The Nine Circles (1/?) [fanfiction]
Title: The Nine Circles
Author: marinoa
Rated: T
Characters/Pairings: Germany, France, England, Italies, Spain, Japan, Russia, America, China, Greece etc. At least mentioned FrUK, Spamano and hinted(?) RusAm.
Summary: Seven nations, seven deadly sins, and fellows waiting to be saved - that's already catastrophic enough, but adding to the bunch the nine circles, it's... Yes, it's hell.
The Nine Circles
Chapter one:
The World Meeting
“...Thus I suggest we try to find a solution to this growing problem.”
“Wonderful, Ludwig. That's what is suggested in every bloody meeting at least once by one of us.”
“Ha ha, maybe it's suggested so often because it's a heroic idea!”
“Shut up, smartass.”
“This will lead us nowhere. Please focus, everyone. Returning to my sug-”
“Why do we even bother with these meetings?”
“To keep up the show, naturellement.”
“Hey, hey, it's past noon already! I'm hungry, let's have a pasta!”
Another day, another world meeting, ever the same old schema. As always, nations were sitting at a round table, each at their seat marked as theirs by an unspoken rule. And, as usually, their conversation led to nothing. The beginning of the meetings was always easy; no one had to struggle with coming up with problems, but when the nations got to the part where solutions were needed, conversation would trail off the subject and finally lead to bickering and fights.
Ludwig, the nation of Germany and usually the one who lead the meetings, was covering his eyes with his hand and counting to ten... to twenty in vain attempt to calm down. He cast a look around the table, observing tired and exasperated faces of his fellows; Kiku, the nation of Japan, had a superficially calm expression, but Ludwig knew better than to rely on that; Ivan, the nation of Russia, had a small smile on his face, but it was getting slightly strained, which meant hardly any good; Arthur, the nation of England, was rubbing his temples in exhaustion; Francis, the nation of France, had faint shadows under his eyes - all of the nations had them, but when Francis got them too, something was really wrong; Alfred, the nation of United States of America, hadn't even touched his hamburger, which, too, meant serious business; Yao, the nation of China, was staring into distance; and so on. Even Veneziano, the nation of Italy, was quieter than usually, and his brother Romano hadn't even started picking up a fight with Ludwig. Everyone was at their limits.
Yes. All of them needed to take a breath, definitely. Ludwig sighed. “Let's have a small break, everyone. Then we continue again.” Relieved mumbling was heard in response. “Fifteen minutes.”
Notes were placed on the table and chairs were pushed back as nations started withdrawing to a break room. Fifteen minutes, Ludwig had said. That meant, with any luck they would start as soon as in twenty.
The break room was spacey enough for several nations at a time to fit in to fetch their coffee or tea or lemonade, and return to conference room, where, like normally, small groups were formed.
“You look awful, Francis,” Antonio, the nation of Spain, said to his friend as they stood near the break room.
The Frenchman shrugged and took a gulp of his coffee. “Didn't sleep well last night.”
“Oho, had fun with our Englishman?” Antonio tried to pull a joke, earning a swift glare from the said Englishman standing nearby, but Francis only gave him a faint smile. “Not this time,” he said tiredly. “Just... those dreams again. It feels I get them every night previous to our conferences.”
“Oh? What about?”
Francis cringed. “A voice accusing me of something. Telling me that continuing my way will lead me to perishing.”
“Sounds... familiar,” Antonio mumbled but, before Francis could ask more, was distracted by Romano's yelling. The Italian was effortlessly shouting at his brother, and naturally Antonio had to go and see what it was about - Romano attracted him like they were opposite poles of a magnet.
The same applied for Francis and Arthur, too. As soon as the Spaniard had stalked off, Arthur joined Francis, his face pale and angry. “And what was that earlier comment about?” he demanded, holding his cup of tea almost tightly enough to break it. Francis sighed; Arthur's and his relationship had always been inflammable - it was something more than enemies, deeper than friends, less than lovers. No one, not even themselves - or the least themselves - knew for sure what they were to one another, and Arthur particularly was sore about their shared sessions together.
“He was just trying to lighten the mood,” Francis said, not willing to deal with angry Brits right then. “Besides, it's not a secret to anyone that we-”
“Of course it's not when certain someone goes and blabbers around about it.”
