Gahhhh I was so bored during the power outage that I write this

I'm sure it's fuckd up but u can't go all hatin on mi! I think this is actually the first fanfic I've posted...

Grrrrr this first chapter sucks nothing happens but I already hav the 2nd and 3rd chapters written up so I'll post them som time soon

I'd like it if u told me the flaws in this so I can becom a better writer

Also sadly I own none of the characters in this fic caus well I don't believ I own you but ~(-.-)~ we'll never know now will we and if you really think I own hetalia well im a rainbow mother fuckin unicorn who breaths fire and shoots lazers from my ass yuptie do

Try to enjoy~!

Chapter 1~

You walk into the bar lifting yourself onto one of the stools cautiously.

You had bruises up your thighs and crawling down your back painting your (s /c) skin various shades of black and blue, and it hurt like hell sitting down.

Grimacing you order a hard beer and some shots hoping they might clear away the pain from the streets. You'd been caught stealing again from a local dealer. Of course you could defend yourself but a baseball bat is a baseball bat none the less.

The bartender comes back with your order and before he can warn you to take it easy with those shots, you lift one to your lips and drown yourself in its fiery burn. Doing the same with two more of the shots and chugging half the beer you look up to the horrified bartender and order five more.

Rushing away the bartender doesn't see you bottle the beer and drain the other shot glasses. Checking to see if he dares to look back at you, you see him timidly pouring the other shots no one would drinking while trying to settle down some upset customer on the other side of the bar. Newbie. You leap off the seat with new energy than before and make your way to the exit unnoticed.

That is, at least by most.

You can tell the bartender was still dealing with the customer from the pathetic racket your hear behind you.

You knew no one would care enough to try and stop you if they'd recognized you hadn't paid. You were clear.

On your way to the exit, gracefully making your way through the crowd of incoming people, you saw something catch your eyes.

Two emerald like orbs following your every step.

You analyzed the witness: Young, Male, Heavy Rolex, Dress suit though untucked; Wealthy Business man, Close to golden blond hair, Slightly messy, Thick eyebrows also golden though insanely sexy; English heritage, Piercing Green eyes, Only slight bags, No bloodshot; Not drunk... Shit

You quickly look away feeling his gaze still on you. You were angry as someone had seen you, not many did.

Continuing towards the exit you can tell he's still watching you.

From what you'd seen you know the man's no heavy drinker. He had a glass of almost untouched scotch in his hand that was also so
transparent some would pass it for whiskey from far away. But you were no fool.

This was no good side of town. No man in a healthy mind state who was wearing a suit of that expense and a watch that like that would come down here to sip at a glass of scotch. Your were surprised, he'd made it this far without getting mugged.

But you could already tell he wasn't here for the bartenders cheap service liquor.

From the corner of your eye you saw him get up and pay the nearest waiter for his drink. You were close to sprinting at this point but you managed to keep your legs under control, walking out of the exit of the bar you didn't look back to see if he was following.

You weren't stupid. Everyone knows looking back when your being chased only slows you down more. You don't know who invented such stupid methods but they had been born into this world then kicked out of it not shortly after for their retardedly moronic logic. If you were going to die you didn't want to watch as your murderer shot you in the face

Turning the corner you heard the man exit the bar. You stopped at the opening of the alleyway watching him trying to decide whether to sprint or not. He looked both ways to see which way you'd went. Taking a device that looked similar to a phone out of his pocket he said a few words to whoever was on the other end before hanging up and turning the opposite direction you were in.

Both a mixture of relieved and perplexed you continued walking back towards the old factory you had been taking refuge in.

Arriving at the factory, you went around the side where part of what used to be a fire escape hung rusting.

Pulling a pair of gloves out of a compartment in your (color) leather jacket you put them on and jumped up grabbing lowest rung in the rusting latter. Heaving yourself up was tricky work due to all your sore muscles but the liquor would kick in and fix that sooner or later. When finally up on the old fire escape you made your way to the top of the rusty platforms and through the window located somewhere near half way up.

The factory doesn't really have the necessary household needs like a bed or refrigerator but you managed. It was just a place to stay when you weren't being chased by angry dealers or creeps who thought they could best you.

You would never say your blood was necessarily clean but you didn't do drugs, just stole them and resold them.

People who came looking for you didn't get past the third floor due to the stairwell kinda crashing in on itself which was useful seeing you decked out on the fifth.

Opening your (fav/c) suitcase in the corner of the room you pushed the pile of bills to one side and added two bottles of pills to the other. Hey. Money was money. If you sold a hopeless addict the same shit they bought from a dealer for a bit less they were all over you. You'd never call your business fair or just in that matter, but those money hoarding drug shot dealer assholes weren't any better than you. Sometimes you even considered yourself a hero for getting the drugs to people who couldn't pay for them. They were wasted over douce no veins*,but you couldn't help but pity them at times.
Due to the many places you've been, you have an assortment of different currencies. It's all jumbled together in the (fav/c) suitcase along with the drugs that truthfully, you wouldn't touch if they didn't come in bottles or packets. It was disgusting what some people did to themselves.

Throwing the (fav/c) suitcase
closed you crashed on the floor into the many blankets you'd either stolen or brought for the floor is hard against your abused limbs. Feeling the liquor start to kick in along with exhaustion you drift off and close your bloodshot (e/c) eyes, but only to find yourself dreaming of Emerald Green ones.

*no veins- when a person uses too many drugs that require a needle eventually they won't be able to find the veins they used to shoot the drugs into. Therefore I have dubbed them "no veins". I'm proud of my name so deal

yeah... i really hope this wasn't too crappy