Hey all! Thank to those who have reviewed so far ;) I really appreciate it! Enjoy Oh also, I know I referred to Sweden, Iceland and Norway as the Baltics last chapter, but they are indeed in fact NORDICS. Sorry for the confusion!
"It hardly even seems like to weeks have passed," Daisy Vargas remarked as she shoved a spoonful of pasta and cheese into her mouth, devouring the dish from her homeland. "Our time here went by so fast…"
Louise continued pacing around the plush hotel suite they were sharing, staring nervously at the enormous, flat screen television on the on the wall. Meanwhile, Daisy lay on the sofa, comfortably resting and eating from the many instant food services their hotel service had to offer, now settling on a piece of gooey chocolate cake. "Come on," She told Louise, starting to dig in once more. "Lighten up! Enjoy this enormous grand hotel while we still can."
"This is only for another day!" The German shot back, grabbing a piece of sausage jerky and feverishly biting into it. "Tomorrow we'll be thrown out to die! Really, how can you just sit there and eat? I've never understood Italians…"
Daisy shrugged, polishing off her cake. "Pasta is good. So is all the other food here though."
"I can barely even eat," Louise sighed, throwing the sausage away in the golden waste bin. "Training scores will be broadcast any minute, and I just…just can't wait to see mine!"
"What did you show the Game makers anyway?" Daisy questioned as she took yet another food item, this time a creamy lemon pie. "I just showed them several new paints I was able to make with berries, and that I could tell the dangerous and safe ones apart, and also that I could beat their dummy up."
"It will give you something, at least," The butch, blond women responded, leaning against her bedpost, albeit glad that North Italy's female version could at least put up somewhat of a fight. "I just hope mine will allow me to get decent sponsors and make a good impression."
Daisy shook her head again. "You Germans are always so uptight and serious, oh-"She cut off as the television screen flashed brightly, with the latest update. "They're here!" At this, Louise gasped and sprinted over to the sofa, knocking an expensive silver vase filled with roses aside. Her wide blue eyes were fixated on the screen, which was recapping the tribute parade, showcasing Spain and Isabel in flashy red and gold chariots studded with gems, Vietnam in her chariot made to look like a gondola, and the audience being totally confused as to who Canada and Marguerite, his female sibling, even were.
"Come on, come on," Louise growled impatiently as the gaudy announcer cracked a few jokes, and then finally got on with it. The screen blinked, and then the scores were posted.
Daisy Vargas-7
Canada-2
Marguerite-2
Nikolai-10
Louise-10
India-6
Allison Jones-9
Honda Sakura-9
Chun Wang (FemChina)-6
Vietnam-8
Mexico-4
Isabel-6
Francoise (FemFrance)-3
Gillian-9
Spain-7
Romano-2
Austria-4
Korea-7
Hong Kong-5
Swedan-10
Iceland-4
Norway-5
Daniel (Male Hungary) – 10
Alice Kirkland- 11
Louise stomped angrily on the floor, though the thick, royal purple carpeting nullified the affect. "Bitch! Last year Alice's brother got a 12. The highest score, and she gets an 11 just put under her? Oh, I'm going to get her good in the arena…I doubt she can even fight!" The German cracked her knuckles and snorted. "Little Alice Kirkland is dead."
…
"Come on, you'll be fine," Allison said dismissively, waving off Marguerite's concerns. The Canadian Female was fretting over her low training score, upset that it would seal her fate of no sponsors.
"No, I won't," She countered, worriedly biting her lip. "The Gamemakers didn't even know who I was! They couldn't even see me until I screamed at them a couple of times. They I thought I was you coming in for another session, and they couldn't even see Matthew the whole time!"
Allison F. Jones plopped down on her thousand thread count sheets, sinking into the soft mattress. "Oh, take a chill pill. You guys will be fine. I mean last year Alfred…"
"Got killed by a micro nation?"
"Well yeah, but the point is, he could've won if he wasn't so dumb," She turned her blue eyes on her Canadian look alike. "You and I, we're smarter than that, okay? So just calm down and it'll be fine," Allison reached ad turned her lamp off, sinking into her king sized bed and falling into a blissful, yet loud with abundant snoring and drooling, sleep. Marguerite watched as the loud and proud American drenched her pillows with slobber, then cast her eyes down and sat down on her own bed. Rather than trying and miserably failing to sleep, the nation merely sat in the dark and thought about her life. Alongside her brother, she'd grown up with Alfred and Allison, first under France, and then Britain, making the two quarrelsome nations her parents.
Parents that were both dead.
