside were old, old pictures of stiff-looking individuals with impressive mustaches or intricate updos. At the back of the album were photos of Gilbert and Ludwig with their parents and uncle.The most recent addition had been of thirteen-year-old Gilbert in his Asher uniform, grinning triumphantly with his honor roll certificate held aloft.

He couldn't help but grin now at the memory and the caption "Gilbert Beilschmidt - Asher Academy Third Year - I'm proud of you."

However, as he flipped through the pages of the album more, he realized why his uncle had left it to him. Not only were these photos and portraits of his family members, but also a lineage of, well, superhumans.

Excited, Gilbert dashed off to the courtyard where he knew he would find his little brother. He had to show Ludwig.

"Hey West!" Cackling with delight, he held the album carefully slung in his arm as he sprinted over to the younger Beilschmidt. "Check it out! You gotta see this!"

[LUDWIG BEILSCHMIDT]

Living in a place where the weather remained almost uniformly pleasant took some getting used to, but on the days when it wasn’t raining or stormy, Ludwig preferred to spend some of his daylight hours outside. The fresh air felt pleasant, the ambient noise of the wind and birds was calming, and he in turn could focus rather well. Plus this way, he didn’t risk too many distractions. If he’d been in his room, he’d be talking to his roommates; in the library, it was more likely he’d run across a friend - plus, the sheer amount of books there proved enough of a distraction to him already.

With the weather today being sunny with a few large and white clouds drifting lazily across the sky, as soon as classes had ended Ludwig had grabbed his homework assignments, textbooks, an old blanket, and a bottle of water and had headed out. The expansive grounds offered plenty of good places for someone to sit and work in peace but Ludwig had a particular spot he liked: a nice large tree some distance from the west side of the building. He spread out his blanket under that, dropped off his things, sat down, and got to work.

For just over an hour, he did calculations and wrote essays and read history. Most of the assignments weren’t due the next day — a few weren’t even due later that week. But Ludwig had always been very thorough when it came to schoolwork. Besides, this way if any professors added on last minute homework, he wouldn’t have to worry about budgeting more of his time aside. He had just finished up a proposal for one of his classes when a familiar voice cut through the quiet atmosphere.

”Hey West! Check it out! You gotta see this!”

Knocked out of his element, Ludwig set his books aside and looked around; his older brother was sprinting at him across the grass with something tucked under his arm. Gilbert’s interruptions were never unwelcome; Ludwig loved talking to his brother, no matter his poor timing. He sometimes felt like they had even more to say, more to catch up on, than was actually discussed.  But Gilbert also had certain ideas about what qualified as interesting or relevant or worth waking Ludwig up in the middle of the night for. Thankfully, as his brother drew near, he could clearly see that Gilbert had a book under his arm, not a laptop. That boded well already -- no weird videos or creepy internet sites or compromising photographs of people Gilbert claimed were teachers at that very school.  Although ... the book also looked a bit old.  Ludwig hoped that Gilbert hadn't stolen anything.

“Gilbert,” he greeted with a wave and a smile, moving over on his blanket so his brother could join him. “What’d you find?” Absently, he packed up the books and papers he’d finished using so that his older brother had plenty of room before taking a more careful and curious look at the item under his arm.

[GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT]

As Ludwig moved his items out of the way for his brother, Gilbert plopped down in the space and promptly opened the album.

"The old man left me this album," he explained quickly. "It's just Mom's side of the family, but it looks like superhumans run in the family! And check this out!"

Flipping past the family tree at the beginning of the book (of which, he and Ludwig were a part), he found an old, faded photograph of a soldier he seemed rather excited about. Jabbing his finger at it, he drew Ludwig's attention away from the books and papers he was neatly arranging and to the book on his lap.

"Look! Doesn't he sorta look like me?! Doncha think?" He held up the album next to his face, grinning crookedly as he waited for his brother to study the photo, then his own face. The caption below identified the soldier as August Weiß, otherwise known as the "One Man Arsenal".
 
"I mean, aside from my nose bein' broken 'n' the albino thing..."

[LUDWIG BEILSCHMIDT]

Ludwig didn’t need to ask who the ‘old man’ was; there was only one individual in the family that bore that nickname. And now that he knew Gilbert hadn’t done anything wrong or risky, the photo album piqued his curiosity. Completely abandoning his bag of schoolwork, he moved closer to get a better look at the photographs pasted carefully in the old album.

“Wow,” he murmured, scanning the photographs as best he could as Gilbert hurriedly turned the pages, “this is incredible. I didn’t realize anyone was keeping records!” He didn’t need to pry into why the album had appeared so suddenly when Uncle Friedrich had died years ago; despite how much he complained about ‘the old man’, Gilbert had been remarkably close to him, something even socially awkward Ludwig had been able to figure out. Their uncle’s death had hit his brother very hard.

Page after page of black-and-white photographs, some artificially colored, flipped by. Ludwig wanted to protest: he barely had time to get a good look at any of the photos, although knowing that it covered one-half of their side of the family made a lot of sense. He caught a glimpse of his mother’s eyes and hair here, Gilbert’s mouth and ears there, and even a man who looked the spitting image of his grandfather had he not been in such old-fashioned clothing. And everywhere, glimpses of abilities, strange phenomenon immortalized forever with the rest of the family. So… maybe superpowers were genetic? Ludwig wondered. He’d always taken after his father’s side of the family more … had there been superhumans there as well, or had he just gotten lucky? Making a mental note to ask at Christmas, he calmly watched photo after photo appeared and disappeared as his brother flipped through the pages. Finally Gilbert found what he’d been searching for and held up the book. Ludwig studied the photo carefully.

The man in the portrait wore an old military uniform and unlike Gilbert, seemed to have combed his hair on the morning that the photo had been taken. But he had Gilbert’s jawline, Gilbert’s eyes - save for the albinism, as his brother had helpfully and obviously pointed out - and Gilbert’s proud expression. Ludwig absolutely saw the resemblance.

“You two have the same attitude,” he teased, pointing to the smug hint of a smile on the man’s face. “But he does kind of look like you.” Ludwig turned his eyes to the handwritten caption below the photograph. “August Weiß, ‘One Man Arsenal’… what do you think he could do?”