Hawd on; detention? (Open~)

[Fraser MacDonald]

The Scotsman had woken up in a lot of strange places after a good, hard night of drinking; the sofa of a friend, or the bed of a friend. With said friend in said bed, or the whore who he barely remembered picking up the night before, wearing just their underwear, and little else. In the middle of the street... The list goes on. So, had it been a strip bar or whorehouse he had woken up in, he wouldn’t have been very surprised.

Waking up in the middle of a classroom, on the other hand, was very much surprising.

Fraser rested his head on his arms; a perplexed look plastered across his face. He blinked, and lifted his head, fiery red strands of hair falling into his eyes, and obscuring his vision slightly. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, all while looking around the room he was seated in. It was a large classroom, with around 40 small, separate square desks in the room, and a blackboard at the front, mounted on the wall. Written on the board, in bold, white letters, was the word “DETENTION”.

This just added to the Scotsman’s confusing.

“… The hell.” He muttered to himself, narrowing his emerald green eyes. “How in the fuck did Ah git in a high school. An’ in detention, fer tha’ matt’r.”

He also found the fact he was on his own to be an oddity. Not even a teacher, of the sort, was in sight. It was a big enough classroom, surely there would be at least one other person?
Fraser shook his head, muttering quietly to himself. He could figure that out later. For now, there was a far more important matter to take care of: Where the hell was he, and why was he here in the first place? The fact he couldn’t feel the familiar weight of his country and people in his chest terrified him slightly. That signified their immortality; it was thanks to that weight on their heart that told them if their country was alright, if their people were alright. Hell, it was because of that one thing they knew they were the personifications of the country.

Despite all the questions running through his head, he still noticed the small sheet of paper lying on the desk before him. Picking it up for a closer examination, he scanned over the words written in the tiny print.

World Academy W

The address written below didn’t really concern the Scot; it was obvious he was already in the mentioned academy. He dropped the paper back on the desk, and went to stretch out his legs, when his feet tapped against something underneath his desk. “Wit the hell now?” he hissed, looking under the desk, to find two large suitcases. He blinked, and pulled them out for examination.

Fraser MacDonald
Edinburgh, Scotland to Tokyo, Japan

Fraser read over that last part a couple of times. Tokyo, Japan. Tokyo, Japan. His confusion was soon being taken over by irritation. “How in the fuck does someone git fae Scotland tae Japan, drunk or no?” he asked himself. “An’ how dae they en’ up breakin’ some kin’a fourth-fuckin’-wall in daeing so?”


((Derp, boredom. You gotta love it. o3o Yup guys, only Fraser, the lovely personification of Scotland, would wake up in detention xDHis accent'll get worse, btw. If you can't understand it, tell me, and I'll add a translation XD I know we Scots aren't the easiest of people to understand~
So, yeah. It's an open thread, come rp with Scotty~~~))

[Mathias Karlsen]

Mathias fucking hated his Maths teacher with the intensity of a thousand desert suns.

He was not in the mood for classes, he wanted to investigate and find out why he was in the middle of Japan and having to attend this school, not finding out if 1/2x +1/2(1/2x + 1/2(1/2x +1/2(1/2x + ... = y, then x = what?

"Mathias, please take your jotter."

"Uh, excuse me, Ms. whatever-fuck-your-name-is, but I just got here and have no idea why the fuck I'm here. So, no."

"Language! And you will be doing the work!"

He chuckled. "Let's see you wake up in the middle of a foreign city as an eighteen year old and not a twenty-five year old, with no recollection of getting on a plane in Copenhagen and arranging any meetings with any Japanese colleges, and end up in a fucking academy. I think you'd agree that school would be the last thing you want to attend."

Some of the class gasped and whispered at the crazy explanation, others just stared at the teachers beetroot red face.

"No wonder you failed your last year and have to resit Ma-"

Mathias stood up from his desk, causing his chair to topple over to the floor, and slammed his hands down. "Did you just fucking listen to me!? I just woke up yesterday in the middle of the fucking city with no fucking idea of what to do!! I'm so fucking confused!! I couldn't of fucking failed last year cause I wasn't even fucking here!!!"

"DETENTION!"

And that's why he was being pulled along the corridor towards the detention classroom by the Depute Head of Maths.

"You have no right to talk to a teacher like that!"

He rolled his eyes, ripping his arm away from the other's grip. "Y'know. I don't care. And anyway, if I did, I would of preferred to have learned if 1 + 1 = Triangle than whatever the fuck we were talking about."

