Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Tʜᴇ Dᴇᴀᴛʜ Oꜰ Lᴇᴏɴ Bᴇᴀᴛʀɪx

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 30

Now isn't this familiar?

Reich sat opposite you, Red Russia, Russian Empire, France then Britain all lined up beside him. Their heads either down or tilted up, their mind wandering as they stared at the ceiling. No one said anything, the atmosphere was heavy as they sat still like statues. Feeling as though if they were to move, they would draw the ambience towards them. Making them the centre of this cumbrous dinner.

Prussia sat to your left, with Bulgaria, Ottoman Empire and Austria-Hungary beside him. Naturally, seated at the head of this perturbed meeting was the Mad Hatter; German Empire. His head low, but his eyes watching you intently. Waiting for you to look at him.

A bottle of whiskey sat in front of him, a straw sticking up from the opening. Though he wasn't drinking from it, nor had he taken a sip yet. Everyone else, excluding Reich and the Empire (who had a bottle of whiskey), had red wine in finely ordained glasses sitting in front of them. But the atmosphere was so tense, none of them attempted to indulge themselves in the alcohol.

You figured you had nothing to lose now. Seated here with nowhere else to go. So you bit the bullet, finally looking at the Empire.

His black beads for eyes drilled into yours. Those painted masquerades that seemed so lifeless were unforgiving. Something was on his mind. Something you knew related to your presence, or lack thereof in this moment of trepidation.

It took a passing second of silent staring. A quiet word between the two of you, a voiceless acknowledgement of your shared leucocholy. He had his thoughts, and you had yours. Never were they to be heard by the others, by a jouska that was shared between to two of you. Hypothetical through and through.

Eventually, however, the Empire seemed to grow weary of this amorphous lacuna. His painted eyes leaving yours for his bottle. His fingers latching onto its body, swirling it in the air. As if he wished to recreate the whirlpool of thoughts he possessed in a tangible panorama.

"Vere vere vu?" He asked lowly, not meeting your eye.

You wondered for a moment if your answer would have a consequence, or if it didn't matter in the end. It never seemed to matter. He could be catty all he wanted, but he never held a vendetta against you. At least not that you were aware of. He was a complicated man, but not a vindictive one. You understood that.

Your eyes rolled by themselves. Your head shifting with them to meet the table before you. The empty planks of wood soon to be filled with food, but barren at the moment. You had chosen not to accept the offer of a drink. You weren't a big drinker, if at all.

"Oh, you know, Around." You finally replied, causing the Empire to stop playing with his drink and look at you. His phlegmatic expression just as empty as it always was. His hollow, soulless eyes watching, his hands firm around his bottle. "I zought I made it clear I didn't vant vu vontering around like vu ovn zee place." Stated he. His tone low and demanding, the kind of vocal that you recognised from the many times he had given out to you before.

But you didn't feel threatened, not in the slightest. His eyes were cold, giving no emotion. His face lacked any means to harbour an expression. His tone a mere inhibitor; a farce. If he had expression, perhaps then you would feel threatened. But you were staring at a blank wall. A man devoid of life, emotion a contumacious contraction paltry in size. And smaller in cynosure. He was far from threatening now.

You glared at him. A small portion of your mind laughed. Knowing that you could do the one thing he couldn't. You had no need to deepen your voice, applying a malice that had no hook. For you had full, unprecedented control over your own face. You were incendiary, while he was the conflict. It was funny really.