Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei. Hunger Games series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 4: Advice

For a while, Antonio and I observe our stupid mentor who's trying to rise to his feet – and failing – and falling back into the pool of vomit that reeks terribly. The smell and a simple glance at the puddle makes me want to throw up as well and I know I will if I don't flee soon enough. I exchange glances with tomato bastard, who doesn't look affected at all. He sends me something like a mixture of weak smile and grimace and I understand. Carlos might not be much, but Feliks was absolutely right. Once we're in the arena he's going to be all we've got, our only ticket to life. Without further ado, both of us reach and take Carlos' arms in our owns, slowly bringing him up to his feet

"Ooh, I tripped, didn't I? It smells awful" old bastard laughs and wipes his hand on his nose, which was a very stupid idea. His face is smeared with vomit and there are only few seconds separating me from returning everything I ate.

"It's okay, amigo. We'll take you to your room. Clean you up a bit" I can't help but notice that Antonio's talking to our mentor as if he were a child. It is quite appropriate though. It's hard to lead him, because we need to half-carry him as well and he isn't the lightest, but it's not that bad. It gets problematic as we reach his room though. It would be simply stupid to just throw him on the bed and the clean sheets, so we have to get him to the bathroom. Once we get there and situate him in the bathtub, his head hits the wall and he moans painfully. He keeps weeping until we turn on the shower and warm water splatters across his figure.

"It's okay, Lovino" Antonio turns to me and sends me a smile. I don't understand him. How can he smile so cheerfully in a situation like that? "I'll take it from here. Go back to your room" I nod and get up from my knees.

"Sure, whatever. Want me to send help?" there are a lot of Capitol people here. They cook for us, take care of us, guard us and serve us. If we ordered them, they'd surely come here running to clean up poor Carlos. But Antonio just shakes his head with a ghost of a smile still dancing on his lips and I understand that he doesn't want any help from people, that will be entertained once we die.

As I leave, I can't help but feel grateful to him. I don't really feel like seeing a naked Carlos and clean him up from the vomit. For example to wash it from his chest hair. That would be disgusting. It crosses my mind that the stupid tomato bastard is probably trying to play favorites, but I don't care. It's not like our mentor will remember anything tomorrow. He's too stoned. I almost feel bad for my fellow tribute. Few steps before the door to my room I stop, looking in the direction of Carlos' room. Why exactly is Antonio doing that? Surely he knows that our mentor won't remember a thing, so why bother? And since he hates the Capitol just as much as I do, why wouldn't he just simply ask them to make Carlos look civil instead of doing it by himself? Wouldn't it be a great revenge? And then a thought hits me and I'm terrified by it. Maybe he's just doing it out of kindness, just like he was kind to me when he threw that bread in my direction.

I'm alarmed by this thought, because kind Antonio is far worse than the unkind one. Kind people remind me of my little brother and they are quickly engraved in my heart as someone good. I can't afford to think like that about the tomato bastard, not in the place where we're going to be. I have to think of him as an enemy, a dangerous carnivorous beast that is trying to kill me. I need to think of him as someone evil, because otherwise I won't be able to get rid of him. He'll be the death of me and it can't happen. I bite my lip and rush into my room. I can't have anything to do with him anymore. I won't. I won't play friends with this bastard. I look for the cookies from his father and as the train pauses on a platform to refuel, I throw them out. That's it. No more ties. No more play pretend. No more Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

Unfortunately, the packet of cookies hits the ground and bursts open in a patch of dandelions. The image is brief because soon we're moving again, but it's enough. It's enough to remind me of the few years ago and I curse, because it is unfair that the annoying tomato bastard is stuck in my head with his kindness.

It was the dandelion that gave me hope, the dandelion that I saw after I received that bread from him. The exact same night me and Feliciano had a feast, we went dandelion hunting in the meadow that was full of them, and made a dandelion salad. Everything became different.

"What other food can we find here, fratello?" Feli asked me, smiling innocently.

"Anything. A lot" I told him, smoothing his cheek with my hand. "I'll memorize them and then we'll have a lot of food. I promise" My mother had a book that she brought with her from the apothecary shop. There were lots of medical plants there, drawn and described in my mother's careful, neat, curvy writing. She used this book whenever she forgot how a plant looked like. It became useless quickly, because all plants were engraved in her mind. That's when my dad took it from her and filled empty pages with his own drawings and descriptions. Just his plants weren't useful for medicine, but for eating. Dandelions, pokeweed, pines, wild onions. Feli and I spend the rest of the night looking over these pages and memorizing our potential food.

