A/N: Another pointless drabblet. I probably over did the symbolism. Notice there's a total of twelve paragraphs which is triple the value that is half of eight? Hahahaha...
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn belongs to Amano. :D
It's all sweet hunger and wrestled mania here in this dark room. There are eight chairs around a round table.
This is a war council and men are speaking in hushed tones as a thin woman sits behind a tall, blue-haired man. She clutches her trident tight with hopeful fingers clutched so tight the knuckles are white. She could be praying, but she knows that there's no one who will have any hopes of hearing prayers that she just won't utter.
The man sitting on her left to her flashes teeth in a mockery of a smile at something that is said. He used to smile with such ease, but these days the expression just stretches the scar on his chin.
The silver haired man sitting across from the girl looks grim. Oaths and declarations spill from his lips and then he is suddenly quiet as he begins to scribble away at the paper in front of him. He is drawing the battle plans that will end them all.
The boy sitting to the right of the girl twirls his curly dark hair with a far away look in his eyes. His mouth moves only because he is gumming fruity candy and his hands twist the tails of his cow print shirt. Too young to be so jaded sitting amongst the backdrop of elders hiding more weapons on their person than a small city's personal militia.
Everyone in the room is already quiet, but become deathly so when a brunette stands to speak.
"We launch the attack in seven days. All of you have an assigned destination you must arrive at no later than noon tomorrow. The locations will be given to you by tonight in a coded message. Meeting adjourned."
The man at the head of the table speaks with his head down. His fingers twist his family ring around and around and around. His voice his soft, but his eyes are flinty and unforgiving even though they are sad too. The years have worn him down. His morals are in shreds, and yet he is a yet to be defeated man.
The first man out the door has cropped hair and is whispering prayers under his breath in Latin. Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.His fists clench and unclench, but his strides are even as he walks out.
The next man out the door is dressed in black with a purple tie that he adjusted when he rose from his chair. His cuff links sparkle in the dim light of the room. He drifts out the door and disappears down the hall. The lush carpet cushions his almost noiseless exit. It's like he wasn't even in the room.
The last man out the door is the blue-haired one. The girl with the trident trails after him and their steps are in synch. He is humming one of the latest Italian ballads under his breath. He is marching towards death and destruction with love songs in his head spinning a heady tune.
The room is empty except for the brunette at the head of the table who sits in the high backed chair with his head in his hands. And then he brings his hands down to twist his family ring round and round and round. He counts to eight and he can't bear to twist the ring a single time more.