To Build a Home

Twisted, Beautiful Things

Francis wanted the shelter to be stylish. If everyone was going to spend weeks in this stupid camp, it was going to be fabulous. Not because Francis was stuck up, or because he was arrogant. He would gladly spend days outside enjoying the beauty of nature, but if the camp looked fancy it would create an illusion that everyone was safe. An illusion that they were not in harms way and everything was fine. But no, Yao had to be practical and completely dissolve Francis's idea to have more than one big room in the shelter.

See if it weren't for Alfred and Ivan fighting, He wouldn't be stuck here. Now there were two options that Alfred was able to give, stay here and wait for patrols to check the borders, and that would take months, or venture around the wall to the grand gate and hope that it still opens. It was really either a matter of waiting for death to come to you, or you to death. Francis wasn't keen on death but if he was going to go, it would be in style.

Finally, after a long debate, Yao had agreed to a Tee-pee like shelter backed against the wall where everyone would sleep. If the group decided to stay here they would construct a larger and sturdier shelter with insulation, but for now this would do. There would be a smaller hut for food on the side and another about forty feet away to be used for a restroom. In the center of the camp would be a firepit where Feliciano, Kiku, Yao and himself would be able to cook, taking turns of course. At camp the wolf cabin was always in charge of meals during both the summer and school year. Everyone had a part to play in survival, no matter how it was disguised.

Eleven cabins. One for each factor of survival should the camp borders ever fall. Four Elite cabins for the best of the best with certain skill sets and seven other cabins for less important people. Not say they weren't important, every life mattered to Francis, but usually those cabins consisted of younger kids with little to none survival training or experience with things outside of what got them accepted into Hetalia World Academy of the Arts. Of those four elite cabins where Wolf, of food and shelter, Bear, of hand-to-hand combat skills, Robin, of long range weaponry and shouting, and lasty the Eagle Cabin. No one but Mr. Vargas and Mr. Beilschmidt knew what that cabin was intended for, or how it's campers got sorted there. Out of the 198 people that attended, after the war only five campers were ever sorted into Eagle. It used to be three, but a few months ago two new kids were put there for training.

Ah, Hetalia World Academy of the Arts. A special school designed to shape future world leaders in hope of one day achieving world peace. A school that trained children in politics and put them in high positions so that when they actually would be able to run for president, prime minister, etcetera, and they would have the ideals already set. One kid from each country was selected by the people to attend the Academy for the school year. Sometimes two were selected under special circumstances A brainwashing and manipulative strategy that just might work.

Well at least when the bombs went off it was a pretty color of blues greys and reds. Francis could appreciate that at least. It may have been the last thing people ever saw, and it was honestly beautiful. Most things that were the most twisted were often the things that held the most beauty.

*********

Alfred knew it was his fault, still the fact Arthur hadn't come back was unnerving. Yes, Alfred was mad, and yes he wanted a little space, but it had almost been a full day and everyone knew that the night made everything more dangerous. Rule one of any apocalypse was not to go out on your own, even if you had a weapon. Number two was never go off at night. Arthur had done both and that worried Alfred. He was supposed to be back by now.

The blonde sat down on one of the logs surrounding the fire as Feliciano and Kiku served roasted nuts. Had Alfred not been in a sour mood, he would have joked about serving roasted nuts to a crowd of boys. Now all he did was eat in silence. His eyes scanned the horizon as Francis and Yao tied some branches together to form the fine details of the hut. It looked nearly complete, the branches woven together like a tapestry as it tied together at the top. It almost looked like the Emperor's Palace Alfred once saw in Chinatown, New York where he used to live. Alfred wondered if he would ever eat un-proper chinese food again. The smell of the -not- Chinese fried rice were one of his favorite scents aside from the smell of dark chocolate, green bean casserole and fresh apple pies. Question. If Yao cooked something for Alfred was that considered chinese food? Ha, that was a bad joke. The blue eyed teen was glad he didn't ask that outloud. He could've been karate kicked.

The group gathered by the fire in awkward silence. Francis grinned. 'So I guess this is this is the part where we share secrets, no?"

Kiku nodded. "Sounds like the apportate thing to do. If we are to trust each other with our lives, we might as well get to know each other."

"Let's play a game!" Ivan beamed.

"I love games!" Feliciano bounced in his seat. "What kind of game do you want to play? Marco-polo? Spin the bottle? Never have I ever? Seven minutes of heaven? Oh, truth or dare right?"

"No, a game of truth. One person in the circle asks a question and each person including themselves has to answer. I start. Now, what is your favorite color and why? Mine is yellow like sunflowers. See? Simple. Now each person has to answer."

Yao cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we start with names?"

"Ve, that's a good idea. Let's do that. I'm Feliciano Vargas and my favorite color is white because it symbolizes peace!"

Kiku nodded. "My name is Honda Kiku, or Kiku Honda in english. My favorite color is purple like the night sky and mountain ranges."

All eyes fell on Francis. Of course, Francis loved that. The young American snickered.

"Moi name is Francis Bonnefoy, and of course my favorite color is le rainbow."

"That's not a color!" Ludwig snapped.

"How do you expect me to pick just one?! All colors are just as beautiful as the last and even more next to others."

Ivan frowned. "Then pick a scenery?"

Francis seemed to consider that. "Fine, I choose the color of sunrises."

No one wanted to argue.

"Ludwig it's your turn I believe." Feliciano dimpled.

Ludwig's expression remained stern. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. I don't see why this matters to our survival but my favorite color is black. My brother had this bird once. He named it after himself," Ludwig scoffed. "It was a small yellow bird. I always looked up to him, even if I never told him so. Anyway I wanted to be like him so I went to catch my own bird. I climbed up a tree and tried to grab the bird. The poor thing was too young to fly and fell out of the tree, breaking its wing. My brother heard me crying and came running outside. I thought I had killed the poor creature, but Gilbert hugged me and picked up the bird. He bandaged the wing and helped me take care of it. I realized then that my brother would always be there for me, no matter what, even if it was for a stupid eagle. Well that and that I was a dog person. Later on that night he read my stories of his ancestors, the Prussians, and read me fairy tales. You know, I never told him I loved him. Not once."

Silence filled the air as Alfred fiddled with the hem of his jacket. Feliciano's was looking directly at Ludwig as if deciding whether or not to hug him or cry for him.

"I'm much more of a dog person anyway." Ludwig concluded. "Who's next?"

Yao sighed. "I guess it's my turn. My name is Yao Wang and my favorite color is red because red a lucky color, and I sure wish I was wearing red right now because if I was I wouldn't be near you losers. You all need professional mental care. Lucky for you I know a guy in camp that has a medicine for that. " He huffed and crossed his arms. "Alfred is the only one here who hasn't spoken. Your turn."

The teen felt all eyes land on him. "I'm Alfred F. Jones and my favorite color is..." Alfred gulped as he quickly searched for an answer. Then just like that, his memories guided him.

Alfred soared above the clouds as he watched the wheat fields beneath him fade away. The wind whipped his hair into a permanent cowlick as he rode his grandfather's plane through the sky. Alfred always wanted to be a pilot, a hero, but the US Airforce wouldn't let him fly with his eyesight. The sky, oh the brilliant sky, he could do anything up here. He could be anyone.

"Blue, my favorite color is blue."