The next day we were off to school. At first, I'd always go and hung out in the Meadow, picking up some eatable plants, before finally gathering my courage and going under the fence. It was my first time there without my father around, without his weapons and bravery to protect me. I was on my own in the woods. I retrieved the small bow and arrows from the shallow tree. His present for my tenth birthday, made before his death from a fine wood. It felt safer with it around. In the beginning, I'd never go more than twenty yards away from the fence. I wasn't stupid or courageous enough to let myself be surrounded by the woods. I'd sit on an old oak tree and pray that some game comes by. After several hours I got lucky and shot a rabbit. I felt extremely proud, because it was my first. My first kill without my father's guidance. It felt amazing.

We hadn't had meat in months. When my mother saw the rabbit, something must have stirred up in hear, because she got up, skinned the carcass and made a stew with meat and some greens that my little brother had gathered in the Meadow. Gathering plants became his hobby. As soon as the stew was ready, our mother stopped moving before her unseeing eyes glared at the floor and she acted confused. She returned to her room and fell asleep. It was weird, really. But even though she was tired, Feli and I made her eat a bowl of hot food anyway.

The woods became our savior. Each day I'd go further and further into them, letting myself be drowned by the peacefulness of that place, of my second home, of my second life. At first it was slow, but soon I became a hunter. I accepted my fate. I stole eggs from the nests, caught fish in the nets, occasionally shot a rabbit or a squirrel for a stew and gathered plants. A lot of them. I checked and double-checked them with my father's book, because many of them are eatable, but the rest can kill you with just one bite. So I was careful, I gathered food. I kept us alive.

At first a howl or a cracking noise would send me back to the fence with the speed of lightening. I was afraid for the first two weeks, but then it became normal. I risked climbing up the trees to escape the wild dogs, who quickly got bored with me and moved on. There was no risk of cats or bears, as they lived deeper into the woods. I think they hated the smell that was coming from our district. I hated it too.

May 12th was the day when every child that had finished twelve years could sign up for tesserae. The ones that were born after that day had to wait a whole year. It was a weird system, but no one questioned it. No one had the guts. It was a good day. I went there and got the first portion of grain. I knew I'd have to repeat the action every month, but I didn't mind. It was food, so even if I had to stand in long lines, I'd manage. It was for Feliciano after all. Of course that did not mean that I could stop hunting. I couldn't. Oil and grain were not nearly enough to feed us. I kept on gathering greens, killing animals in the woods and went to trade in the Hob. I was absolutely terrified of that place but soon it became my next safe place, I was accepted. At first they'd trade with me just because I was my father's son. But soon they understood that I'm a hunter, too. That I can keep a family alive. That I'm a man and the current head of the 'Vargas' family. I was accepted. I started to understand the people there more. Who wants to trade for what. I had it memorized in a few days. The butcher would buy my rabbits, but he strangely hated squirrels. The baker – tomato bread bastard's father – would trade a squirrel for a bread, but only when his bitchy wife wasn't around. Once she was, he pretended not to know us. The Head Peacekeeper really enjoyed wild turkey and he'd pat my head whenever I'd bring him some. Matthew's father was very passionate about strawberries. Once I overheard him telling Matt that 'strawberries are like angels of the fruits, they're so red and shiny and they look just like your cheeks when you blush'. He's pretty nuts, that Mayor.

In late summer I was cleaning myself in a pond, when I noticed the flowers and plants growing around me. There were two particular flowers that caught my attention though. The first one, I recognized, was freesia. I heard they had many colors, but this particular one was simply beautiful. It was orange, though as it neared to the end, it got this strange fire impression. And the inside was different too. It was yellow. When I was younger, my father told me jokingly that if Feliciano was born a girl, his name would be Freesia. It was a weird name, so I'm glad instead of a sister I got a little brother. Padre told me that in the language of flowers, 'Freesia' means 'innocence'. Even though Feliciano isn't a girl, that name would suit him. Its' meaning as well. The second flower was growing with others of its' kind on a bush. It was red or maybe dark pink. Nothing extraordinary in the first glance, but it was very pretty. Red camellia. The flower that name's I'd be bearing if I were a girl. Dad never gave me the explanation why'd they call me something like 'Camellia', but mom said it's because I was their little miraculous flame. It ended at that. I took one flower in my hands and touched the petals lightly. I got out of the pond and started collecting some freesias and red camellias. Feli liked flowers. And so did mother. That night we feasted on fish and some greens in a colorful and good smelling atmosphere, for the first time in months – completely full. Ever since that day, Feliciano would go out and pick some freesias, camellias and some other flowers, always keeping our house pretty. Upon seeing them, our mother slowly started returning to us. She began to cook, wash the dishes and we got many trades for her medical remedies. One day she started singing again: "Just close your eyes…". The lullaby of mine and Feli's childhood.

