Thank you to A Natsume Yuujinchou lover and SailorZeldatheLightAlchemist for awsome ideas !
France slid down the tree softly and gracefully as a falling leaf. Amazing. Even in this dreadful
arena, the Frenchman still was acting like some girls might be watching for something other than killing him. England narrowed his green eyes, and he thrust his knife arm forward just as France brought the tip of a shap ax to England's left side. The two were in a complete stalemate. England couldn't slit France's throat without getting an ax buried in his side, and France couldn't chop into England without getting his throat rather nastily cut. Both of the men's muscles were tight and stressed, like a taut rubber band ready to snap at any second.
England didn't know how much time passed. A minute maybe, or an hour, or a year. But finally, a grin broke out across France's face. England stared dangerously back. "Well, it appears we are in an interesting sitaution," Frace said, though keeping his ax firmly at England's side. "We can wait until one of us gives out, but more likely the Germans will come and pick us off like we are flies on a wall."
"You're referring to Germany and Prussia, I assume," England responded. His arms were shaking, and his heart pounded even louder than it had even last night when the aftermentioned Germans were hunting him right outside his hole.
"Zat is correct," France assured, flipping his long blond hair aside. "We'll fall to them in seconds."
England bit his lip. France was saying that if the two just stood here, Germany or Prussia would come, and easily pick them off. One couldn't seperate himself from the other without riskng being killed. There seemed to be no way to win, unless...unless they stood together. As much as England hated this idea, he knew it was probably his best shot. England and France had teamed up before to take on Germany, and that had worked better than anything anyone could have expected. Really, the situation here in the arena wasn't that different.
"If we stuck together..."
"Maybe we should..."
Both men trailed off at the same time. France grinned at England, probably thinking the same thing he was. "Is it agreed?" England asked, "That we stick together...but only until Germany and Prussia are dead, do you understand?"
"Yes, zat seems like the best course of action," France leered back. Sighing, England and France both began to very slowly and cautiously lower their respective weapons, ready to strike the other in case he lashed out. Still glaring at each other, England and France shook hands. Their allaince was formed. But allainces in the Hunger Games could only ever be temporary.
"What do you propose we do next?" England inquired France.
France pursed his lips. "I was planning to take out the two Germans by sneaking up at them at night, but they were away from their central camp at ze Cornucopia last night."
"Well I've been thinking differently. I planned to light bonfires at the edge of the Cornucopia at night, and hopefully Germany and Prussia would fall for it, and leave Italy behind maybe, thinking it wouldn't take long, but I could easily kill him. Then I could go in the camp, and steal a good weapon or two, all I have is this," England told France, holding up his humble knife. "It's not as powerful as your ax, or a sword."
"Sounds like a très bien plan, but..." France started shaking his head. "Don't kill Italy. He's a nice guy, and my little brother, he doesn't deserve to die!"
England stared at France, somewhat irritated. "We're supposed to kill people, it's the Hunger Games!"
"Just let him be, bon?"
"Yeah, alright," England reassured France. But it wasn't like he would not pick of Italy if he had the chance. Besides, as soon as the Germans were dead, England and France's allaince would be over, null and void. Having talked things out, the two headed back toward the forest entrance, to the Cornucopia. Along the way, France gathered some branches that could be used to make a bonfire. They were still green on the inside, so would produce plenty of smoke. Perfect. After about an hour of walking, England and France could see the Cornucopia, meaning they were close enough to the German camp and their Italian food scravenger.
"Okay," England muttered to France, "this should be a good spot." The Frenchman nodded, and began to feverishly rub to sticks together to create a spark. As he was doing this, Engladn set the braches France had assembled in a neat stack on the dry ground. Five or so minutes passed, and a small spark from France's sticks sprang onto the branches, followed by several more. It didn't take long for a fire to start, and within minutes they had created a blazing bonfire.
For several moments, all England and France could hear was the croaking of crickets, then a voice rang out. "Over zere!" It shrieked a German accent. England thought it was Germany's. England moved to the edge of the tree line, squated down, and peered out at the scene. Germany, Italy and Prussia were gathered around a large heap of items, the best there were in the arena. Germany was yelling, and pointing toward the fire, as Prussia nodded. They seemed to pause for a split second, before deciding it would be okay to leave Italy to guard the camp for a few minutes while they killed the tribute, then left.
"Here zey come!" France hissed, climbing up into a tree, his ax at the ready. "Hide yourself!" Suddenly, England just couldn't take it anymore. There was a large amount of supplies nearby, and nothing but a wimpy Italian was keeping him from getting some of them. Spears were there, he needed one. As well as extra food and water. Germany and Prussia ran into the trees, and England took off, running out of his shroud of safety and into the Cornucopia. He barely heard France's hisses of protest as he sprinted forward. The golden horn twinkled at him under the corner of his eye, almost as if it was winking. Soft, green grass squished under his feet.
Italy looked up with a help, then smiled. "English guy, it's you. Prepare to be owned by me, the amazing Italy!" He stood up, and grabbed a spear. England's stomach churned with anger. How did this wispy thing get a spear, something England could make such good use of, and the best camp imaginable? Also, he had two strong tributes protecting him, while England deserved this. He was the one who had scored a twelve in training. The only thing Italy had to boast was being a decent food scavenger. The pathetic Italian couldn't hunt, fight, start a fire, or even keep himself hidden.
All that kept him alive was Germany and Prussia's protection. Then there were those who'd died yesterday: Poland, and Seychelles and more, yet Italy had lived. If anything, those who died yesterday deserved life more than pathetic Italy. It wasn't like England cared that he'd told France he'd leave Italy be. In fact, Englad was supposed to be at the edge of the forest with France now, waiting to ambush Germany and Prussia. England drew back his arm and, without thinking, plunged his long, sharp and deadly knife directly into Italy's heart.