The Dane was viscously shoved into the quiet classroom, the door slammed behind him. He turned and flipped the finger, cursing in Danish as he done so. "Forpulede rovhul..." He turned around to look for a desk, to see a red haired boy slumped over at his desk. Mathias furrowed his eyebrows. Was this another nation? He had came across Lukas and Manon earlier on, was this another nation caught up in this shit? He made his way over to the boy, and instantly recognized his deep emerald eyes.

"Fuck sake man...Fraser!?"

[Fraser MacDonald]

A voice snapped Fraser out of his thoughts; loud; and distinctly accented. The Scot couldn’t help but snort in amusement at a certain comeback the owner of the voice came up with. A door opened, and there was a scuffle before said door was slammed shut again, and a harsh, foreign curse was muttered in reply. “Well, Ah’ll be damned…” he murmured to himself, turning in his chair slightly to look at his detention-mate. The boy was a tall, well-built blonde, who’s bright blue eyes were burning with anger. The Scot recognised him almost instantly.

“Well, well, well; if it isnae Mathias Karlsen; personification o’ the Kingdom o’ Denmark.” He announced, his lips playing into a small smile.

Fraser found the Dane’s reaction to seeing the Scotsman pretty much priceless.

“Aye, the one an’ only.” He said, giving Mathias his own characteristic smirk, emerald eyes glinting. “Fuckin’ hell Mat, could ye git any louder?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the Dane. “Ah dinnae ken how yer wee Boyfriend can put up wi’ ye, shoutin’ like tha’.” He mock sighed, shrugging and shaking his head.

The Scot was one to talk. Whenever he got pissed off, or drunk, or just wanted to have a little yelling match with one of his brothers, his own thick, accented voice could apparently be heard all the way down the street from his home. (But that source was only from Arthur, and there was no way Fraser was going to believe his youngest brother, his pride and ego was too great. And besides, being heard down the street was more of an accomplishment to the Scot).

“So…” Fraser began, smirking at the perplexed and irritated look across Mathias’s face. “Ye git any idea why we’re ‘ere? Cause I ken fuck aw.” He paused to think. “An’ … Is there anyone else ‘ere?” He sighed. “ Jist… Wit the fuck is going on?”

[Mathias Karlsen]

The Dane chuckled, raising his hands in the air slightly. "That be me~" he declared, sauntering down to sit at the desk across from the Scotsman. He pushed the chair back a tad, so he could swing back and rest his feet on the desk, though, the hard wooden back was uncomfortable on his spine. "Fuck these fucking uncomfortable detention chairs..." he mumbled, taking his blazer off to fold it and use it as a cushion of sorts. "They make the chairs like this to punish us...the bastards..."

Mathias pursed his lips at the comment. "Oi, Norge is totally cool with my voice. Why wouldn't he anyway? It's so fucking smooth~" his lips curled up into a grin revealing his white teeth, but then that was replaced with a frown. "Though...he has forced a tea towel down my throat a few times...and summoned his troll...and called Sve..." shrugging he shut his eyes. "Signs of love I guess?" Couples had their strange ways of expressing their love, right? Sweden had that creepy has fuck look of his, and Finland seemed fine with that...Finland always loved giving Sweden presents in return anyway! Then there was Hong Kong with his teasing of Iceland, and Iceland's habit of hitting the Asian in return for that. And then there was Mathias and Lukas. The Dane loved to tackle hug the other, kiss and hug him whilst...whilst the Norwegian tried to kill him....Yeah...it was love...very, very violent love.

Once hearing the next few questions from Fraser, he let them simmer in his mind before replying; "No. Fucking. Clue." Yep. That was his answer. "Just woke up in the middle of the city with no recollection of what I done before, apart from having a few beers, and with a little note in my pocket telling me to come here which strangely felt...right...like I'm meant to be here. And..." a pained looked crossed Mathias' face "...I'm not a nation any more. I'm just...a mortal. I have no people, no economy. Nothing what so ever. And I don't like it...I just hope this is all a dream. A stupid drunken dream." he pulled at some loose string on his shirt. "Other than that I dunno..." the pained expression vanished. "But! I know that Norge and Nethy's lil sis Bel are here! And then you're here! So...other nations are ought to be here with us!"

