If he told the truth, which he probably wouldn't, he was painfully curious. He removed his eye from the scope and looked down at the small tea shop. While he was curiosity like he had never had been curious before the man would still die. He would die very quickly, in some sort of immediate and ceremonious demise. His blood would splatter on the floor and his face would probably freeze in surprise or shock or something of the like. Alfred frowned, he didn't like that much. Then again he wasn't paid to like things.

His glasses had begun to slip down the bridge nose and he pushed them back up out of habit. He sat down to the side of his rifle with a deep, remorseful sigh.

He looked down at his hands.

They were encased in soft brown leather. Old leather, that had been repaired many times and had been worn by his father before him. Killing people wasn't exactly the family business, but Alfred had always just found it easier to just wander along to path given to him rather than bother stumbling into the unknown wilderness. He wasn't exactly controlled though and he largely did what he wanted, much to the unhappiness of many. Still laziness was regrettably and constantly getting the better of him.

He didn't feel particularly guilty about the fact that he killed people for money, it was never really him anyway. He was just a middle man. Someone to get down and dirty while the real intent stayed fresh and clean. He was just a servant to the real evil, who he really tried not to concern himself with.

A strong wind blew in from the east and Alfred muttered some curse words. You would think that you would get used to being on roofs when you're an assassin, but Alfred had never gotten used to it. He hated roofs. They were always windy and cold and it was like the sun just turned off when ever he went up to them. He grunted disapprovingly to himself and looked down at the man that was yet to die. He sat primly a chair right next to the window of the cafe, the light sun shining down on him. He was reading some book that looked older than their ages combined. Alfred could see light shining through his hair. It glowed a lighter blond than his own shock of ragged locks. The man that was yet to be killed sipped a cup of tea, occasionally eating some chocolate. He was handsome in a prim,m sharp sort if way. From where Alfred sat, atop the opposite building, he could see a bright glimmer in the man's emerald eyes. They glistened quietly in the sparkling sunlight and Alfred was rendered speechless.

Beauty, he had always thought, was painfully overrated and cliched to such an extent that it was basically pointless. Beauty, over time, had just become something for people to make money off. Something to be feed off and scavenged for until I was old and dull. He had plenty of his own and had no need for anymore. Yet, some how this man had a beauty that he had never seen before. Nor had he ever encountered it being advertised in a magazine. This was not the type of beauty that was for sale. He looked so calm, sitting there in his cafe, sipping his tea and reading his book. Like he was just patiently waiting for whatever anyone decided to do.

Alfred wondered, basically to himself, why someone would put in an order for the man's death. Normally when someone wanted someone else dead they tended to be a little more shady than this man seemed to be. Most of it time it was in the other part of the city, the part that people always managed to get kidnapped in and things of that sort happened on a regular basis. Most of the time when people are going to get assassinated they don't sit next to windows where a sniper can easily end their life. On average the people that got assassinate usually saw it coming.

Maybe the man was a nymph. Nymphs were ditzy and usually did ditzy things like actively welcome being assassinated and waiting for it in shop windows. Then again he didn't really look like a nymph, he looked far too intelligent. Come to think of it he was probably just a perfectly normal human being. Alfred suddenly felt silly. He didn't need to be asking questions like that. A lead bullet to the brain kills all sorts of creatures, so it just didn't matter whether he was or wasn't human.

Alfred yawned, he wanted some burgers and he was done with watching the man. He wasn't particularly interested in the man's untimely and probably unwelcome death, but he was interested in the money it provided him with. The money he was in dire need of. He was lucky that he was able to live on burgers without actually dying of a heart attack. He once again positioned himself behind the gun and put his eye too the scope. He shifted the black barrel until the little cross was right over the man's forehead. While he was going to end the man's life, Alfred didn't feel the need to prolong any suffering. His finger hoovered over the trigger.

A breath in.

Do I want to do this?

No, probably not.

Do I need to do this?

People gotta eat.

Oh well.

A breath out.

All Alfred had to do was plunge his finger down and the shot was fired. The bang was aching and painful to his sensitive ears but he ignored it. Something far more interesting had happened than the fact that his ears hurt. Something far, far more interesting.

He hadn't missed.

He never missed, but the man hadn't dropped dead either. The window had

shattered, so the bullet had gotten that far. Alfred watched as the man that had mysteriously not been killed hold the bullet between his thumb and forefinger.

He had caught the bullet.

He had caught the bullet without even changing his facial expression.

How stupid was that. How absolutely stupid. It was like something from a western drama, only real life and impossible. Alfred pushed his eye even closer to the scope as he watched the man twist the bullet in his fingers, with what looked like interest. He didn't look afraid in the least, mildly surprised maybe. But definitely not afraid. He shrugged as if to himself before popping the bullet into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He continued to calmly read his book as if nothing had happened. He actually seemed kind of pleased because the warmth, not just the light, of the sun shone down on him now.