“Arthur, if you really have to accuse me of every little problem you have, do it when I'm not around.”
“Oh, so now it's me who has a problem.”
“Who else would it be?”
And thus Francis and Arthur lived up to their habit of arguing in every damned meeting - only that this time it was not the kind of argument either of them enjoyed. This time it was a bitter quarrel, caused by tiredness and general bad mood, meant to hurt.
Ivan watched the two rivals from his seat. There they were, yelling at one another, delivering punches, tearing at the opponent's clothes and hair. And yet... Ivan shook his head and his violet eyes drifted to a certain American, who, too, was following the fight between Francis and Arthur. As if sensing the heavy look on himself, Alfred turned to meet the Russian's gaze with his blue eyes. For mere seconds their eyes locked together, but then averted one another; neither of the large nations was yet ready to forget the past and start building a truly cordial relationship. The Cold War had ended twenty years back, but for a nation, it took much longer to completely melt its frost.
Ivan looked back at Francis and Arthur. For those two troublemakers it was much easier than to Alfred and himself, the Russian thought. He felt a sting in his heart, and immediately was reminded of his dream the previous night. An uncomfortable feeling washing over him, Ivan closed his mind and focused on his tea. At least it was warm.
Ludwig was sure he couldn't take it anymore. With Romano now shouting at him, Veneziano trying to calm his brother down, Arthur and Francis fighting and several other countries doing anything else but paying attention to the meeting, not forgetting Ludwig's own stress, the German felt his head would soon explode. He couldn't take it anymore. He opened his mouth and roared.
“Silence!”
The order was taken in the very opposite way than the German had hoped. Arthur and Francis hadn't even head him or then just ignored him, Alfred made a sullen comment to Ivan, Veneziano started wailing, Romano started yelling at Ludwig even louder for making his little brother cry, one of Heracles', the nation's of Greece, cat was accidentally hit by a mug that Francis threw at Arthur and the cat let out a loud meow and jumped at Yao, who yelped in surprise, and in the end, general disorder spread around the whole conference room, causing cursing and fights among the nations. It was even worse than usually. It was much worse than usually. Ludwig hit the table with his fist, hard, knowing that soon it would be flesh under his fist instead of wood.
“Silence.”
The command had not been shouted or said fiercely. It had been said calmly yet firmly, with a tone that clearly didn't expect opposition. And it worked.
Also, it certainly had not been uttered by any of the nations.
Francis and Arthur stilled mid-fight, fists frozen in the air. Italy brothers seemed to be scared to death and clung to one another, too frightened to utter a word. The whole meeting room looked like it was on a screen and someone had pushed a 'pause' button. Ludwig didn't move, either, but let his eyes slowly roam around the room. No one who shouldn't be in the room was there, so where had the voice come from?
“Very good,” said the same voice, now almost cheerily, right behind the German, who nearly jumped of surprise and whirled around. There, behind him, stood a cloaked, hooded man. Everybody in the room stared at him in awe.
“Who-” Ludwig started, but was silenced by a simple wave of a hand. The man stepped forward and took off his hood, revealing a long, bony face. “I would very much like to get your full attention, gentlemen and -women,” he said with a faint Italian accent.
Veneziano gasped somewhere near Ludwig. “Romano...”
“Yeah,” was his brother's quiet reply.
“Now,” the man said, his voice powerful even though he hadn't raised it at all. “We need to talk.”
“What the hell?” someone among nations uttered, and other voices joined them, but they all were silenced quickly by a frown and a raised hand of the stranger.
“I'll explain everything,” he said. “Oh, I will. Because this,” He motioned at the nations, “won't do anymore. At all.”
“Dammit!” Romano muttered under his breath, too scared to properly say it out loud. “Dammit, dammit dammit!” If this man was who he thought he was, they were doomed. They were all doomed. Literally. As if reading the Italian's thoughts, the stranger nodded towards him and his brother with a grin.
