A firm hand smacked the stone ledge of a windowless sill. A hardened man with wheat-colored hair stared out the window, over the vastness of the treetops ahead of him. He was secure, surrounded by thick stone walls of his small fortress, his "safe zone", as it was called in this game. It was like a castle, but not entirely fortified. There were no doors, or locks, or moats, or guards. From the start, it was decided that he was the leader of his team. He was a natural leader, a choleric man with a brave heart, who had his head in the right place. He studied the tree line. They would be coming soon. He could feel it. He wasn't sure how soon they would come, but they would be coming to claim their prize.

"Mister Germany."

The blonde was snapped from his train of though, and he turned to see his good ally, Japan, sitting on his knees, on a cushion, serving tea. He had three cups. He poured tea for himself, for Germany, and for their guest. This guest was not a guest, exactly. A /captive/ was more accurate. He was the "prize" that the enemy would be coming to claim. Germany was always surprised at how calm Japan was, even in this situation. It was unnerving, even. Japan offered a cup to the young man seated beside him, then, turned his hand to Germany. Germany shook his head, lifting a self-pardoning hand.

"No, thanks, Japan."

Oh, but he had already poured the tea. Japan was a little disappointed by his declination, but he smiled a bit, nonetheless. He understood that Germany was tense. It was pretty obvious to him. A lot of things were obvious to Japan. The Asian nation kept his trusty katana crossed over his lap. He was the guard, Germany and Company had decided. He and Italy would be guards, because, well, everyone knew how useless Italy was in battle. Germany was sure that Japan would be capable of defending himself... But he was uneasy about Italy. He hoped that Japan could handle two troublesome men.

Boots clipped on the narrow stairs outside the room, and Germany looked up. He saw Austria enter the room, with a firm look on his face. Austria didn't want to participate in this game at all, Germany could read it on his face. But he hadn't given him a choice. He was going to play on his team whether he liked it or not.

"Well?" Austria demanded, "Are we ready?"

"Yeah," Germany answered him curtly. Austria alone was a handful, being so uncooperative, and childish in his own aristocratic ways...

Austria didn't like Germany's motives one bit. The fashion-sensitive man fixed his glasses on his face, tweaking them to his liking, but he stopped to think. He really loved these frames... It would be a shame if they got damaged during the game... Although he hated being seen without his glasses, he ultimately decided that he didn't need them in battle, and he removed them from his polished face. Austria removing his glasses meant that he was completely serious about this. No fooling around. As much as he hated Germany for forcibly recruiting him.

"Where is Hungary?"

"She's outside, still manning the door."

Ah Hungary. She was the best fighter out of all of them, and Germany felt much better about this, with Hungary on his side. Austria could attest to her strength and brute will. She was a force to be reckoned with, for sure. Even Japan was impressed by her skill. Germany looked over his team. He felt a little uneasy, but he knew that he had to keep his resolve with him, or he would be as useless as-

"Wait- where's Italy!?" Germany suddenly asked, looking around wildly.

—

England shivered beneath his cotton. It was cold on their side of the playing field. His hood was up over his head, to keep his ears warm. He stood on the stone balcony of his own fortress. China was beside him. The Chinaman had an unusually serious look on his face, eyes narrowed to fine points, lips slightly pursed against the wind, as if he was musing. England couldn't help feeling extremely awkward standing beside China. Their tensions had hardly eased up over the years– China still held a huge grudge against England over the Opium War, and not only that, but he took Hong Kong away from him–

England peered down, and spotted France, jousting thin air with a foil. No guns were allowed in this fight, that was one of the rules, he remembered. England hadn't practiced with his own sword in some time. He hoped that he hadn't gotten rusty. He continued watching France, keenly aware that they were allies in this situation, not enemies. And strangely, he felt perfectly fine with this. As much as he hated that Frog's guts.

It suddenly occurred to him that England's own team had yet to formulate any strategies for the game, so he naturally took it up himself -he, the Great British Empire- to lead.

"We need to-"

"I'm not taking orders from you, Opium-!" China reflexively snapped, glaring at his old rival. "You and your Western culture have done enough damage already, so keep your mouth shut, aru!"

Arthur forehead creased a vein.

"Oh really-? Well who are /you/ to say I can't give the orders, you todgy dog-eater?!"

"Aiyah!" The senior exclaimed angrily, "You did NOT just–"

A cry from within cut them off. China and England looked to the doorway. The cry was a piteous plea, and the coarse texture of the voice could only belong to one nation.

"Let me go, you Allied bastards! Fottuto bastardi, lasciatemi andare! CHIGII-!" The voice cracked, and a half-sob slipped from their flag, South Italy. His language was foul as he spoke in his native tongue. Unlike Canada, Romano was a more /unwilling/ prisoner. He had to be bound to a column inside the room. "Spagna! Spagna! Dove sei?! VIERNE A SALVARMIIIIII!"

*I'm not fluent in Italian, so I likely will not use foreign languages from now on.;

Translations:

-"Fottuto bastardi, lasciatemi andare!" = Fucking bastards, let me go!

-"Spagna! Spagna! Dove sei?! VIERNE A SALVARMIIIIII!" = Spain! Spain! Where are you?! COME AND SAVE MEEEEE!