The Blue Danube [OLD]

- 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫. ﾐ

╲⠀╲⠀╲ ╲

⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀★

february 1859

"Paul! Wake th' fuck up, there's a letter fer ya!" Something hard and pointy was thrown at his face, poking him in the eye as he cried out, sitting up quickly and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning loud. What a lovely way to wake up in the morning. Mike yelling in your ear and throwing a letter in your face. Just wonderful.

"Mmgnhhg.... fuck off ye naff cunt. I'll bash ye later .... mark my words..." The demon that festered inside Paul decided to pop out at that moment as he glared with all the fury and raw anger he could muster, hair sticking up in all directions and expression still groggy and eyes glassy from sleep, bags hanging under them; the wisps of his dream still floated around him, which was something about running in a field filled with strawberries with a fluffy sheepdog at his feet? And George, Ringo and someone else was with him, but their face was blurred out so he couldn't identify who it was. They were all wearing weirdly colourful clothes that he had never seen before in his life, and George had a half-grown beard, Ringo a moustache. They seemed to be in their mid to late twenties. It was weird... but he brushed the dream away as some weird fever dream possibly. It didn't matter at the moment anyway.
Mike was dead meat, and he knew that, so he ducked away and hurried from the bedroom with a giggle. He swore his older brother's eyes had turned red and steam had come out his ears.

"Right, th' letter..." Paul huffed slightly and let out a loud yawn before picking up the letter that had fallen in his lap. There didn't seem to be an address or anything written on the poorly-stuck-together envelope, so he knew who it was; he was surprised his friend didn't just come here and wake him up like he usually does.

Pulling it apart and grimacing at the slobber (there was no such thing as glue yet) which coated the area around the bit that was stuck together, showing off George's poor envelope.. sticking-together skills.
It read in bold, jagged letters;

POEL I TULD U TO CUM OVER TOODAY YOR LATE GET HEAR NOW CUNT I HAVE TO PEEPARE FOR THA PARTEE GET HEAR
FROM GORGE :)

"Oh fuck! The party. George's probably pissed." Paul leapt up from his spot, leaving the letter there as he bounded to his small suitcase of clothes, getting changed within a matter of seconds and slipping shoes on, ignoring his father, who called out to him.

"Paul? Where are ye goin' so soon? Ye got yer buttons wrong!"

"George's, da'! Th' party, remember? See ya tonigh', or tomorrow possibly!" Paul glanced down, seeing he had put two different coloured socks on, and his buttons were one off. He flashed an 'innocent' grin at his father, who looked none too impressed as his expression turned stern.