Chapter Seven: The Tone
~We now return to our favorite trapped nations~
Time seemed to freeze as the katana in Japan's hand, seemingly pulled out of nothing, hung in mid-air, poised to fall with its perfectly honed edge angled downwards.
Italy was foaming at the mouth
England was too shocked to move.
Russia held on to his pipe, his grip tight around the metal.
There was absolutely no sound at all. Until…
"J-Japan, old chap, just what do you think you're doing?" England squeaked at last, his voice cracked and sounding on the edge of a nervous breakdown. The Asian man said nothing, only narrowing his eyes. Italy meanwhile took the opportunity to scramble backwards and out of harm's way, crashing fully into Russia's legs and not caring a wit.
"Veeee! Japan, what's happening?" he whimpered, "W-Was it something I did? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again whatever it—"
"Italy-san…" Japan's voice cut through the pleas as smoothly as a stroke from his blade. Which, coincidentally, was pointed directly at the trembling nation again. "The problem here," he continued, "Is that your voice… No, I take it back, you… are invading my personal space!"
"Personal… what? Japan, let's just put the sword down and talk this through, like rational gentlemen! W-What say you?" This was from England again. The nation had edged warily forward, holding out his hand in a manner he hoped was as non-threatening as possible. Unfortunately Japan would have none of it, his eyes flickering up to him with such a smolder, that England froze in his tracks.
"Iie. I have had enough," the nation hissed. "None of you have any idea what torture I go through, in this tiny space! There isn't any room! And no fresh air! I…I… I cannot take it!" With each word his voice rose in pitch, gaining a strained, hysterical note at the end. Then, in a move too quickly to follow, the katana flashed in his hand. Italy shrieked and covered his eyes. England jumped hastily back against the wall to minimize the chance of his being hit— but to the surprise of all, the blade's target was the elevator floor. With the sound of screeching wood and metal being rent apart, a great gash appeared directly between wielder and the other inhabitants, directly diagonal from the corners.
Japan stood on one half. Everyone else, crammed against the wall, with the sole exception of Russia. Up until that point the tall nation stood silently, eyeing the Asian man with an unreadable look in his violet eyes, and now, the pipe-wielder made his move.
"Care to explain yourself, Japan?" he said, his voice a sickly sweet tone that sent a chill down the back of England's neck.
It was The Tone.
The specific Tone that sent everyone stumbling backwards as fast as they could at a world meeting, and one that made even America hesitate for a fraction of a second… before egging the nation on anyway. And here Russia was using it, in a tiny rectangle of an elevator that did not allow retreating of any kind at all.
It seemed that with his composure, Japan had thrown away all semblance of self-preservation, in the form of him stepping forward, to the edge of the line, and toe to toe with Russia… to glare up at him with smoldering eyes. Black versus Violet.
"It is simple. You," he indicated with a flick of shining blade, "Stay on the side of the line. All of you." A glare was directed to the other two nations, who flinched. "In turn, I stay on this side, by myself. You will not bother me. You will not touch me. Is that good of an explanation for you, Russia-San?"
With that final hiss, a chilling aura spread through the space as Russia's violet eyes darkened. Disturbingly enough his smile remained as he craned his neck downwards at the smaller Asian nation in front of him.
"Ah. I understand what you say, comrade, but I'm afraid that I do not agree with your… proposal."
The pipe in his hand rose, landing in the palm of the other with a solid smack. Japan stiffened, as did his grip on the katana's hilt. The tension was thickening, so solid England could almost swear he saw it… strangely enough, it almost seemed as if it were purple in color, and radiating excessively from Russia…
"This is not a large space, da? Why should you have most of it to yourself, simply because you happen to be throwing a temper tantrum?" said nation said, still in the syrupy sweet range of The Tone.
"Temper tantrum? You dare speak against me like that?" Japan was not happy. Never mind The Tone, the fiery sparks of his own temper were shooting from his body. He edge one foot forward, the tiny movement more threatening than one could possibly imagine.
Quicker than the blink of an eye, so quick England didn't even need to blink to miss it, Russia's pipe came hurtling downwards, with every intention of laying the Asian nation flat, if not for the fact that Japan's katana had flown up to block, resulting in the shrill screech of metal on metal, and an explosion of sparks.
