ALLEGIANCES
***NOTE: As some of these characters do not have given human names, I have provided them with some for the sake of the story.
SOLDATEN:
Leader: Ludwig (no given last name) (Germany)
Second in Command: Kiku Honda (Japan)
Antonio Carriedo (Spain)
Lovino Vargas (South Italy)
Feliciano Vargas (North Italy) (Trainee)
Roderich Edelstein (Austria)
Elizabeta Héderváry (Hungary)
Bella Martens (Belgium)
Abel Morgens (the Netherlands)
Luca Trausch (Luxembourg)
Feliks Lukasiewicz (Poland)
Heracles Karpusi (Greece)
Sadiq Adnan (Turkey)
HAWKS:
Leader: Alfred Jones (America)
Second-in-Command: Arthur Kirkland (Britain)
Matthew Williams (Canada)
Francis Bonnefoy (France)
Ivan Braginsky (Russia)
Natalya Arlovskaya (Belarus)
Katyusha Levchenko (Ukraine)
Wang Yao (China)
Im Yong Soo (South Korea)
Xiao Mei (Taiwan)
Wang Jia Long (Hong Kong)
Lien Chung (Vietnam)
Angelique Laroche (Seychelles)
Máximo Machado (Cuba)
Abelle Dubois (Monaco)
Christian Smith (Australia)
Oliver Thompson (New Zealand)
Meriptah Babafemi (Egypt)
Aakash Dhar (India)
Banyat Wattana (Thailand)
Kostas Papadakis (Cyprus)
Peter Kirkland (Sealand) (Trainee)
Mia Wilson (Wy) (Trainee)
Joshua Rhodes (Molossia) (Trainee)
VARGAR AV IS:
Leader: Berwald Oxenstierna (Sweden)
Second-in-Command: Vash Zwingli (Switzerland)
Erika Vogel (Liechtenstein)
Tino Väinämöinen (Finland)
Matthias Køhler (Denmark)
Lukas Bondevik (Norway)
Emil Steilsson (Iceland)
Raivis Galante (Latvia)
Toris Laurinaitis (Lithuania)
Eduard von Bock (Estonia)
Vladimir Popescu (Romania)
Filip Andonov (Bulgaria)
Aneta Beran (Czech Republic)
Radek Nagy (Slovakia)
xXxXx
Rain pounded down on the cement ground. A weak ray of moonlight peered through the gray clouds, smoky against the night sky. The newly formed puddles rippled as a man stomped through them, his eyes ablaze with hazel fire. His chocolate brown hair was plastered to his head from the rain, and his green jacket was equally soaked. However, this did not stop him. Lightning cracked overhead, creating an ominous feel as the man unsheathed a knife, gripping it tightly.
"Lovino!"
He turned at the sound of his name, only to see someone running towards him. His green eyes shone with panic as he sprinted toward his friend.
"Lovino," he repeated, catching his breath, "where are you going? And what's with the knife?"
"You know goddamn well what this is about! I'm sick and fucking tired of the Hawks' bullshit! So I'm going to settle this myself," Lovino explained, moving onward.
"And you expect to fight them alone?" The other man's voice clearly showed his shock.
"I'm not going to fight them, Antonio," he hissed. "I'm not that stupid. What I want to do is find that bastard Alfred and find out what the hell he's planning!"
Antonio paused, his mouth agape. Then he shut it and pondered for a moment, raising his head to gaze at Lovino. "You think Alfred is planning something?"
His Italian friend narrowed his eyes, spit on the ground, and scowled. "Of course he is. When's the last time any of us have heard from him or his fucking minions?"
"A while," Antonio admitted. "But if it's really anything to be concerned about, why don't you go to Ludwig and tell him?"
Lovino yelled, a wordless holler of frustration escaping his mouth. He raised his knife, causing Antonio to flinch, then hurled it across the alleyway. The blade hit a wall and cluttered to the ground with a clang.
"I'm sick and tired of that potato bastard! He hasn't launched an attack on the Hawks in weeks! And now he still expects us to follow him around like a fucking king! Well, I'm finished. Soldaten needs a new leader, or at least someone who will do something about this goddamn situation."
"You're wrong," came Antonio's protest. He reached out and touched Lovino's cheek, running his fingers down his face. His friend shut his eyes, letting the Spaniard have a rare moment of affection for him. Lovino's hand moved to trace the emblem on Antonio's jacket. The symbol of Soldaten was simple, two swords facing in opposite vertical directions. However, it stood for so much more. What originally started as a quarrel between teenage Alfred and Ludwig transformed into two full-out city gangs: the Hawks and Soldaten.
"You're wrong," he repeated. "Ludwig is not a stupid person, Lovino. If the Hawks are silent, then leave them be. If we do attack, what do you expect Ludwig to say? 'We attacked you because you were too quiet.' What would that solve?"
"But that only means we'll be less prepared if they attack!"
"Lovino…" Antonio took a deep breath and rested his chin on his friend's head. "You're courageous. That will make you a great person one day. But you need to learn to trust." He paused, his green eyes shining with thought. "All of us do."
A few minutes passed, and neither of the two men spoke. This situation had been continuing for years and had recently spiraled out of control. Most of the members were in their early twenties, as anyone above twenty-nine or so didn't know enough about them to get involved. Lovino was seventeen when it began. Three years. This had been happening for three years.
Lovino sighed angrily, his teeth clenched with rage. Finally, he met Antonio's gaze. "Fine," he huffed, then stormed away. His Spanish counterpart thought he would retrieve his fallen dagger, but Lovino trudged past it.
"Lovino, you-"
"I'm going home!"
Antonio grinned to himself as he watched him jog home. Lovino was his best friend, and he had mentored the hotheaded Italian when he had first joined Soldaten. Also, he was one of the few men Lovino could stand.
He knelt down, picked up the knife, and began to head back to his house, deciding it was late enough. Antonio hooked the blade into his belt, feeling its comforting weight as he, too, walked home in the downpour.