She'd seen it all and cried through it last year. First France getting a sword suck into his back by Prussia, than England holding on, caring for his little brother, and then getting all the way to the final five tributes before having his ribcage crushed and heart ripped out by a revenge hungry Germany. Marguerite could still hear the man's scream and sobs of anguish, and she could still see France being struck and falling to a cold, hard ground from which he would never rise from.
She could only hope the same thing wouldn't happen to her.
…..
"A lovely morning, don't you think, Romano?" Spain stood up, stretching in the golden sun streaming in through his bay window, and trying to coax a grumpy Southern Italian boy out of his bed. "Come on now, there's breakfast waiting downstairs!" Spain said excitedly as he pulled a pair of slacks over his tomato printed boxers.
"I'm only going to die soon anyway, so shut up you miserable bastard!" Spain blinked at Romano's muffled outburst as the Italian rolled over and pulled the golden blanket back over his head. The Spanish man bit his lip and gingerly bent down over Romano's head, gently patting his dark brown hair.
"Now Romano, don't talk like that. It's like this is uh, this is…" Spain trailed off, having difficulty fighting Romano's argument that they were most likely all going to be dead within ten hours anyway. The two weeks of assessment and training had gone by, and Spain had even learned how to throw knives and use a bow and arrow. "This isn't the end, eh? The audience loved us at the tribute parade; remember we were even featured last night?"
Romano turned around, a murderous look in his eyes. "Yes, the crowd loved you, I wasn't the one with the million dollar chariot, and I only got a freakin' TWO last night, while Mr. Asshole Conquistador here got himself a fat old seven, at least you have a CHANCE at living!" He breathed heavily, a minuscule tear streaming down his eye, which he quickly wiped away before Spain could see.
Spain scratched his head, frowning. "It sounds like you're going to target me in the arena…"
"Maybe I will! If I don't die within the first minute!" The Southern Italian stood up, growling angrily before slamming the bathroom door. Spain shook his head and sighed, just wishing that Romano would go back to being chibi and living in his house with everyone else. Besides Isabel, all Spain and Romano actually had now was each other. Maybe if Romano wasn't so stubborn and chalk full of pride he'd allow Spain to help and protect him, but he'd angrily shoved Spain away in the training center, not wanting the other tributes to see then together. Indeed, Romano had struggled in almost every station, except, oddly enough, the one on berries, a feat which he had tried to show the Gamemakers.
"I guess I will just head down before they drag us out…" Spain sighed exiting their enormous and luxurious room, and trudging down the hallway, dismally wishing he could just be back at the village, or better yet, home. The Spaniard enjoyed a quiet elevator ride down to the ground level, along with FemFrance, he stared intently in the mirror, fixing her hair and pulling her outfit up far too high. He exited, and proceeded to the cafeteria area, deciding he may as well take this opportunity to stock in on some delicious Capitol foods for what would probably be the last time. As he grabbed a plateful of tomatoes and a gourmet seafood salad of sorts, Spain though about how another, different handful of twenty four nations had been in this exact same position just one year ago. He could imagine that America, like his female counterpart was actually doing, would be cramming all sorts of food into his gullet right now. China would be sampling every tiny thing, not wanting to leave anything a mystery.
And Italy…poor Veneziano must have been terrified, or perhaps feeling a little bit more confident with Germany at his side. Nevertheless, had he sensed impending death coming? Did he scream and cry all the way down to the arena, or adopt his cocky attitude, and show no fear? Even after that…did he die alone, completely terrified, cold, and full of pain, or did little Italy's final moments pass with somebody at his side, comforting and holding him as he passed on? Spain had to believe his little brother was able to die in peace…and he had to do the same for Romano.
"Spain?" The after mentioned nation looked up to see Romano, all dressed and ready standing above, chewing his lip.
"What is it, Romano?" He responded, looking up into the Italian's contorted face.
He shuffled about nervously, taking large, juicy bites out of a tomato he was holding. "I…I just wanted to say…to say that I'm sor- that I'm so-, s-,s-" He stamped his foot not being able to get the words out beneath his overwhelming pride. "For the things I said…"
Spain raised a thick, brown eyebrow. "You're sorry?"
"SHUT UP! I mean, uh, yes…maybe." He swallowed the rest of the red fruit and wrinkled his nose as Spain smiled and patted his head, pleased to finally hear what an attempted apology was at least.
"It's okay, little Romano," The Spaniard responded, he stood up, and stood in closer to Romano, taking in his milky white skin, chocolate brown eyes, and odd bits of brown stubble on his cheeks. As the acidic scent of tomatoes and mozzarella swirled in his nose, Spain leaned in closer and closer yet.
As he grabbed the boy's face, he bent in, and kissed Romano's soft, pink lips.
Sorry it had to be cut a bit short, but the tributes will arrive at the arena next chapter ;) Thanks for reading, and review!