"Oh bloody hell!" England could not jump back fast enough. His back thudded painfully against the metal-encased walls while next to him Italy similarly dove behind his legs, miserably disrupting his balance. A white flag had sprouted from the nation's hand as he babbled in Italian, waving it furiously.
Where the hell were all these long objects coming from, anyway?
"Oh, not bad, but is this really what you want to be doing?" Russia taunted, a feral grin stretched across his face as he pushed forward, hard. Japan resisted, gritting his teeth before spitting his reply back.
"You do not have any power over me!" he snapped, despite sliding back the barest fraction of an inch from the sheer display of strength. It was a very clear stalemate. Russia, with his brute force and height, against Japan, with his wiry form and rigid samurai history. Neither was willing to back down. Even though the enclosed space of the elevator was hardly the place for a duel at all.
At this moment Prussia chose to make his entrance. There was a thump from the ceiling, and next thing they knew there was a face staring down on them from the hole of the grate.
"Yo! You guys, I couldn't find a way out, but Gilbird—What the hell!" The face hastily redrew at the scene below. "Mein Gott, what's going on down there?" his slightly muffled voice demanded, suspiciously a few notes higher than normal.
"Oh, now you show up, you—" England mumbled, only to have Italy drown out his voice.
"P-Prussia! Prussia, Japan's lost it and Russia's fighting!" he yelped, still from behind England's legs with flag in hand.
"No shit, I can see that— What do you mean Japan's lost it?" Prussia sounded quite incredulous.
"Quite honestly— Italy! Stop moving around down there! Put the flag down! —I think Japan is just a little… claustrophobic, strictly speaking…" England was scrabbling against the wall, trying to save his sense of balance from the nation beneath him.
There was a pause. Then…
"What? Japan's… claustrophobic? Kesesesesese, that's hilarious!" Prussia proceeded to laugh, banging the top of the elevator until both Japan's and Russia's heads snapped up with an evil glint. Prussia hastily cut off mid-laugh when both a pipe and a razor sharp katana slammed directly beneath him—and in the katana's case, slicing through metal as easily as butter. There was a squeak.
"Silence!" both nations hissed.
"I got it I got it please pull the sword back down…" the whimper came from above. Japan obliged— by whipping it back and forward. This time it was Russia who blocked, resulting in another ring of metal and shower of sparks.
"Prussia, please tell me the reason you're back is because you found some sort of way to get us out of here!" England shrieked.
"Shit they really have lost it— Uh, not exactly!"
"What the hell do you mean, 'not exactly?' Did you or did you not?"
"Look, I uh, found a vent, but it was too small, but never fear— because Gilbird valiantly volunteered himself to go find help!"
At the end of that proud note, England face palmed.
"Good lord, you sent… Gilbird…" he whimpered, "We're… we're stuck here all night, with these two madmen, aren't we…"
"Hey, put a little faith in his awesomeness!" Prussia sound a little insulted.
"Quite honestly, I think I'd rather put my faith in something I know will guarantee results!" England snapped back, shaking a fist in the general direction of the ceiling.
"Something like… Something like…"
-England! England!-
Right in that moment of the British nation's desperate cry, a tiny voice came floating through the air. England froze. His mouth dropped open, jaw completely slack as the form of one he'd recognize anywhere… came bursting through the wall.
"Flying… Mint Bunny?"
Meanwhile…
In the very back of the conference building, a small vent protruded from the brick walls into a small alleyway. And from this vent emerged the small yellow form of Gilbird, covered in cobwebs and dust, but utterly and completely victorious. He shook himself, scattering particles in the air, and cheeped in triumph. His master was counting on him, and nothing at all, not even the complex maze of a building's air system, could stop him!
With his mission goal firmly fixed in mind, the bird launched himself forward, soaring through the alleyway and into the night beyond.
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(A/N):
Lol oh hai guys it's a new update. After New Year's and everything… Err, Merry late Christmas and Happy New Year! Argh, I feel like I've been spectacularly unimaginative with the chapter titles.
To ReallyBigAnimeFan, I have been working on your one shot, and will still definitely post it, orz. Sorry it's taking so long.
