~Russia's POV~

I didn't walk through the front door of the hotel; no, the decor made me sick. The elaborate, pointless decorations were expensive and gaudy, enough so that it hurt my eyes too look at them Instead, I went through the nondescript side door that led to the cellar.
This was more my style. It was cold, dark, damp, and, most importantly, quiet. I glanced at the hidden door that led to the room invisible to the outside. It was refridgerated, sound-proof, light-proof, smell-proof, and light-proof. Perfect for the ingredients I created.
The door opened behind me, letting light seep into the dark cellar. Oliver came in, whistling merrily. His pink sweatervest was as bright as always, and his khaki pants were imaculately ironed. I wouldn't doubt that his socks had creases in them.
"Morning," he said to me as he walked past, heading towards the hidden room I was telling you about a moment ago (yes, I just broke the fourth wall. Well, in Soviet Russia, the fourth wall breaks YOU).
"Yes," I agreed. "It is a morning. Not a particularly good morning, but not a terrible one either. It is just a morning."
Oliver scoffed and unlocked the hidden door. He used the ingredients I created when his brother, Arthur, found out that someone was betraying him. Blood and flesh and bones. Yum. I never accepted anything food related from him because of this, not even chocolate on St. White's day. Speaking of which, isn't that coming up rather soon? Hm. I'd much prefer vodka to chocolate, but I'd eat it if someone gave it to me. Excepting Oliver.
Despite his 'ingredients', the little psyco is the head - and only - chef of the most popular pastry shop in town. He is also the person in charge of 'cleaning up' our messes. So, more often than not, he 'cleans up' the 'messes' into his shop's pastries. That was what made them so addictive. Of course, his customers didn't know what they were eating. All they knew was that the food tasted good, and that there were special ingredients in it.
Sometimes, people get suspicious when I've had a slow week and stray puppies and cats start to disappear off the streets.
They often get in tragic accidents.
I smiled as Oliver left the room and crossed the street to his bakery, dragging a bag behind him.
My cell phone rang again and, instead of answering it, I turned it off. I knew who was calling. I sighed and walked up the stairs into the hotel, sticking my head through the trap door. "You kol'd?"
No one was in the room. That was odd. Arthur usually never left his throne of a chair if he could help it. I shrugged.
Maybe he was somewhere in the hotel? Arthur owned the place, after all.
The first place I checked was the gym. The boy had to stay fit somehow.
Arthur was definitely not there, but I wasn't complaining because Matthew - Matvey - was. And he was practicing for his next concert.
Matvey is a Canadian pop singer.
On stage, he wears black and silver and leather and looks confident enough to storm the capital and take over the world with ease.
At home, he dresses in baggy light-wash jeans and a faded red hoodie and has the presence of a mouse.
But when you give him a hockey stick and tell him the other side has the puck...watch out. I fingered a scar on the back of my head. Matvey had given me that once when I had given him a bottle of maple syrup- flavoured vodka during a hockey game and then said that Russia would beat Canada.
I watched, ondering why Matvey's dancing was so...uninhibited today. Noticing that Matvey was blushing and periodically glancing over at a specific spot, I followed his gaze. Ah. Gilbert, our resident albino and one of my underlings, sat with his legs crossed and eyes glued to Matvey. Or, more accurately, his hips. I now suspected that his sîtting position had less to do with comfort and more to do with his famous 'five meters'.
I cleared my throat. Matvey stopped dancing and flushed, stammering an explanation. I smiled and waved a hand dimissively.
"Have either of you seen Arthur in the past hour or so?"

~Italy's POV~

*flashback*

I stumbled forewords thinking to myself: Damn you, Lovino. You know you shouldn't leave your alcohol out where I can find it!

Not really knowing where I was, I continued onward, trying to find something I recognize.

Soon I passed by a shop that seemed a bit familiar... Maybe... It's hard to recognize things when you're as drunk as a monkey... Do monkeys get drunk often?... Whatever...

I kept walking until I bumped into What felt like a brick wall. "Helloooooo, Wall. How are you?" I mumbled drunkenly. This was a very soft brick wall... I put my hands on if to help me push off of it. After a few tries, I managed to do it. A silly grin spread across my face in my triumph. I looked up to the top of the wall. It was wearing a long grey coat and what looked like a scarf. It looked a lot like the guy who I met last time I got lost.

"You?" The wall said, it had a silly accent. Something in the back of my drunken mind told me that it was a Russian accent.

"'you'?" My eyes widened and I looked over my shoulder, as though the wall were talking to someone behind me. "Silly wall, we're the only ones here, and my name's not 'You'." I giggled at the wall.

"What are you doing back here?" The wall asked.

"Back! Back! I'm Back!" I started singing. "These walls are silly. What do you say we get out of this Bubble and find our own, Marvin?" I started walking in small circles.

"Are you drunk?"

I soon got dizzy and fell over. Laying on the ground, I held my arms out. "I call upon you, magic Puppets. Take me away to Narnia!"

"... Or are you high? I can't tell."

I giggled, looking at the wall. "Would you like to come to Narnia to, wall? It should be fun. With all those Demigods and witches and talking cats."

"I think you're getting your book series mixed up..."

I started trying to get off the ground, grunting when I fell back onto the side walk.

"What the hell are you doing here drunk?" The wall asked.

"Well, you see, I was just on my way to visit my ex-wife when German-terrorists attacked and held everyone in the building hostage, I had to stop it while wearing no shoes." I explained.

The wall groaned. "That's the plot of Die Hard."

"Or maybe I just watched some movies and drank... Same thing."

The wall groaned again before helping me to my feet.

"Thank you, good sir," I slurred. "I shall have the queen reward you in the morning."

"I'll ask you one last time: Why are you here?"

My face went serious before I got on the tips of my toes and whispered in his ear, as though it were a big secret. "I got lost." I then pulled back and giggled. "Anyway, wall, It's nice to meet you. My name is Feliciano, I like pasta and kitties and pasta. Did I just say pasta twice? Oh well, I do love pasta enough to say it twice. What's your favorite food? Mine's pas-" I was cut off by a hand going over my mouth.

"Shut up, you annoying little boy." He sighed and mumbled to himself for a moment before saying. "Just get out of here, I warned you about this once, stay out of my territory. This is my last warning, If you come in here again," He gripped my jaw tighter, to help his point before finishing his threat. "You probably won't be leaving with all your limbs. Understand, little one."

The thing that sent a slight tremor down my spine wasn't the threat itself, it was the fact that he had been smiling the whole time. I nodded quickly.

His grin grew before he let me go. "Alright then. Away with you, little boy. And don't come back."

With that he slid away, disappearing into the alleyways.

I slowly started walking back the way I thought I had come, the encounter with that man having sobered me up a bit. After about five minutes I searched though my pockets for my phone. I grabbed it and called my friend, Elizibeta.

"Feli! Why are you calling so late?"

"Hi, Elizibeta. I was wondering if you could pick me up, I'm a little lost..."

"Wait... You sound weird... Are you drunk!?" She shouted.

"Maybe a little."

"Fine, I'll come get you. Where are you?"

I told her the address of the shop I was outside of and she said that she would come and get me soon. So I sat on the curb and waited.