"C'MON Canada! This will definitely work man! Don't you want some peace in our board meetings?"
"…Uh, well…of course….But…"
"Exactly! So come on buddy help me out here just keep England put ok!"
"Uuuhhhhh…" America enthusiastically thrust Canada in to a boardroom with England patiently reading on the window dock and without looking up spoke to the new presence.
"Really America, what took you so long."
"Eng—Urm no, it's me Canada." England tilted his head up, closing the book on his thumb to keep the page.
"Oh, Canada. Forgive me. You haven't seen that tosser have you? He requested an urgent meeting almost an hour ago and so far we're the only one's that have shown up." He had licked his finger and returned to his reading. "I'm growing quite impatient, I mean how important could it be?"
"Wellll…." Canada still hadn't moved from when he entered, standing stiffly, eyes darting unable to settle.
England eyed Canada again, he was definitely more uneasy then usual. He slammed the book closed and before Canada could exhale England had pushed his back in to the door, an arm under his chin pressing on his windpipe.
"What's going on? What has the bastard put you up to? Occupation? Treason? Mutiny?!"
Canada's eyes were wide; he was rigid and trying to catch his breath.
England sighed realising a different approach was needed and released his throat, his arm resting on the door frame, the other hand softly gracing Canada's cheek. "I'm sorry Canada, I didn't mean to yell at you." He turned his chin to make Canada look him in the eyes. "We're allies little one, so I need you to tell me. Are we in danger?" His voice was soothing, easing information out of the possible traitor.
Canada opened his mouth to speak but as if on cue the door swung open with the force of only an American, England toppled to the floor Canada landing on top. A floral and sweet smell had floated in to the room accompanied by red pantaloons passing by England's peripheral vision.
England grunted vaguely aware the pressure on his chest was relieving. He raised his head to see Canada being dragged out the door by his feet. America effortless pulling the younger man away grinning, while Canada was mouthing; 'Sorry.'
America slammed the door shut before England could jump to attention.
"It is a ruse! God damn it America, what are you planning! I order you to come back here!" He leapt to the door, it was locked, he pummelled his fists and spat a line of colourful verbal abuse that could have stripped the paint right off the wood. He rested his head against the door momentarily calming himself but the whiff of iris and lilies made him whip around; "France?"
"Oui." France had stolen England's previous spot, sunlight streaming in making his golden strands gleam when France turned to answer. He was languidly spread out in the window box inspecting the literature.
"What the hell is going on?"
"As if I would tell a English man." He spat.
His fists clenched. "This isn't the time France, I think the Yanks have gone rogue, we're going to have to put our feelings aside and work together to get out of this."
"Pffttt."
"What do you mean "Pffft" this isn't the time for your indifference France!" He marched over and snatched the book from his hand and thumped it round the back of his head.
"Merde." He rubbed the tender spot wincing. "We are under no threat, untangle your frilly knickers."
"Then why are we locked in?" England turned to access the room. A simple boardroom; desks, chairs, a white board, wide floor length windows and strangely no curtains. 'Why would the curtains be removed?' England pondered when he watched a sheet of paper slip under the door.
"Dear England and France,
Hear this letter as the communal voice of the Allies. But from me; America. Read it in my voice. Ok? GREAT! So like, we have decided the feud between you guys is interfering with our work and so you need to sort it out or whatever. So yeah, you're gonna be locked in here till you're friends! Neat plan right? Don't bother trying to escape, it's impossible! HAHA! Russia is at the door man! Just focus on patching you guys up so we can all be happy. Sweet! Oh yeah because we don't know how long this is going to take I told China to pack you food in the window ledge. Enjoy!"
The key to the food nest tumbled in to England's hand; "Oh God, it's even worse than I imagined….couldn't they just try to overthrow us instead?" His fingers pinched his eyebrows, narrow eyes burning through the letter again. "He's signed it as 'The Hero of all Nations.' God give me strength."
France, seemingly unfazed hadn't moved from his sunspot. "No wonder he is so blind to the situation when he has his head that far up his own colon."
England snickered, then internally scolded himself for doing so.
"Tsk. We're in a moronic rat maze with no motivation, no finish line reward." Egnland was walking over to the window ledge that France was still sprawled on top of. "That burger eating crack pot, what does he think this could possibly achieve."
"Ah Mon'Amie! Has all that rain washed away all your romanticism? He want's us to embrace after all these long hard years of fighting and…" England had abruptly halted the mocking by pulling France by his purple cloak and tossed him aside.
France slid to the floor, head first, his legs still hanging limply on top of the seat. England brushed them off with a tut and felt under the rim for a keyhole. He twisted the bronze key and pulled the chest lid open, it was incredibly deep and filled with whiskey and wine and bread and wrapped cheese. This threw the Frenchman in to motion.
"WINE! Oh oui oui oui oui oui!" He pulled two bottles out to inspect them; "Eh, it is not French, but it is still wine no?" He beamed at the slender bottles before they disappeared back in to the chest. "What are you doing?"