“My name,” he said almost mischievously, and the Italian brothers exchanged a rare, serious look. “is Dante Alighieri, and I have a question for you all.” He made a gesture that covered all the nations. “Have you ever heard about Divina Commedia and the seven deadly sins?”
xXx
Prelude >< Next
Author: marinoa
Rated: T
Characters/Pairings: Germany, France, England, Italies, Spain, Japan, Russia, America, China, Greece etc. At least mentioned FrUK, Spamano and hinted(?) RusAm.
Summary: Seven nations, seven deadly sins, and fellows waiting to be saved - that's already catastrophic enough, but adding to the bunch the nine circles, it's... Yes, it's hell.
The Nine Circles
Chapter one:
The World Meeting
“...Thus I suggest we try to find a solution to this growing problem.”
“Wonderful, Ludwig. That's what is suggested in every bloody meeting at least once by one of us.”
“Ha ha, maybe it's suggested so often because it's a heroic idea!”
“Shut up, smartass.”
“This will lead us nowhere. Please focus, everyone. Returning to my sug-”
“Why do we even bother with these meetings?”
“To keep up the show, naturellement.”
“Hey, hey, it's past noon already! I'm hungry, let's have a pasta!”
Another day, another world meeting, ever the same old schema. As always, nations were sitting at a round table, each at their seat marked as theirs by an unspoken rule. And, as usually, their conversation led to nothing. The beginning of the meetings was always easy; no one had to struggle with coming up with problems, but when the nations got to the part where solutions were needed, conversation would trail off the subject and finally lead to bickering and fights.
Ludwig, the nation of Germany and usually the one who lead the meetings, was covering his eyes with his hand and counting to ten... to twenty in vain attempt to calm down. He cast a look around the table, observing tired and exasperated faces of his fellows; Kiku, the nation of Japan, had a superficially calm expression, but Ludwig knew better than to rely on that; Ivan, the nation of Russia, had a small smile on his face, but it was getting slightly strained, which meant hardly any good; Arthur, the nation of England, was rubbing his temples in exhaustion; Francis, the nation of France, had faint shadows under his eyes - all of the nations had them, but when Francis got them too, something was really wrong; Alfred, the nation of United States of America, hadn't even touched his hamburger, which, too, meant serious business; Yao, the nation of China, was staring into distance; and so on. Even Veneziano, the nation of Italy, was quieter than usually, and his brother Romano hadn't even started picking up a fight with Ludwig. Everyone was at their limits.
Yes. All of them needed to take a breath, definitely. Ludwig sighed. “Let's have a small break, everyone. Then we continue again.” Relieved mumbling was heard in response. “Fifteen minutes.”
Notes were placed on the table and chairs were pushed back as nations started withdrawing to a break room. Fifteen minutes, Ludwig had said. That meant, with any luck they would start as soon as in twenty.
The break room was spacey enough for several nations at a time to fit in to fetch their coffee or tea or lemonade, and return to conference room, where, like normally, small groups were formed.
“You look awful, Francis,” Antonio, the nation of Spain, said to his friend as they stood near the break room.
The Frenchman shrugged and took a gulp of his coffee. “Didn't sleep well last night.”
“Oho, had fun with our Englishman?” Antonio tried to pull a joke, earning a swift glare from the said Englishman standing nearby, but Francis only gave him a faint smile. “Not this time,” he said tiredly. “Just... those dreams again. It feels I get them every night previous to our conferences.”
“Oh? What about?”
Francis cringed. “A voice accusing me of something. Telling me that continuing my way will lead me to perishing.”
“Sounds... familiar,” Antonio mumbled but, before Francis could ask more, was distracted by Romano's yelling. The Italian was effortlessly shouting at his brother, and naturally Antonio had to go and see what it was about - Romano attracted him like they were opposite poles of a magnet.
The same applied for Francis and Arthur, too. As soon as the Spaniard had stalked off, Arthur joined Francis, his face pale and angry. “And what was that earlier comment about?” he demanded, holding his cup of tea almost tightly enough to break it. Francis sighed; Arthur's and his relationship had always been inflammable - it was something more than enemies, deeper than friends, less than lovers. No one, not even themselves - or the least themselves - knew for sure what they were to one another, and Arthur particularly was sore about their shared sessions together.
“He was just trying to lighten the mood,” Francis said, not willing to deal with angry Brits right then. “Besides, it's not a secret to anyone that we-”
“Of course it's not when certain someone goes and blabbers around about it.”
