Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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9:05 p.m.
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The three were momentarily blinded by the sudden absence of light. The onslaught of darkness hindering them from giving chase. As the unmistakable slam of the only door echoed in the lobby.
Alfred had fled…
Prussia was the first to move. He rushed towards the exit. Slamming his war-hardened body against the glass paneling. Alfred must’ve reinforced the door, because it did not move an inch. Not even after continous and repetitive shoves. Prussia had to hand it to Alfred.
The guy was thorough.
The albino nation looked apologetically at the other two. Smiling nervously, he announced, “ We’re locked in.”
Whatever color was left in both their faces, was inevitably drained. Leaving them pale and white as a sheet. The gravity of their situation just finally descending upon them.
They were all caught in a mad man’s game. Like flies in a spider web.
Trapped.
France looked as if he was about to collapse. Prussia wasn’t feeling so hot as well, but damnit! If he wasn’t going to go down fighting! Germany, on the otherhand, despite his muscular appearance, seemed to be the most shaken of the three.
“Oi, West. Chill, kay? I’m sure we’ll-!” Prussia began, but was rudely cut off as Germany turned tail and ran. “Hey, wait a minute! Where are you going?!”
It wasn’t as if he had to ask. Prussia knew that Germany would attempt to save Italy. It was almost instinctive for his brother. The idiot. If they seperated now, they would only be playing into Alfred’s hands. Sticking together was the only solution. And he’ll make his little brother understand that. Even if he had to beat it into him.
But he was beaten to the punch. Almost literally. By a lumbering Russia, casually walking into the room. Germany, who had been making a beeline for the hallway, ran into him. And Prussia knew that the Slavic nation was as tough as hell. Running into him, was similar to running into a brick wall.
“Hello comrade Germany. Prussia. France.” Russia greeted cheerily. As if Germany’s face didn’t just smash into his chest. “Is there something wrong with the accomodations? Are we having some technical problems?”
Oh, that’s right. The other nations haven’t learned yet. This could prove troublesome.
Germany recovered from his slight setback. Immediately pushing away at the Northern nation. “Please get out of my way.”
But Prussia caught his shoulder, having taking advantage of his brother’s run in. “No, West. Stop. You’re playing into his hands.”
“Playing into who’s hands?” Russia inquired. “And why does comrade France look… sick?”
“I know perfectly well the situation, Brüder.” Germany stated in a smooth, flat tone. But the tension in his shoulders, and the slight twitch in his arms, betrayed him.
“Do you?” Prussia turned his brother around. Locking eyes with him. “Look me in the eye and tell me, you are perfectly, soundly aware of the state we are in.”
Germany faltered for a minute. Pinned by Prussia’s heated glare. Before finally whithering, his fists clenched. “But I need to save Italy!”
“He’ll be fine! We all will be! But you need to calm the fuck down!” Prussia all but yelled.
The lobby fell silent. An abrupt change to the rising voices previous, as the two brothers stared squarely at each other. The air heavy of frantic words unspoken.
“Um? Comrades? What is going on?” Russia interrupted. Cutting the anxiety in half.
“America… He has… Come back.” France slowly answered. Leaning against the front desk for support. There, he said it. This wasn’t some feeble nightmare conjured by mind through lack of alcohol. This was now very real to him.
“Ah! Is that so?” Russia hummed in delight. “Then why the sad expressions? Surely this should be cause for celebration.”
“You don’t understand, Russia. He didn’t come back for a reunion…” France trailed off, carding his hand through his hair.
“He came back for revenge.”
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I apologize for any mistakes
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