"We won't be needing it."
"…But why is the wine gone?"
"Because one can not properly function under the influence of alcohol. Help me find a way out and the contents of the chest is yours."
"Maybe you light weight English can not hold your own, but the French, this is our caffeine."
"I said no." England tucked the key in one of his jacket pockets.
"You can't manipulate me Eyebrows, I know all your tricks by now. Your charm will not seduce me in to your plays." France pouted and hopped back up on the window ledge. He sighed and folded his hands behind his head turning his face to the sun like a contented cat.
England let his shoulders slump forward. "Useless as always France. Typical." France grinned at the sunlight letting the afternoon warm his body giving his skin a happy glow.
England watched in disbelief before trying to ignore the lost cause and focus on a plan. "Right, tactics. Possible exits; window, floor, ceiling and door." His fist pumped the palm of his hand. "I am English, nothing so juvenile can hold me." He rushed to the window to access the height of the fall and landing. "Twelve floors up. Concrete below. Sheesh…. I kept telling them we needed a moat for exactly this reason." He stepped back in contemplation; 'Ok, window is more or less unfavourable unless I want to end up looking like Beardy over there.' He eyed the stretched out man, cloak swept aside and shirt rising up displaying a soft line of flesh almost glinting in the sunlight. France peaked one of his eyes open watching the dirty blonde haired man staring at him with furrowed brows in deep concentration. He playfully stretched a little further to raise his shirt higher, he watched the eyebrows knit closer together before snapping back to the well practiced neutral.
England cleared his throat and then twisted his attention back to the door. 'Might as well give it a shot.' He tried the handle once again. Nothing. He heard a gloating scoff behind him. England's cheeks flared. He rolled up his racing green uniform sleeves. He dragged the desk a few meters in front of the door. He readied him self, all his strength placed in his arms and his legs. "FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!" He ran with all he had, forcing the hardwood desk in to the door. The door creaked in on it's self, splintering on the impact but remaining mostly intact. England retracted the desk and repeated the action, the door whining in protest.
France had since sat up and was watching intently. England was sweating now his breathing ragged and hard but full of determination, he swept a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. But with a final blow the door buckled and a hole tore through the wood. England threw the desk to the side to get to the door, with his bare hands he ripped away planks of wood ribboning them to the floor. His hand kept bumping against something cool and hard on the other side, but he kept shredding till a man size whole gaped the frame.
"What the hell is that?"
"Looks like your dead end."
"Shut it beardy."
England leant through the hole testing the weight of the grey object. Completely solid, immoveable. He pushed all his weight in to it but it didn't budge inch.
"What the hell is this? How have they even done this? It's just inconceivable."
"I can conceive it."
England banged his fists against the metal. "Must you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Cut me down at every possible turn. Have you ever, ever! Helped a situation?"
France paused thoughtfully. "You know what would help this situation?"
England sighed.
"WINE!"
"Wanker…"
France threw his arms up in the air and then crossed them with a huff. "Now what are you doing."
"I'm not giving up that easily Whiskers." England had climbed up on the desk, balanced another two chairs balanced on top with a third in his hand. He clambered up to reach the celling. "The ceiling should be thin enough for me to break through and pull myself up, there's no way they could have continued this kind of stunt on any more room." He began thrashing at the celling with the chair legs, plaster shrouding his efforts in a white cloud. England paused and tied the handkerchief around his mouth and continued. Blasting the ceiling until a hole formed.
"No…no. Nononono!" He battered the ceiling, a dark silver circle was being uncovered, the thunderous hits of the wooden chair began echoing off cold mental instead of plaster. "This is impossible!" He stared in disbelief at the same material blocking the door way was now above him. "No it cant be…" He leapt off the table and swung the chair at the floor, and immense portrayal of strength that France hadn't seen for a while was now attacking the polished wood flooring, it began blistering. A gap appeared to which England dropped to his knees and began ripping up the floorboards. "NO!" The same metal was beneath them. England fell back on his haunches. His sleeves rolled up, sweating and panting. He tore off his makeshift mask and dragged a hand through his blonde hair.
With the only thing left to do. He ran with the chair and smashed it in to the end window. France was standing now. "England. Hey, stop. What are you doing?"
England stopped but didn't turn to face the man behind him, the wind whipping his hair and jacket melodiously.
"I'm going to jump."
France sneered; "You're stupid but not that stupid." England held on to the wall and swung the chair releasing it and shattering the window of the room to the right of them. "You can't make that jump!" England stared hard at France then back at the horizontal leap. "Fine good riddance! Au revoir." He got in to position. "ENGLAND! NO!" France grabbed England's collar pulling him from the air and rolling them back safely in to the room. France landed on top, England trapped in between his legs. "Are you crazy?! You stupid English!" He started slapping England. "You. We're. Going. To. Die. You. Moronic. Tea. Huffer!"
England grabbed the slapping hands and stared up at France, fiery green and cooling blue. "...Take off your clothes."