The man had just caught a bullet and eaten it.

I must if drunk some weird shit last night, Alfred thought to himself as he sat back, questioning what he had just witnessed. He went over everything from the moment he had pulled the trigger to him revelling in the insanity of what had just happened.

Shot fired.

Got to the window.

The man caught it.

Shrugged.

Ate it.

Continued to read.

Alfred could see the pictures in his mind and he was perfecting certain of what he had seen. That man was not human. He looked like a human and seemed to do what human did, but he was most defiantly not one. Human's cannot catch bullets, they can't chew them either. How… how completely absurd.

"Dude" Alfred muttered to himself. That wasn't meant to happen.

One of the waitresses came over to him immediately and tapped his shoulder.

"Arthur, are you alright? Did someone throw a stone or something?" Arthur looked up at the waitresses. He had known her since she was very small, but she wasn't aware of that. He had proudly decided that she would consider him an old friend. He didn't usually go messing about in people's minds, but he had accidentally made a little promise to her father that he would watch over her and if he was going to be truthful he had grown a little overly fond of the girl. She had long decided that he was going to be in her life, so he had just made the appropriate changes to accommodate that. He was actually pretty proud of himself for that. It was a very neat job.

"Yes, yes I'm perfectly fine. It's nothing" just some trying to kill me, nothing to worry about, Arthur thought to himself. "I think I'll take my leave now. Be sure to get the get the window repaired, and sweep up the shards with care. I wouldn't want you to get cut" Arthur stood quickly. He didn't really fancy getting his old friend mixed up in whatever the owner of the bullet thought he or she was doing. Taking his book he leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek just like he did everyday and smiled at her. He had been doing that for years upon years, but somehow she still managed to blush. It amazed him.

"I will, don't worry" she said happily. "Come back tomorrow" it was their ritual. A kiss on the cheek from him and a friendly 'come back tomorrow' from her. Arthur smiled, he was always back tomorrow. That was the way it worked.

"Of course" with that he grabbed his coat from the coat rack and strode out the door, muttering about how he was going to have to sit in the other window seat tomorrow and just how much that annoyed him. As he walked he attempted to pick some lead bullet out of his teeth. It tasted like Indian spices and tar. It wasn't a bad taste, but he wasn't hungry any more. He flicked a few shards of shrapnel into the shrubbery and continued to walk down the street, almost whistling with contentment.

He wasn't particularly surprised when he happened to notice he was being followed. People that fail assassination attempts always seemed to do that. Or at least that was what Arthur figured. Nobody had ever tried to kill him before. He was still a bit annoyed though. He didn't particularly like the sensation, it only made him more irritable.

Deciding that he was hungry and he wanted to go home, Arthur adjusted his course. He would deal with the unfortunate assassin when he got home and perhaps he would have some lunch.

Arthur very calmly unlocked his gate and continued up the pathway that lead to his house. He quite liked his house. It was neat and his garden was always in bloom. He smiled at his sunny white door as his opened it. Maybe he would make some scones. Of course the persistent assailant was still following him, but as far as Arthur was concerned he could follow himself up his own ass. Perhaps Arthur could make that happened. He liked that idea.

With a deep sigh Arthur instead placed the groceries he had picked up on the counter and took of his jacket, leaving him in just his waist coat, which he unbuttoned. He wandered into his living room. Just like the rest of the house there were hip high piles of books everywhere. Arthur had long run out of bookshelf space so he had resorted to piling his books on the floor. That had been a good hundred years ago and he was actually beginning to run out of plausible floor space. The living room had single papers filtering about, like a fine layer of snow. It only added to the faint sense of disarray. It was like his house was a study rather than a home.

Arthur quickly lit a fire to warm his cold house and turned on a few lights. Evening was descending upon him much sooner than he had expected. Perhaps it would be supper rather than lunch. Sighing, he stood and headed out to the back door. He opened it and stared out into the backyard. Arthur had planted many trees in his backyard when he had first moved in and now they were great and strong.

"Hey, wanker!" He yelled out into the darkness. "If you're going to try and shoot me at least have the courtesy to do it inside the house. I really don't find it an appealing task to have to pick frozen assassin out of trees" the darkness didn't respond immediately, but he still saw a broad figure leap down from one of the tress. Arthur raised an eyebrow at how young he was, pretty handsome too. "Alright Mr Assassin-Prick, it gets cold here very fast so if you don't mind..." Arthur gestured inside the house and a young man stepped into the porch light, carrying his huge gun and pulling the trigger.

And so Arthur got another snack.

Authors note:

I smashed this chapter out in fifteen minutes I swear.

It was just so much fun to write and I really hope that you enjoyed reading it as well. Updates will becoming soon.

Becuase fate hates me I do not own hetalia or any of the characters as much as it disappoints me.

Yours faithfully,

Clementine.