The War of the Toasters (France x England/ FrUk)

Chapter One: The War

It was a sunny day in the Allies household, aside from Alfred screaming war cries. War had only just begun. It had felt like a cold winter creeping up on them, unavoidable. Alfred's constant aggression and determination only made matters worse.

"Matthew! That's it!" Alfred shouted, setting up his toaster. Alfred was famous for scaring people with the bread-baker. His brother walked through the door way of the room, slightly alarmed at his sibling's sudden outburst.

"Alfred?" Matthew asked, tugging on the arm of his little polar bear, of which Matthew had forgotten perhaps years ago, and he hadn't bothered to ask again, since the arctic bear couldn't remember him, either. Just as Matthew was about to walk away, no longer concerned, the toaster went off.

"Alfred!" Matthew yelled, greatly alarmed and a bit frazzled.

"Matthew, you're a genius! I know exactly what to do; we'll have a toaster war." Alfred suggested, rather evilly. He had known at the time, that he would most definitely come out the victor.

Alfred then looked of into the distance, deep in thoughts, planning every step before any battle had even begun. He then leaned in closer to his brother.

"The war between us and those star-crossed, love-struck losers!" Alfred whispered, grinning deviously, looking over at Arthur and Francis, of whom were rather enjoying drinking wine and peacefully embroidering.

"But-" Matthew started.

"Who are you?" Kumajiro, the small polar bear, asked, quietly, sweetly.

"I'm Canadia..Canada, I mean." Matthew seemed rather embarrassed that he had accidentally answered to his bear with the nickname that Alfred had given him.

Alfred set up another toaster.

"Where did you even get that...?" Matthew asked, nervously, as if the toaster would go off at any second, making a second time of it scaring him.

Alfred ignored his brother's anxious curiosity. He continued his traps, carefully, thoughtfully. Just as he threw it in both Arthur and Francis's direction, it went off in mid-air, a mistake that Alfred had not thought about...He thought his plan had worked out perfectly.

Well, in a way, it may have. Arthur had been disturbed from his peaceful needlework, but it didn't have that great of an impact on him, as Alfred hoped would not happen. Alfred had first jumped himself, screeching, then cursed angrily under his breath. Just as Alfred was setting up a new attempt to frighten the Englishman, Arthur lifted his gaze to look over at the toaster-happy boy.

"Microwave attack, you bloody American!" Arthur yelled, setting a time of approximately four seconds onto the large box. "Muhehehehe!" Arthur giggled.

"Ahonhonhon!" Francis laughed, wrinkling his nose in the way that Arthur would never admit that he loved.

Just as Arthur was preparing to hurl the microwave at the somewhat frightened American,

Matthew rose up and attempted to steal the heating box from the big-browed English. This stalled the attack for a few moments, giving Alfred enough time to recover from the threat, prepare another attack, and launch. The blast had wiped the smile of the Frenchman almost immediately. "Oh no, whatever shall I d-" Francis had began, shouting a plea of mercy, a plea of help. The toaster had hit him square in the forehead, burning a few strands of his golden locks. All three of the males would never forget the look of terror on Francis's face, for him being too late to stop the surprise attack. Alfred had laughed rather obnoxiously, only earning a somewhat enraged glare from Arthur. This didn't exactly cease his giggle fest.

Arthur finally shook Matthew off, and as he pressed 'Start' on the microwave, he sloppily threw it at Alfred, still a little wobbly from last night's drinking festival. How was it that he was the only one affected this way? This had put him at a minor disadvantage, judging from his inability to see straight. Curse it all, he thought. Curse it all, curse the drinking, curse the headache...Curse Alfred and his bloody toaster rubbish. Blast it, why today? Arthur was normally used to Alfred's sudden acting-ups. But today...Arthur had just about had enough of it. He took the toaster from Francis's unconscious, seemingly lifeless body. Arthur knew he'd be fine, but emotionally...Alfred would definitely get a talking-to about this one. Arthur had to admit, Al had gone a little overboard this time. Arthur wasn't going to let Alfred win this time...Not again. This time, Arthur wanted to win. This time, he wanted to know what it's like to brag..But first, he needed bragging rights. Glancing at the toaster in his left hand, he set the dials. "Time is an imaginary thing, Alfred..." Arthur stated glumly. The American looked up, just as the toaster was coming at him. The shock had prevented him from moving.

He simply sat there, waiting...waiting in fear. Alfred's face twisted in dread. The last thing he remembered was the blood-curdling sound of his glasses shattering.