Chapter 4

Alfred lounged back in his chair, sighing contently.

"Dudes, there's nothing better than this." Ivan gave him an annoyed look.

"That may be your opinion, Alfred. You could always help us clean up, you know." Unfortunately for everyone inhabiting the base at that time, the entrance hall - and everywhere else, for that matter - was a complete and utter dump. It was as though someone had brought a particularly rowdy band of drunk bears around to drink cheap whisky and ruin the curtains while everyone else was either out or comatose. This was - almost - what had happened the previous night.

"What kind of thoughtless halfwit would do such a thing?" grumbled Arthur, spearing a suspect-looking half of an old hamburger with his rapier. "Alfred…"

"Hey, I'm not the only one who eats those things around here." Alfred pulled an innocent face - well, as innocent as he could manage. "Give that thing here." Taking control of the rapier (much to Arthur's discomfort), he tentatively sniffed the soggy meat.

"French, with no doubts here." On cue, a groan was heard from under a toppled bookcase.

"Can someone give me a hand with this thing?" A voice accompanied it.

"Oh, god. Francis, you didn't bring your stupid French friends around again, did you?" asked Arthur, approaching the bookcase. "Wait, don't answer that - you obviously did, and got them all blotto enough to do this to the base. Ivan, help me move his thing." Ivan swiftly lifted up two corners with his bare hands, allowing Francis to roll out from underneath it. His dishevelled hair would've been worthy of a model magazine, despite his obvious hangover - though this was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was wearing nothing but his underwear.

"Those stupid French friends of mine happen to have some very beautiful sister, I will have you know." He sat up, clutching his head. "And some very beautiful wine. Doesn't even give you a hangover…" With this, he promptly fell asleep.

"Irresponsible idiot." Arthur muttered. "You can put the bookcase down now, Ivan."

"But he is still underneath it… will that not crush him to within an inch of his life while he sleeps?"

"…I suppose so. Oh, well - the only way to find out is to try." Prising Ivan's fingers free (and smirking at the muffled crash), Arthur turned back to Alfred - and put on his best grumpy face once more. "So, are you going to help us or not?"

"Naah, man - I'm kind of tired." Alfred yawned melodramatically. "I think I'll just sleep in this chair for a while, you know?" Smirking at Arthur's faux-wound-up expression, he stood and grabbed a bin bag. "I'll help out. I mean, even that little Peter kid's making himself useful." He pointed towards the child in question, who was on his hands and knees among some broken glass.

"Uh… Mister Arthur? Are you sure this is safe?" Clutching a sponge (with a few sellotaped to his elbows, knees, hands and forehead for good measure), a sea of broken bottles stretched out all over the library, awaiting a clumsy, wandering kid - sans sponges.

"Yes, yes, that's what the sponges are for. Best things for getting glass. Be sure to put it in that bag, I'm busy."Arthur and Ivan decided to be in charge of putting furniture in the right places. Spying a towering pile of dressers in a corner (arranged in a style reminiscent of a pillow fort), Arthur tapped Ivan on the shoulder and nodded towards it.

"Okay, let's deconstruct it." Clapping his hands once, Ivan obediently removed each dresser - and neatly placed them down next to him.

"It looks like we have found some survivors of the French party." Huddled in a circle of dressers, a pair of ahoge-clad men were huddled in the foetal position.

"Mister Ivan, Mister Ivan, thank you!" A thankful, sing-song Italian voice trilled, its owner bouncing out. "We were trapped in there since last night! We were very very scared!"

"Speak for yourself, idiot." Who appeared to be his twin - or perhaps, his brother - also emerged, and made an attempt at moving one of his dressers. "It is fine, Ivan, I can deal with this." Failing to move it an inch, Ivan picked it up with one hand.

"It is no trouble, Lovino. I can deal with these easily." Alfred's attention was finally caught - to be fair, a hard task at the best of times.

"Hey, Feli, Lovi! I was wonderin' where you guys had got to! We could've used the Pasta Lantern and Romestro while we were fighting Poison Iwy! Oh, you should've seen some of the moves I pulled off - I did this sweet dive, that was totally awesome, like-" Alfred's speech was cut short by a snort from Arthur.

"Oh, please. I was the one who saved the fight. And, no mention of 'Flash'? Though I can hardly blame you…" He glanced at Francis, still snoozing under the bookcase.

"Why you-!" Hurling an inexplicably damp serviette at Arthur, Alfred prepared himself for retaliation with a dustbin-lid shield.

"Ugh! Do you even know what that is!?" Hoping he'd never find out, Arthur hurled the 'French' hamburger at Alfred - who happened to have dropped his shield while he giggled - an activity he quickly stopped when he was hit in the face with old salad and patty.

"Eww! Dude that's disgusting!" But he began to laugh again, as he threw someone's shirt.

"T-That's disgusting!" Arthur couldn't stop himself laughing as well, at this point - more so when Feliciano walked into the middle of the firing range.

"Oh! Is this a present?" He eyed the card, a panda emblazoned on the front.

"Pff-aahaahaahaa!"