…when something needs to be said but there's nothing left to say…
Good morning and goodnight, why don't you pull up a chair and sit on the floor?
.this is a tale of emotions running high.
Mute words filling in the gaps made by a silence louder than thunder.
""
Chatter filled the dining hall as plates of steaming and unappetising food were plunked on tables by already tired students. Globs of mush masquerading as mash-potato, limp salad and soggy chips were on the menu, as one could expect from a British school. The school should really just stop bothering to try and feed their students, the Cuisine Club would be selling food before too long; they were the un-sung heroes of the school, without them the majority of the student body would have either starved to death of died of food poisoning. So on the first night of the school year the food was poked at, pushed around on plates and whatever was edible was eaten [not much]. But enough about the crappy British food, no doubt you wish to learn of the students. It's actually quite boring, really, so much fuss is kicked up about high school, savage kids and whatnot, but honestly, in reality it's incredibly peaceful.
"The Hero has arrived!~"
Yes, peaceful.
A few students by the door let out terrified squeaks as they were almost squished by a massive door. A few guys shifted away from the over-excited American team, a certain Brit glowered at the American in question, and one Russian snapped his metal fork in half thinking about what he could do to the provocative teen if he so wished it.
Most of the teenagers just rolled their eyes, and a few grinned at the sight of an old, dear friend. Alfred strolled other to a table and plunked down next to the previously mentioned Brit who was now studiously ignoring him.
"Sup, Artie?!" Alfred typically ignored the waves of malicious intent rolling off his buddy, it wasn't as though he was in any danger from the boy. Not only was he stronger, but faster two and could out run him any day.
Gritting his teeth Arthur chose not to say anything, but damn he hated that nickname. Filling his mouth with mash –Arthur's one of the few who can stand the food- he hoped Alfred would get the picture and realise he was not happy with his previous stunt.
""
Somewhere not really necessary to pinpoint, Feliciano sat quietly, wondering where his brother was. His food was barely touched, so used to Italian cuisine all he could bare to place on the tray was salad… and then he found an ant on one of the leaves of spinach and was now he was fairly depressed, certain that the food alone would make him hate it here. Thus why he was silently sitting alone, unable to motivate himself even to get up and make some friends.
Where was Lovino, damnit?
""
Lovino kicked at the locker door one last time, managing to knee himself in the head in his cramped position. Whoop-de-fucking-doo, day one and he had already gotten himself shoved into a locker, locked in a locker. He couldn't even begin to express his disgust, so the long string of curse words flying from his mouth would have to suffice. They were bigger than him, damnit! Stronger, too. If only he hadn't of lost his fucking temper, if only he hadn't walked into that guy. If only that guy had a shred of dignity not to stick kids half their size into lockers!
"Fucking damnit!" Face no doubt as red as a tomato Lovino yelled out.
"Dios mio, is someone in here? Are you okay?"
A Spanish accented voice drifted through the locker door.