Disclaimer: The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 日丸屋 秀和

A/N - This is a preview for a possible Nordics story to explain how their gang got together. So this whole chronicle would be like a long backstory!

Make a Scene

Several mugs of ale earlier...

It was mid-afternoon when Mathias Køhler had sauntered into the little drinkery, dripping with confidence and emitting a vibe that positively screamed 'I'm up to no good'. He briefly surveyed the interior, inhaling deeply the salty air as he did so. After a moment, his eyes fell upon a vacant wood stool near the wall and he decided to take a seat. There he made himself comfortable, subtly scanning the layout of the old ale house.

After ordering a drink, our young rogue of about 19 or so (to be perfectly honest, he had lost count of his years himself) stood up. With that artful grin on his face, the young man casually took a swig of his brew and strode forward.

He was in the prime of his life - young, free, ambitious, adventurous. He loved being here, doing what he was doing.

Mathias had no routine in his life. He lived by no rules, called no place home and had no family to speak of.

...Well, that wasn't entirely true...

He had some sort of routine which consisted of getting drunk, fighting, winning [most] of said fights, bragging later to pretty girls about his [near] victory and roaming on to wherever the wind carried him next.

His rules were: 1) survive and thrive, 2) live life to the fullest because tomorrow you could wake up dead, 3) fear no one and 4) avoid the yellow snow.

That was it.

His home was the sea and the sky and the mountains and the plains.

He was a family of one, and he was content that way.

After letting his eyes wander over the crowd of pub guests, they landed on one man in particular. He was a tall, serious fellow and looked like he was born with a stick up his ass.

Just the kind of guy Mathias was looking to talk to.

He seated himself across the spool-shaped table which the tall man had been perched at by himself.

"Hey there, frien-"

"I want ya' t' leave. Now."

Mathias blinked owlishly before breaking out into a huge smile.

"Haha! Oh, come on! I JUST sat down. Usually it takes at least half a mug of ale before I really piss someone off. Tell me, what exactly did I do to get on your shit-list so quickly?"

The half-lidded crystal eyes before him stared into Mathias's soul. "It's n't about what ya' did, it's about what y're g'nna do." The man replied simply.

Mathias maintained his winning smile but lowered an eyebrow, taking a moment to analyze this gentleman more carefully.

There was no doubt he was Swedish; the accent, the subtly distinct facial features, the fact that they were IN Swedish-controlled territory all attested to the fact that this man, and more than likely his father and his father's father, had all been born in this same little Swedish village.

Judging by his apparel and the condition of his rough, splintered hands, he had to be some kind of wood-carver or tinkerer of some sort. Inarguably, his height and well-built muscles rendered him more fit to be a sailor or a farmer, but something about this stranger just cried "craftsman" to Mathias.

"Well I can't say I know what you mean, sir-"

"I know y'r kind," the Swede interrupted sternly. "Only lookin' t' st'r up trouble."

Mathias' expression shifted from genuine surprise to a sort of delighted pride.

The Swedish man couldn't help but think that Mathias looked like the mortal version of Loki whenever he smiled. A very bad feeling rose in the pit of the Swede's stomach seeing that mischievous grin. He had an instant disgust for Mathias.

"Look," Mathias began placatingly, "we all have our different trades. And I'll admit, some are more reputable than others. You must be like a... furniture-maker or... something along those lines? And I happen to be a-"

"Y'r a scoundrel and a thief."

"Woah, woah, not so loud, friend. I like to refer to myself as a forager, or a privateer. Hell, even 'buccaneer' sounds pretty sweet too, but if we're going down the pirate route, I favor the term 'viking'. Either way, you and me both, we're just lookin' to make a little money. Aye? We're really not so different. Same goals, just different ways of reaching them." Mathias winked.

"'m nothin' like you. I have m' honor."

Mathias leaned in, pushing his elbows on the table's surface, a distinct glint in his eye. "Now, here's the thing, Sve... that's stupid. Does 'honor' or 'integrity' put food in your belly? Does it give you a place to sleep at night? Having honor doesn't do a damn thing for you 'cept keep you on a leash. It holds you to the law; keeps you from getting what you want in life. I tell ya', a young, strong buck like you living a life like me - no one and no thing to tie you down - you would thrive out there. Hang the rules!"

He took another large gulp of his liquid courage.

The serious man across the table just stared him down. His body was as rigid and unmoving as a bolder. His face remained just as stoic. "Sounds like a lonely life t' me."

"That's the beauty of it, Swede!" Mathias pounded his hand on the table. "You take what ya' can. You live for the now. You live for yourself. And when you live like that, you ain't got nothin' to lose!"

"'s that why y' do it? B'cause y' have no one?"

This statement succeeded in breaking Mathias' impish grin.

Because he had no one? Was this guy serious?

Well, on second thought, he did look like one of those family-man types. 'Family' definitely did not coincide with Mathias' kick-ass lifestyle and NEVER would.

Besides, he had friends!

Mathias' eyes flashed sideways to the door. Several men who had discretely slipped inside after Mathias sat down and were awaiting his cue.

Those men were his friends... acquaintances... . They were a gang, like a hoard of vikings!

So it was true that Mathias didn't actually know their names, and it was true that he never stayed in one place or with the same people for too long... but...

Bah. Who needed friends? Or family? Certainly not he. Not when he always had an ample supply of beer and tavern wenches.

"I'd rather live a h'mble life," continued the Swede, "in a home... 'mong loved ones... th'n a risky life f'rever on the run." He paused and took a drink for himself before concluding, "The way y're l'vin', you c'n fill y're bag with treasures... but it's n'ver quite enough."

Mathias snorted. "That's too bad, friend. Your philosophy seems terribly flawed. But, I guess I really shouldn't expect some daft and dumb Swede to understand... I get that you're a simple people with thick skulls and humble goals, so I suppose I can't really blame you."

The man narrowed his eyes, a flicker of red-hot rage shooting through the blue irises.

"'m g'vin' you one last chance t' leave. Now."

Mathias grinned once more. "Yeah, but if I do that, my buddies in this joint won't be too happy with me. They're counting on me to do my part."

"'nd what's that?" the Swedish man dared to ask.

Mathias leaned in as close as physically possible without touching noses to his new acquaintance and practically whispered the words, "Make a scene." His voice was dripping with maniacal glee.

Before the stranger had time to react, Mathias flipped the table over, violently knocking the tall man to the floor and splattering the contents of their mugs everywhere.

There was an enormous crash as the table hit the ground. The man's chair toppled over and two of the legs snapped off under his irregular weight.

A few guests quickly rushed over to offer their assistance. One man helped the Swede to his feet, the other grabbed hold of Mathias' shoulder.

However, when the vigilante swung his fist at the Danish trouble-maker, Mathias all-too-easily dodged the blow and the stranger ended up punching another pub guest.

From there the scene dominoed into an all-out brawl.

And Mathias just smiled.

Because, God... it was just so damn beautiful.