Feliciano was delighted to have her back. He forgave her completely, holding her hand and humming, encoring her to sing. I wasn't like that. I didn't trust her. I just waited for the day she slips away again, because I thought something like that would definitely happen again. Everything was supposed to be alright, but I left her. I cut her off from my heart and didn't go back to her for protection. Nothing was ever the same between us ever again.

And it won't ever be again.

Or maybe it will. I have yelled at her today at Justice Building, true, but I told her that I love her too. Will she understand? Will she forgive me? When did I get so sappy anyway?

For I while I stand next to the train window, wishing that I could open it again. But I don't. In the distance I can see the lights from another district. Which is it, though? Ten? Six? I don't know. I can't really bring myself to care though. People are probably all going to sleep right about now. I wonder if mother and Feli are too? Surely they have watched the recap of today's events, sitting in our house with the shutters down. Have they eaten the fish stew and strawberries? Or have they left it untouched? Did they cry watching the repeat of the reaping? They must have, I think. Is my mother strong? Or has she already started to slip away again, leaving my little brother alone, with all that weigh and sadness on his fragile shoulders? Have they gone to bed already? If so, I'm sure that Feliciano is sleeping with mom tonight. He definitely is. Is he still crying? Has he stopped? I hope Pasta is there for him, laying by his side and protecting him from the world. He'll surely be a comfort for Feli. I'm so happy I didn't drown him.

Thinking about home makes me ache with loneliness and longing. If I want to cry, I think, this is a good time. There will be no trace of my tears in the morning so the cameras won't catch that, won't catch me being weak. Instead of crying I end up laughing though, like some kind of maniac. Could I have really been eating blackberries with Gilbert this morning? Was I really so carefree earlier today? Smiling, chuckling, hitting his arm lightly. Did he really fell in the water, slipping on the grass? Did he really ask me to run away with him this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago. Or maybe two lifetimes. Even the afternoon when he held me in his arms feels like a distant past. What is he doing right now? Is he okay? Is he back to being a moron or... or did he cry?

The thought of Gilbert crying is so unusual and strange and painful that I squeeze my eyes shut. I try not to think about it and strip to my underwear before sinking into the bed sheets. They're made of soft and silky fabric. They comfort me and soon I'm out, drifting into dreamless sleep.

"Up, up, up, skarbie! It's a big, big, big day today!" I wake up to Feliks' annoying voice, so cheerful and enthusiastic in the morning. I sit up, still not really awake, and wonder what it must be like in his head. Is it filled with pink chocolates or something? What does he dream about? Was he born annoying? Are his parents so fucking irritating as well or are they not? If they aren't they seriously fucked up their child's mind, to raise someone like that.

I put on the outfit from yesterday, because it's not really dirty, just crumped from spending the night on the cold floor, and I can't really be bothered to look for something new right now. I ran my finger over the golden mockingjay pin and think of the woods that are my secret oasis, of my father that was so cheerful, of my mother that should be cooking right now, of Feliciano and how he has to get on with his life, of Gilbert, who is probably hunting right now, of Lisa that treated me like her own son and told me so many times that with me around Gil might still become a normal person.

My hair is slightly messy, but the curl my mother did for me is still bouncing stubbornly. I don't even know how this piece of hairdo works. Besides hair isn't really that important. We're probably near the Capitol and once we get there, my stylist will take care of everything. Hair, clothes, make up – I hope they won't apply any on me. This stuff is girly. And clothes. If they make me go out nude, I'm not sure I will be able to hold myself back from punching that bastard in the face.

