damned_institute | Day 51: Breakfast

Yuffie Kisaragi, indomitable bouncing ball of sunshine and unfathomable ebullience, was tired. It'd been a long night full of gibberish and getting nowhere fast.

"Can't I—"

Plucky, who had been busily loading a plate full of French toast and bacon, tittered. "I'm afraid not, Hanna, darling. A chat over a nice, hearty breakfast would do you a world of good, don't you think?"

"Aaaaactually—"

"Come on, let's find you a seat. Plenty to choose from this morning!"

For a long moment, Yuffie seriously considered doing something—anything—to act out. Punch her nurse, rub jam in an orderly's face, climb a wall and hang off the ceiling, jump on a table and parody Loveless… A ruckus like that would definitely jolt her back into gear, right? Sedation aside. And it'd turn Plucky's good day right on its head, which was always a bonus worth shooting for.

But, by the time she'd reached a decision—and it was an epic decision, a really awesome one; everybody'd appreciate the genius, she was sure—she was already alone. Her breakfast tray had been set down neatly by the nurse, who had left with an infuriatingly winsome smile.

"Wow," Yuffie muttered. Shaking her head, she picked a chair at random and threw herself into it. She kicked back, one arm slung across her eyes, to wait. For what, she wasn't totally sure. Some moron to decide that she looked like good company? That was how it usually went.

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He let the plastic bits fall to his tray, making an amusing sort of clattering sound. Such a weak tool. It could probably hardly even cut his meat let alone break skin or do any kind of lasting damage. You needed real knives for that. Or just something heavy. So long as it was metal.

Russia licked a bit of syrup from his fingertips as England was sputtering and having trouble with something as simple as eating. Really, and they said they didn't need help? That they didn't need someone to tell them how to live and be happy? They couldn't even eat without hurting themselves.

"On your own, don't be silly," he laughed, "the meeting was to make allies, not go alone. And injured and weak like that, who knows what kind of things might try to pick you off. No, I insist."

England managed to clear his throat, taking another bite of food, an almost defiant gesture considering his earlier sputtering. Must have got something caught in his throat. Terrible business and all. He heard the little bits of plastic clattering onto the tray, completely shattered. He'd rather have dealt with America this morning than Russia.

He'd rather deal with America rather than Russia most of the time if he was honest with himself. And that laugh was very very disturbing.

"I'm already travelling with someone," he lied. "And I am not weak," he added sharply. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. No, I shall be quite fine tonight. America will be accompanying me too."

Already traveling with someone? Just a moment ago it had been on his own. Russia might play dumb at times, but he didn't miss things like that. Not when it could mean an obvious weakness to be exploited. He made a curious sound, as though considering his words, taking a few more bites of his food. The meat was interesting at least. Not bad.

And then there was America. Obnoxious, loud, freedom-for-everyone America. As much as the thought of running into him again would be a nuisance, if he was busy looking after his friend England (or at least making sure Russia did nothing to him), it might be easier to give them a few more weaknesses to worry about.

"Oh, it's almost a party then. Where will you be going? I wouldn't mind following along. It's no trouble and I'm sure you'd feel much better with someone watching your back for you. America only ever seems to see what's right in front of him after all,"

How bad would he make things if he just picked up his tray and went to sit elsewhere? He'd honestly rather deal with Prussia in a bad mood than this. At least Prussia was honest about it. Actually, how bad would he make things if he hit Russia over the head with the tray and tried to gouge his eyes out with a plastic spoon?

No, it wouldn't probably just bounce off his thick skull. Russia was remarkably, frustratingly resilient. He'd probably need a siege engine.

He had to bite his lip to keep from retorting angrily. He'd rather have a hungry viper watching his back than Russia. "Outside," England lied. "We're meeting outside on the field and heading out beyond the wall." He certainly wasn't about to give up his room number to Russia.

England had given up the information easily enough. Was that angry look because it was true or would he get there only to find he was the only one? No, England wouldn't be that stupid. He'd have to know that it would upset Russia to be lied to like that and that Russia could hardly help it if he couldn't control himself afterward.

"Ooh, is that so? Running away? How nice," he smiled. If they'd all really rather run home, their true essence left behind here, well... that was fine with him. They'd be weak and their lands left unprotected. Easily taken. But the person who'd done this had to be able to undo it. That only made sense. And for now, that was more important than escaping, wasn't it?

"Not running England snapped, narrowing his eyes at the implied insult. He was no coward. "Investigating. I have no intention of leaving this place until everything is back as it should be." And if there was a way of leaving Russia here or at least weakened (assuming he was), then so much the better for everyone. He'd been threatening things in Europe more and more recently.

"But if you truly wish to go into a fight with no backup plan or knowledge of the terrain and the environment that we could be facing, then be my guest." Because if something did go wrong, then England wanted to know that there was a place to retreat to. He did not want to be trapped here if things went badly.

Russia still had his doubts that this place had anything at all he would be frightened of or have any difficulty with. It was usually the other countries that ran in, especially when it came to Russia, without any idea of the terrain or the cold or having ever met with General Winter. For a second or two, his eyes had a far off look. General Winter was not a person he preferred to think about at any rate. And there was no one like that here. Not even close. So if a little darkness was enough to scare England and if he was weak enough to get himself injured, Russia couldn't say he had any sympathy for him.

"You sound so frightened England," maybe not frightened, but certainly on edge, whether from his comments or something else. "You never did tell me how you got that terrible injury. It looks painful. Could it be that's what happened? England went into a fight without knowing what he was getting into?"

England's expression darkened at the insinuation that he might be frightened. He wasn't frightened. A little on edge perhaps, because he was injured and it wasn't healing properly and Russia of all people knew about it. Anyone would be a little wary about that, and England wasn't the powerhouse that he had once been. And where was America? Now would be a good time for an interruption.

"And what on earth is there here to be afraid of?" he sneered. "I've had far worse injuries in my time. "And how I got it is none of your business."

Day 51: Breakfast

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