Arthur shivered slightly at the cold searing to his cheeks, but otherwise, he kept still. He tried to look at the person who was keeping his hostage, but he wasn't able to because the man was directly behind him. "Now, I'm going to turn you around, and you're not going to do anything stupid." The voice commanded once more. He loosened his grip on Arthur's wrists slightly, but before he let go completely, he took Arthur's hunting rifle, and threw it down across the room with a loud thud. He removed the knife, and placed it back in his holder with a small click.
"Arthur? Are you okay?" Ludwig called from the main room. Arthur heard the voice of Ludwig echo off the walls and was about to answer before he felt a hard tug on his wrist, making him hiss softly with pain. "Yes, just knocked something over by mistake. Don't worry about it." He managed to squeak out loud enough. "Alright, just keep it down." Ludwig called back before the room grew silent again. Then, the man let go of some of the grip that he had around Arthur's wrists, allowing the Briton to turn abruptly. He jerked as he turned, scowling at whoever was holding him back.
Arthur didn't know what happened in his head, but his glare softened slightly as he saw the man. The man was tall with messed up sandy blonde hair, and a show of muscles. His glasses were cracked slightly, but they showed deep blue eyes that Arthur knew had seen plenty. The man glared back down at him, tightening his grip. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He said quietly, yet harshly. Arthur swallowed hard before he managed to reply. "I'm here looking for supplies for a group of mine; nothing more, nothing less." The man's expression didn't change. It stayed hard and cold. "There's nothing here you can have. This is my building. If you want to keep that pretty little face of yours pretty, then I suggest you take you and your friend back to your camp and never show your face here again."
Arthur scoffed, "Bloody hell, lad. We were here for a few mere minutes and you're already getting your damn knickers in a twist." He felt the man's grip tighten slightly around his wrists, causing his arms to dig upward harshly. "Dude, I'm in no mood to fuck around. I've dealt with many people and their shit- and it all ended badly for me." Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion, not fully understanding the American's point.
The American man sighed, and shook his head. "I'll give you your fuckin' rifle back, and you go. Tell your buddies at your camp that this is my building. Don't come back." Arthur took a deep breath, and gave a firm nod. "Fine."
The man then let god of Arthur, who gave out a small sigh of relief. He then rubbed his wrist softly, trying to relieve any access, stinging pain that radiated off of the red marks. "…You could have at least lightened the grip on me wrists. They bloody hurt now." He mumbled, glancing over at the American, who now leaned down to pick up the rifle. He tossed the hunting rifle over to the Brit, and Arthur caught it easily. Arthur glanced up and down the American, and felt confused when he saw that the man was skinny as all can be. "…Have you eaten?" He randomly asked, to which the American glared again. "Why would I tell you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes, and turned so that his back was facing the American as he began to walk away. "I only wanted a simple answer. Yes or no would have sufficed…" He muttered before it grew quiet, other than the small tap tap taps from Arthur's shoes once more. "Farewell." He called as he got to the main room again.
Ludwig turned, wanting to know if Arthur had found anything. "Did you find anything useful back there?" Arthur shook his head. "Nothing. No small rat nor roach." He replied with a sigh, "Now come on. We're leaving this bloody building." He called, waving his hand forward so that Ludwig would follow. But instead, Ludwig shot Arthur a confused glare. "We were sent here to look for suppli-" "I know." "Then why are we leaving?"
"Someone else lives here, and we're trespassing."