As I enter the room, Feliks brushes by me hurriedly with a cup of black coffee in his pale hand. His eyebrows are furrowed together and he's definitely scowling, which seems somehow unnatural on his 'pretty man' face. He's muttering something under his breath and it takes me a few seconds to understand that he's throwing so many profanities and obscenities directed at Carlos that even I'm impressed. I didn't know half of these exist. I glance at the table where my dumb mentor and Antonio are sitting. Carlos' face is puffy and red from yesterday, but he looks mildly amused. Tomato bastard, on the other hand, is blushing like a virgin and playing with a roll in his hand. Creepy people.

"Oh, sleepyhead spunky brat! Come on, sit down with us, you 'lil punk!" what the fuck does 'sleepyhead spunky brat' even mean? Is 'Lovino' so hard to remember? Goddamit. I slip into a sit next to Antonio, whose expression brightens as soon as my butt hits the chair. Is he laughing at me or something? I shrug it off and stare at my plate. It's already full with food. Eggs, ham and tomatoes. They make a lot of dishes with these red fruits. That's good, I think. I like them too. There is a bowl with oranges and apples and grapes and other fruits sank in the ice to keep them cold and fresh. Then there's a plate full of rolls that could keep my family going for weeks. Finally, in an elegant glass is orange juice. Or well, at least I think it's orange juice. I've only ever tasted that fruit once during New Years, when dad brought it from somewhere. Next to the elegant glass is black coffee. My mother loves it, but it's expensive so we couldn't afford it . Still, she'd get some sometimes and drink it with absolutely delighted expression. I tasted it once and it was awful. Too bitter and strong for my tastes. And then there is a cup of something I don't recognize. It's light brown in color and smells deliciously.

"It's hot chocolate. It's really good, Lovi" what the fuck is a 'Lovi'?! What is wrong with these people! Spunky brat and Lovi! Seriously?! I don't say anything though, but perhaps my expression gets scary, because tomato bastard flinches. I take a sip of the hot drink and am overwhelmed by the warmth and sweetness. It feels amazing and so rich in taste. There they are, plates full of food right before me, and yet what am I doing? I'm fucking drinking a warm liquid. Who cares though. It's delicious and I don't touch even one roll before draining my cup. I finish my drink with a pleased sigh and glance at Antonio, who is also observing me with that warm smile on his face. His eyes are laughing and it feels weird, because no one has ever looked at me like that with expectations of Feli and Gil and dad and it feels weird. I turn away and start eating, literally devouring the plates of the food. It's unhealthy to eat so much and my mother would be absolutely terrified, seeing me eat such big mouthfuls, but it's not important. What is important is that soon I won't see such delicious food ever again.

Once my stomach feels hard like a rock and like it's about to split open, I push the plate away and situate myself comfortably on the chair. I look at my companions. Antonio is still eating, dipping the rolls in the chocolate with furrowed eyebrows. He's probably wondering how long can the roll be in the drink before it falls into the chocolate for good. Then I look at Carlos and am not really surprised to see his plate full. He's drinking some clear liquid and thanks to its' smell I can tell it's some kind of spirit. I don't really know Carlos, but I'd sometime see him in the Hob, putting out a lot of money. In return he'd get a glass bottle of white wine. Judging by the state he's in already, it's obvious that he'll be completely out even before we reach the Capitol.

I realize I really hate Carlos. It's his fault that 12 never has winners. Surviving the Games is mostly about your skills, but also about how generous are your sponsors. That is if you have any. In District Twelve's case, our tributes usually ended up having no sponsors, because none of them liked Carlos. And that fucking drunkard didn't stop drinking and try to help them, no, he just continued sipping his drink.

"You're supposed to give us some advice" I grumble, looking at my mentor with unstoppable irritation. He glances at me with amusement, smirking under his nose.

"Want advice, eh, brats? Here's some. Stay alive" he bursts into laughter, some spirit spilling out from his glass. I grit my teeth and turn to Antonio to exchange looks with him, before I remind myself that I'm not having anything to do with that tomato lover anymore. But instead of turning right away, I just kind of stare into his eyes that hold hardness in them. He's angry, I realize, and it makes me sort of stupidly happy.

"That's very funny, amigo" in mare seconds he's up and his arm knocks out the glass from Carlos' hand. It shatters on the floor with a loud noise, spilling the liquid all over the train's floor. "Only not to us, see" Antonio's voice is filled with so much sweetness it makes me shudder. It's off. Crazy psychopaths that smile when they're angry are the worst, or at least that's what my dad used to say.