“Arthur, if you really have to accuse me of every little problem you have, do it when I'm not around.”
“Oh, so now it's me who has a problem.”
“Who else would it be?”
And thus Francis and Arthur lived up to their habit of arguing in every damned meeting - only that this time it was not the kind of argument either of them enjoyed. This time it was a bitter quarrel, caused by tiredness and general bad mood, meant to hurt.
Ivan watched the two rivals from his seat. There they were, yelling at one another, delivering punches, tearing at the opponent's clothes and hair. And yet... Ivan shook his head and his violet eyes drifted to a certain American, who, too, was following the fight between Francis and Arthur. As if sensing the heavy look on himself, Alfred turned to meet the Russian's gaze with his blue eyes. For mere seconds their eyes locked together, but then averted one another; neither of the large nations was yet ready to forget the past and start building a truly cordial relationship. The Cold War had ended twenty years back, but for a nation, it took much longer to completely melt its frost.
Ivan looked back at Francis and Arthur. For those two troublemakers it was much easier than to Alfred and himself, the Russian thought. He felt a sting in his heart, and immediately was reminded of his dream the previous night. An uncomfortable feeling washing over him, Ivan closed his mind and focused on his tea. At least it was warm.
Ludwig was sure he couldn't take it anymore. With Romano now shouting at him, Veneziano trying to calm his brother down, Arthur and Francis fighting and several other countries doing anything else but paying attention to the meeting, not forgetting Ludwig's own stress, the German felt his head would soon explode. He couldn't take it anymore. He opened his mouth and roared.
“Silence!”
The order was taken in the very opposite way than the German had hoped. Arthur and Francis hadn't even head him or then just ignored him, Alfred made a sullen comment to Ivan, Veneziano started wailing, Romano started yelling at Ludwig even louder for making his little brother cry, one of Heracles', the nation's of Greece, cat was accidentally hit by a mug that Francis threw at Arthur and the cat let out a loud meow and jumped at Yao, who yelped in surprise, and in the end, general disorder spread around the whole conference room, causing cursing and fights among the nations. It was even worse than usually. It was much worse than usually. Ludwig hit the table with his fist, hard, knowing that soon it would be flesh under his fist instead of wood.
“Silence.”
The command had not been shouted or said fiercely. It had been said calmly yet firmly, with a tone that clearly didn't expect opposition. And it worked.
Also, it certainly had not been uttered by any of the nations.
Francis and Arthur stilled mid-fight, fists frozen in the air. Italy brothers seemed to be scared to death and clung to one another, too frightened to utter a word. The whole meeting room looked like it was on a screen and someone had pushed a 'pause' button. Ludwig didn't move, either, but let his eyes slowly roam around the room. No one who shouldn't be in the room was there, so where had the voice come from?
“Very good,” said the same voice, now almost cheerily, right behind the German, who nearly jumped of surprise and whirled around. There, behind him, stood a cloaked, hooded man. Everybody in the room stared at him in awe.
“Who-” Ludwig started, but was silenced by a simple wave of a hand. The man stepped forward and took off his hood, revealing a long, bony face. “I would very much like to get your full attention, gentlemen and -women,” he said with a faint Italian accent.
Veneziano gasped somewhere near Ludwig. “Romano...”
“Yeah,” was his brother's quiet reply.
“Now,” the man said, his voice powerful even though he hadn't raised it at all. “We need to talk.”
“What the hell?” someone among nations uttered, and other voices joined them, but they all were silenced quickly by a frown and a raised hand of the stranger.
“I'll explain everything,” he said. “Oh, I will. Because this,” He motioned at the nations, “won't do anymore. At all.”
“Dammit!” Romano muttered under his breath, too scared to properly say it out loud. “Dammit, dammit dammit!” If this man was who he thought he was, they were doomed. They were all doomed. Literally. As if reading the Italian's thoughts, the stranger nodded towards him and his brother with a grin.
“My name,” he said almost mischievously, and the Italian brothers exchanged a rare, serious look. “is Dante Alighieri, and I have a question for you all.” He made a gesture that covered all the nations. “Have you ever heard about Divina Commedia and the seven deadly sins?”
xXx
Prelude >< Next