Day 48: Cafeteria (Breakfast)

[should_be_dead]

Luckily for Mele, the night had ended before Tenzen had changed his mind and deemed Mele appropriate for target practice. Even if the situation of who was mocking who had seemed to change into the Iga ninja's favor. Despite her behavior, perhaps the insolent woman could serve some sort of use nonetheless. He had been trapped in this place for a

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[hat_einen_vogel]

Waking came in a sudden rush of awareness, and Prussia bolted upright the instant his eyes opened.

He wasn't outside. He was inside, in a room-the same room he'd found himself in last night by the looks of things. He didn't know how he could have gotten back there; he'd been outside with Keman and Howl, escaping. He didn't remember getting caught. The only people who had even been nearby were those two; had they tricked him, and knocked him out once his back was turned?

Prussia felt at his head for any sign of trauma, but there was nothing. No bump, no tender bruise, no lingering headache that might have proved that something had happened even if the injury had already disappeared... It was like he'd just suddenly awoken from a dream-or more likely, a nightmare. Only the matching rooms from then and now and the ache of what he was missing convinced him that no, last night had happened. It had been real, and how he'd ended up in this room again was just one more question he didn't have an answer to

[hat_einen_vogel]

"Asking me that?" Prussia hissed, glaring at England. "You're the one who put me here! You should know!"

...Well, it would have been him and America, Russia, and France, but the details didn't seem particularly important right now. England was here in front of him and the others weren't, and that was what mattered.

He released England's shirt, yanking his wrists back in an attempt to free himself from the other Nation's tight grasp. His lips curved into a feral grin. "The only thing I'm trying to do is smash your face in while I've got the chance. Now hold still."

[hat_einen_vogel]

"Couldn't've been anyone else," was Prussia's reply as he struggled to free his wrists, throwing some weight into the attempt now. He couldn't very well go about beating up England if his hands were restrained, so he'd throw around words until he could throw something else. "It was all of you; one of you. Had to be you or someone else from the control council, and seeing as you're the one who's here right now..."

Treacherous Europeans indeed. He was part of Europe--had been part of Europe--and he was the one with the metaphorical knife in his back now. It served England right to share a little bit of that pain.

Another yank, this time twisting his wrist in the attempt. And... there! His right wrist slipped free of England's grip, and he fisted his left in England's shirt again to make sure he wouldn't be going anywhere now. He drew back his right arm, shifted his weight, and loosed a hook aimed for England's jaw.

[hat_einen_vogel]

Prussia's knuckles stung with the force of the impact, but the feeling of it was satisfying.

"Sit down? Hell no," he growled. "I'm just getting started."

Despite his words, what England asked about the year gave him pause. It wasn't so much what he said as how he said it... It almost sounded like he was surprised.

Prussia kept his left hand fisted in England's shirt, ready to continue if England so much as looked at him wrong-and the way he was snarling at him made him itch to escalate this into a brawl. He wanted a fight; not a war necessarily, but at least a battle, one final stand.

"And I don't think it's nineteen forty-six," he snapped, adding it as something of an afterthought. "It's nineteen forty-seven."

The year had barely even started, and it was already terrible.

[damned_nurses]

[Jen]

"Are we having a problem, Gilbert and Arthur?" The nurse folded her arms, tapping the crook of her left elbow. "We don't use that kind of language to solve them. Neither do we throw punches."

She paused, looking each of them in the eye.

"I don't want to have to take further measures here, but if you don't stop this, you'll leave me no choice."

[hat_einen_vogel]

2007? Had England lost his damn mind?

Prussia was just about to ask as much when some woman came over to disrupt international affairs. His head whipped sharply in her direction; he'd forgotten entirely that they were in public--not that it made much difference--and from the looks of things beyond her, there were a lot more people around than when he'd first arrived.

A few words from some stranger wouldn't be enough to call off his offensive; she wasn't his boss, and she probably wasn't even a politician. No, the woman was merely an annoyance that needed to gotten rid of.

"This doesn't concern you," he retorted, his grip on England's shirt laxing. He tilted his chin up slightly and looked down at the woman. "Stay out of our business."

[hat_einen_vogel]

The woman hadn't left. She was still there, and though it seemed she'd finished patronizing them for the time being, she was still well within hearing range.

Damn it.

Talk about a killjoy. The woman had ruined the mood with her interruption, and Prussia didn't quite feel like beating the shit out of England any more if she was going to hang around to watch. Hell, they wouldn't even be able to talk if she was going to hover around them.

If anything, the general lack of the woman springing to England's further defense or else England issuing her any kind of command... Well, it didn't exactly prove that England wasn't in charge here, but it was one more thing to wonder about. He released England's shirt with a disgusted sigh, but made sure to at least give him one final, small shove along with it. He sat down at the spot he'd slammed his tray earlier, shooting a glare at the woman, and then looked down at the tray itself.

At least England could always choke on the pancakes.

[hat_einen_vogel]

"Bullshit," was Prussia's reply. "Unless the world's changed enough that someone's invented a time machine, you can't expect me to believe you're from sixty years from now." Sixty-one. Whatever. If someone had invented a time machine, though, his money was on America.

There was another possibility, of course, but it was one that he didn't particularly want to consider. If they'd actually succeeded in killing him and he'd somehow managed to come back only after decades had already passed...

He stabbed a fork at his pancakes and then repeated the motion, feeling more interested in venting his lingering anger by decimating his food than in actually eating it. It didn't exactly help that England sounded so damn calm now. The least he could have done was throw a punch of his own before that rude woman interrupted.