Carlos is silent for few seconds, considering the situation, before his face turns towards Antonio and he punches tomato bastard straight in the jaw. He stumbles and falls on the floor, holding his jaw in pain. Then his face relaxes and he turns away to grab the bottle full of alcohol. I react quickly. I drive my knife into the table between his fingers and the bottle, missing only mare millimeters from sinking the blade into his big hand. There's a tense silence and I'm waiting for a punch, but it never comes. Instead he sits relaxed and looks at us with narrow eyes, the corners of his lips going up slightly.

"Well, well, well~. Spunky brat and bread brain. What's up with this? Did they actually get me two fighters this year? How interesting, very interesting. Especially you, spunky brat. You're one rebellious twat" I want to punch him.

Antonio rises up from the floor and heads towards the bowl with fruits. He takes out some ice cubes and is about to raise them to the red mark on his jaw, but is stopped by the fucking mentor of ours.

"No, kid. Let it bruise. Let it show. Make 'em scared. Make these bastards from audience think you've mixed up with some tributes and fought. That you ain't scared. That you've started fighting before even entering the arena"

"Que? No! That's against the rules!" Antonio exclaims, looking panicky. What the hell? Carlos looks annoyed and I can't really blame him. Bread brain, was it? Useful insult, I think I'll remember it.

"Kid, stop being such a pussy, okay? You'd be in trouble only if these bastards from Capitol caught you actually fighting. But they wouldn't. Audience will be only more impressed with you. You fought and weren't caught. That's some amazing skill, yeah? And you, spunky!" he turns to me "Can you do something with that knife other than hitting the table?"

My weapon is bow and arrows. They're the extensions of my arms, they're the weapon that I'm truly confident with. But I have also spent a fair amount of time throwing knives around. If I wounded an animal, sometimes it was a better idea to throw a knife into it before approaching it. I wasn't really that good at it, but I got a good training from Gilbert, who absolutely loved throwing stuff around. And he was actually lucky enough to be very good at it. Throwing sharp things, I mean. Perhaps luck really does come with idiocy. I focus back on reality. If I want to make that drunkard like me, now's the time to make a good first impression. I grab the knife from the table and make sure to get a strong grip on the blade, and then throw the knife across the room with all my power. Truthfully, I was hoping for it to just stick solidly in the wall, but it lodges in the seam between two panels. It makes me look far better than I am and for a second I'm scared that Gilbert's stupidity might have rubbed off on me.

"Stand over there, both of you. Now, hurry up before I change my mind" Antonio and walk to the center of the room and stand straight, while Carlos is circling around us, muttering something under his nose. Like he's examining an animal. "Well look at this, you little brats! You're actually pretty handsome, aren't you? Quite fit too. Bread brain's smile is dazzling, you work on it, spunky. What is that hair-curl of yours? Mysterious, defying the physics laws, audience will love it. Not nearly as tragic as it could be. Once your stylists get to you, you two will be real pretty boys" he snickers, looking us up from toes to head again.

Neither tomato bastard nor I question that. Hunger Games aren't beauty contest, but if you're ugly, you're pretty much screwed. The audience only likes the pretty ones, so all these beauties get the most sponsors.

"Alright brats, let's make a deal, shall we? You won't interfere with my drinking and I swear I'll stay sober enough to help guide you, you poor lost sheep lost in the sea of Hunger Games confusion" he glances at us and cracks up upon seeing my scowl "You have to do everything I tell ya though. Otherwise the deal is over"

What deal, goddamit? He's still going to be drinking and being annoying, it's not a good deal at all. Well, it is better compared to ten minutes ago when we had no guide, but I'm still not fucking pleased.

"Bien" Antonio's grinning. There is definitely something wrong with his head. Absolutely.

"Fine, so help us. Once we get in the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia to-"

"Nah, spunky, slow down. In a few minutes we'll be pulling down in the station in the Capitol. You'll be swimming in camera flashes and your crazy fans, which believe me, you already have. Then they're gonna give you to your stylists. These crazy punks will do a lot of shitty things that you won't like. You'll hate it. But no matter how pissed of you two are or whatever they do to you, don't resist. Resisting is only a death wish" Carlos says, looking grim.

