Hey guys, it's been a while. I'm going to try to get back into writing, okay.

Chapter eight

The school's food was particularly crappy that day; limp, browning lettuce, and tomatoes that would make a certain Spaniard cry. The students were convinced that the kitchens had given up trying to provide wholesome food a long time ago- and they were expected to live off this?! To add insult to injury, the chips that were either burnt black or soggy with touches of green, a truly unnecessary cruelty.

"Wait, so you've never been in a fight before?" Arthur raised two very bushy eyebrows at Allen Fitzgerald, his food picked through with the experience of a seasoned Englishman. "Never been punched in the face before?"

Allen looked aghast in mock horror, "And risk hurting this beauty?" he asked with a poised (read: feminine) gesture to his tanned face. "This is the money maker."

Alfred snorted from next to him, ploughing through charred chips with ease, "Clearly he is lying; no one could resist landing a few on that mug."

A glare passed between the two.

"I've got some bad news," a soft voice came, followed by a clatter of a plate being put on the table, and Mathew -Alfred's half-brother- sat down in front of it, wedging Alfred between himself and the wall.

"Hey Matt," Allen purred, sending the other a smirk, to which Mathew responded to with a sweet smile.

Under the table, Alfred kicked Allen.

"Apparently Gilbert is teaching Wolfgang how to fight now." Mathew mentioned amiably, spearing a chip viciously with his fork.

"…" Silence enveloped the table. Broken only by Mathew's munching.

"You're screwed now." He continued.

"It can't be that bad." Allen tried to reason, struggling to not let his already dying confidence flicker out completely.

"It is." Alfred confirmed ever so helpfully.

"So why again did you challenge the pro boxer's cousin to a match off, anyway?" Arthur drawled, unable to resist driving the knife in deeper.

"Alright," Allen leaned back in his seat so that two of the legs raised off the ground- he might not be in much of a position to argue, but damned if he didn't try. "Look," he put on his best higher-than-thou face, oozing superiority and dicky-ness.

Arthur looked on in amusement, Mathew started to steal the less burnt food from Alfred's plate while Alfred desperately defended his food.

"One, that kid is hopeless, how was I supposed to know he would actually offer to stand up for himself. Two, this Gilbert is sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and it is so not cool. Three, I didn't even mean to challenge him to a fight… it just… sorta… happened." Allen finished lamely.

Mathew snorted: "You're screwed."

"He doesn't even know how to fight." Arthur piped.

Clever, clever Allen Fitzgerald.

He was actually quite smart, however being bad luck and misplaced aggression given human form, he could at times show serious misjudgement. Now would be one of these times. Well not right now, specifically, but quite recently.

Wolfgang Gleizenbrig was a dreary fellow, always lamenting the horrors of mankind, and he was currently studying theology and mathematics.

It was safe to say that he and Allen didn't really get along, but no one could quite pinpoint when or what started it. They just always rubbed each other the wrong way; kind of like with the philosophy majors Hercules and Adnan, but less chronic and violent.

The worst they had come to before this were petty arguments; it helped that neither of them could fight for shut, and were a little afraid of physical violence.

However, Wolfgang's cousin, Gilbert Beilschmidt was a professional boxer in his spare time.

Allen Fitzgerald was officially screwed.

Arthur pointed his fork at Allen, "So," he asked, "when is the fight, anyway?"

Allen sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of his head, "On the last day, after school."

"That's two weeks from now." Mathew nodded, "Fourteen days; 336 hours; 20160 minutes from now, less now. I'm going home to Alberta, just in case anyone's wondering, so I can't be there lest I miss my train. You have that long to learn how to fight, are weapons going to be involved? You could ask Kiku if you could borrow his nunchucks or manriki, they're really useful- no mess or anything. Better than knives."

"H-Hold up Mattie," Alfred spluttered, "you're going back to Canada?! You should stay with me!" Alfred whined, having set his heart on spending some time with his bro.

"Sorry Al," Mathew gave his brother a small smile, "It's just that I have family up there I rarely get to see nowadays. Maybe next time."

"Are you just going to catch the train up?" Arthur asked, bravely munching on a green chip. Didn't he know green chips were poisonous?

"Yeah, from four until seven, then I have half an hour to switch trains, and another 12 hour trip." Mathew pushed his food around with a fork, demeaning it inedible he passed it to Alfred who gave a grunt of appreciation.

While shovelling cancerous food down his throat, cogs were turning in Alfred's head as he wondered just how moral it would be to let Allen go to the fight as he was.

"Okay!" Allen gave a jerk of surprise at Alfred's exclamation, nearly falling over. "Allen Fitzgerald, I will teach you the basics of fighting!"

Allen raised his eyebrows at this, Arthur shook his head and Mathew continued eating.

Sorry, that's all for now guys. Please give me some form of feedback or an idea for the story, it would be much appreciated.

DrowningHeta out.