Again, Story qualifiers, please send in your requests if you haven't done so already ! If I don't know what you want, I can't write anything for you...
Also, TheNextAlice won my mini contest from last chapter...so she gets two stories :P Thank you to all that guessed !
That being said, enjoy ! R and R !
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"A feast?" Hungary turned to England.
"Yes...I do think it's where the Game makers decide to send us supplies in the arena, but it's in one small area, and we have to fight over it, which is its whole purpose. Do draw is into direct confrontation." England replied, closing his eyes. "But...at this rate, we may need to go. There are next to no usable supplies in the arena itself, and..." He shook his head. "Well anyway, its not until noon so we'll have plenty of time to rest and gain or energy...I'm confident no one can find us here, anyway."
"Yeah...maybe you're right...it'd be an ideal time to pick off some competition, too." Hungary mused in response.
The Brit could only think one thing: Hopefully...someone else makes her snuff it before I have to.
"Perhaps..." Hungary whispered to herself quietly under her breath as she make herself comfortable. "He'll be able to finally die there tommorow."
Despite their unbinding nervousness, and pits of dread in their stomachs, the two nations leaned back and fell into restless sleep.
...
Belgium's ears perked up as she heard the announcement. It didn't take her long to decide what to do, she was going to that Feast. She needed supplies. most of all food and water, and something more than her weapon and the bare clothes on her back. Speaking of which, Belgium would have an advantage over many of the other nations, due to her long range blow gun, and ability to stay hidden in the bushes which surrounded the Cornucopia. It wouldn't be too difficult to pick off a few other nations with her darts then, if they were only running toward the supply heap, which could be anything from a loaf of stale bread to a mountain of supplies similar to what had been there on the very first day.
As she mulled things over, the small nation watched with baited breath as she spied Germany across the beach, a safe distance from her. He was bent over his fallen ally, Japan, shaking his short body and begging the man to stay here, with him. But it was no use...Germany accepted defeat, and let the incoming hovercraft gather Japan's body and carry it out of the arena, and out of the world, forever. Sighing, Germany hung his head and trudged back up to his Cornucopia base , no doubt wanting to get a prime position for the following day's big event.
After she was sure Germany had left, Belgium snuck, softly as she could, up the grassy slope, and found a nice bush to the south of the gleaming golden horn, facing the thick green woods, where she suspected the most tributes would come out of. Keeping her handy blow gun and all of her eight remaining darts close by, the nation curled up behind the shady bush, and closed her eyes, listening to her slow, steady breathing and the lilting melody of crickets to drift off to sleep. ..
...
"We are going to the feast!" Belarus repeated stubbornly to Russia, who shook his head in dismay.
"Da, why? We have plenty of things here, and besides, why risk it?" He responded.
Belarus glared at him. "Those supplies won't last forever, and why not risk it? The feast may be our best chance yet to get another chance to do what we did to that little girl, and we don't want any of them surviving and doing that to us!" Belarus grabbed her older brother's forearm, pulling him close to her with quite surprising strength. "You don't want that to happen, do you Big Brother?"
"I guess not," Russia sighed sheepishly, melting away under his little sister's fervent demands. "We'll go to the feast then."
"Good." The former Soviet nation dropped her brother's arm. "I knew you would see sense. No, before it's time to go to that thing, pack up out things, while I take some beauty rest." Belarus sauntered over to a patch of leaves, pulling a thick yet soft woolen blanket over her.
"Always makes me do it..." Russia sighed wistfully, sorting their knives, and polishing his well sharpened spear. Certainly, Belarus and him had to be the most armed and prepared tributes at the Feast. Really, they almost didn't need more supplies. But of course, he couldn't say no to Belarus, could he?
...
In the hours preceding the event, each Hetalian tribute managed to get some good quality shut eye time, in spite of the nerves welling up in their stomachs, or in Belarus and Russia's cases, excitement. England and Hungary stayed in their hiding hole until dawn, when tweeting of birds and filtering sunlight awakened them, and they gathered their scant supplies, then made their merry ways over to the edge of the woods, hiding behind on of the many well placed bushes, and waiting. Waiting until they nearly went mad from nerves and adrenaline.
Meanwhile, Belarus and Russia were making their way to the Cornucopia, their plethora of weapons in stock, and their eyes peeled for tributes, of which there were none. Naturally, they'd all scampered to the Feast. The sun was in a decent position in the clear blue sky, the rays hitting down on each tribute hard. It couldn't have been later than ten A.M, but it must've already been about eighty degrees at least.
Germany sat inside the golden horn, eating a tiny breakfast of lizard jerky, which, among his anger and nerves, he barely managed to keep down. All of his allies and his love were dead and cold. Oh well, he was probably next, anyway. Not that he wasn't going to at least fight with all his might. The large nation gripped his sword and knife tightly in each hand, pulsing his racing heart into the cold, sharp metals.
Russia and Belarus squatted side by side on the east side of the horn, unknowingly facing England and Hungary, located on the west side.
"I'l stay back here and cover you," Belarus hissed. "You're bigger and stronger than me, and I have better aim with the throwing knifes, so I can pick off however tries to chase you, Brother, and you can get some supplies."
Russia nodded, not arguing with his sister's plan. "Da..."
After what was an eternity of waiting for everyone, there was a rippling on the edge of the grass. At once, the ground opened, and a wooden table lifted up onto the plain, stacked with supplies. There were several packs, Belarus counted three in all, some packs of food and water, and weapons such as machetes, bows and arrows, and spears. "I will go," Russia announced simply. "They can't hurt me anyway."
The tall man strolled out onto the plain, as if he were just taking a walk in the park. He stopped right in the middle of his stroll, looking around as if challenging someone to come out and face him.
...
"Oh bloody hell," England hissed to himself, upon seeing the tall, silver haired man walk out onto the plain. "No one else will go after him now...not without revealing the position. Oh...I guess it'll just have to be me." Beside him, Hungary only gave a curt nod, not showing any emotion to her ally throwing himself into the fray. England gritted her teeth and grabbed his spear, his knife in the other hand.
Sweat beads shining on the Brit's face, he jogged out onto the grass, feeling each pronounced thump of his heart. Lifting his spear above his head, he charged at Russia. On call, a knife whizzed at him, which the nation just detected and dodged, the weapon falling uselessly to the ground. He felt another projectile soaring past him, to where the knife had come from. He barely saw it: a thick iron dart. A small grunt of pain came from behind the bush, indicating the dart had found a victim. Well, that was obviously where Belarus had to be hiding.
Britain and Russia, both wielding spears, charged at each other.