"But-"

"Oh shut up, there are no buts. Don't you resist" with these words he takes a bottle of spirits and walks out of the car, leaving the two of us alone. The car is dark, I realize. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it's like the night has fallen again. It comes to me that we're probably in a tunnel connecting the Capitol with the districts. This damned tunnel is also the reason why the rebels lost the war, which led to me being a fucking tribute right now. The rebels that were climbing the mountains to get to Capitol were easy targets for "justice's" air forces.

Antonio and I stand in silence, the train speeding up and driving through the tunnel. I think about all these stones separating me from the clear blue sky and I feel nauseous. I can't stand being trapped in the stones. It reminds me of the mines, my father, the explosion and how all the rocks might just crumble down any moment. I shudder and close my eyes, hoping that it'll be over soon.

The train finally begins to slow down, the light coming back. I'm in the Capitol, I think. Before I can stop myself, I'm already running towards the window to see the infamous land that I've only seen in the television. From the corner of my eye I can see Antonio doing the same. The cameras haven't lied about the amazingness of Panem's ruling city. Actually, they might not have quite capture all of its' magnificence. There are high buildings everywhere, sparkling in the sun in a rainbow-y hue of colors. The cars are rolling down the streets. The people in different and weird hairdos are walking on the pavements, chattering with one another, dressed in the most peculiar things I've ever seen, their faces painted seven shades of whatever color they're wearing. These people have never missed a meal or worried about starvation or the reaping. Everything here seems so artificial. The pink is too bright, the green to deep. It's like these lollipops we can't afford that are sold in the tiny candy shop in 12, so unnatural.

Soon the people begin to point at us eagerly, clearly recognizing the tribute train. I step away, sickened with their excitement and happiness. I thought that Antonio would do the same. I was wrong. He stands there and actually starts to wave his hand, grinning at these sick bastards happily. He only steps away once the train comes to a halt in the station, blocking us from the view.

His grin doesn't waver though, not even when he notices me staring at him. He just shrugs "Who knows, one of them might be rich, right?"

I have misjudged him. I think back to all of his actions and realize that it's all been an act. Shaking my hand, his father coming in to give me the cookies and promising to feed my younger brother… he must have put him to that. Also the tears at the station. Then wanting to wash up Carlos to win him over, but since that stupid drunkard was too drunk to remember, Antonio tried something else. He snapped at him to get his attention, to get himself acknowledged. And now the waving at the Capitol people, trying to get the people to like him, trying to win them over, trying to get sponsors.

He's fighting, I realize. He's slowly forming a plan, not to stay alive for a little bit longer but to survive. He's working hard to survive and win the games and go back home. Which also means that the kind bastard that gave me bread and hope, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, is already fighting really hard to kill me.

Information

Red camellia in the language of flowers' means: You're a flame in my heart; You know... Katniss was a girl on fire and all... yeah? Hehe...

Freesia in the language of flowers' means: Innocence, trust; I found it fitting ^^"

"Just close your eyes" is a part of the song 'Safe&Sound' by Taylor Swift, that is also a song from Hunger Games' soundtrack

Padre - it. 'Father'

Skarbie - pl. 'dear/baby'

Que? - sp. 'What?'

Bien - sp. 'Good'

A/N: I am so sorry ;A; ! A lot of stuff came up last week. I had lots of exams. This week isn't any better, in case anyone wonders. Yeah. "So what, you had a weekend to write something" that's wrong. Seriously wrong. This Saturday I was kidnapped and taken to the hospital for operation. Don't worry, nothing serious. I'm super fine now. Bah, I was back home on Saturday too…. it was 10 p.m. so no, I could not start writing anything. And then on Sunday I had to study. And now it's kinda repeat. Studying and all. Uh, yeah, I'm blabbering. Sorry. Life's stressful. Some bastard shot my cat (she's alive) and she had an operation yesterday and I'm really enraged so if I find that shit face, I'm going to kill him.

Yeah, ok, sorry for ranting and failing to post it last Saturday OTL. Also thanks for being wonderful =w= ~! You're all so nice. The guesses were interesting, hehe~. Some of you guessed some of the characters, some of you guessed others characters, but no one guessed everything correctly xD. Naw, it's okay. I probably chose the weirdest characters so it's normal you didn't quite get it ^^.

Woah, ok. Sorry for the rant and thanks for being patient and, um, the next chapter will be up next Saturday/Sunday. I love you guys~. Take care :3