He pushed one of his feet on the desk so his chair would swing back and forth on two legs. Now his Maths class was fun, he had to admit. Shouting down that little bitch of a teacher~ Mathias wondered, how long would he have to stay in here? "Hey Fraser? How long do you think I'll have to stay in here for swearing at the teacher..." he counted in his head. "Nine times and then twice at the Head of Department?" folding his arms he sighed. "Not that I'm wanting to go to my next class. I just can't be fucked going to any lessons until I investigate what is going on here. Then I might be bothered...but I was never the one for school so fuck that shit I might just skip the whole year~"

[Fraser MacDonald]

Fraser snorted. “Well, if Lukas thinks that an accent that sounds like ye’ve git a potato stuck in yer throat is smooth, then so be it.” He said, giving Mathias a toothy grin. “… Well, he certainly has a weird way o’ showin’ love, huh?” he laughed, his green eyes flashing. “He sure hasnae changed one bit o’er the years, has he?”

As he listened to the Dane’s “explanation”, if you could call it that, of what was going on, Fraser’s smile slowly turned to a slight frown. “… Wit the fuck? Now Ah’m really bloody confused.” He sighed and placed his head in his hand, thinking things over. “So… We’re in some weird-arse high school thing. We’re nae longer nations, an’ we migh’ no be the only one’s here…” He sat up again, leaning back in his chair. “Awesome.” He muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He watched the Dane swing in the small rickety chair for several seconds. “If ye faw, Ah’ll laugh so hard.” He said, the grin returning to his features. “Hm…” he murmured. “I dinnae ken. Till Hell freezes o’er, knowin’ ye.” He said, smirking. “Shit man, Ah’m surprised they didnae kick ye oot the school fer aw that. Ah’m impressed. Does ne’er changin’ run in ye Vikings blood or somethin’?” he shifted his position slightly so he could rest his boots on the table. “Ah’m up fer skippin’ way ye. But, if Lukas finds out…” He snorted in laughter. “Ye really need tae find yersel’ a bird who’s a bit less uptight, Mat, seriously.”

The Scot let his mind wander for the next minute or so, taking in the look of the classroom. “… Right. Ah’m bored. Ah say we break oot of this shite hole.” He turned to Mathias. “We can either sky-dive fae the windae, or break doon the door. Either way will be interesting enough, so, wit dae ye say?”

[Mathias Karlsen]

Mathias rolled his eyes "Har har har, very funny." he pushed a little to hard and wobbled dangerously, threatening to tip over and into the desk behind him. The Dane short forwards and gripped onto his own desk. He gave the redhead a glare. "Don't even fucking bother laughing." regardless of his close call Mathias went back to swinging on two legs of his chair.

"Kicked out? Nah. I think they would've suspended me for a few weeks or something. Though...I don't know how the me who was here before...me...uhh...acted?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "That made absolutely no fucking sense. But hell...I just don't understand how all the people in this school who's not a nation think that we were here before we woke up. My Maths teacher told me that I failed last year...but I wasn't ever here." he violently shook his head. No, back to the current conversation. "I don't care if Norge is a bit uptight. I still love him for the kinda guy he is, y'know? Quiet, creative, kind...and he's cute too!" Mathias shot Fraser another grin. "I think I'm lucky to have someone like him who I love and who loves me back~" He really needed to stalk down Lukas again. They needed to spend some more time together. That was...if he could find him. The Norwegian seemed to magically vanish every fucking time he turned his back.

A few minutes past before the Scot spoke up again. Mathias blinked. "Skydive?" he got off of his chair and made his way over to the window to look out. Damn...the second floor was high up. "I think not. Unless we want to break our necks and die." the blond's lips curled into a large, wide grin as he set his eyes onto the door. "Now that idea, I like~"

Mathias turned to face the weak looking door. Piece of cake! He got into a stance, took a few steps back and rand full pelt at the door. Instead of the door collapsing, it stayed in place but the frosted glass window shattered. He luckily got out of the way of most of the sharp serrated glass, only gaining a few small cuts on his face and hands. "Augh! Well now we can unlock the door! But I think we should run before someone finds out that we've broken the door and escaped!"

[Fraser MacDonald]

Fraser grinned widely when the Dane pushed back just a little too much, the chair threatening to tip. Mathias, much to the Scot’s disappointment, managed to regain his balance, and shot him a glare. Fraser sighed, still grinning. “Dinnae worry, Ah’ll only laugh if ye faw.” He rolled his eyes when the Dane started to swing on the chair again.
The Scot hummed, thinking over what the Dane had said. “Well… if this is an alternate universe, perhaps we were switched wae oor counterparts or somethin’, Ah dunno. But, that’ll explain why the teachers ‘ere think ye were ‘ere before, even though we ken we wirnae.”

Fraser snorted, and looked at Mathias. “Sorry, ”kind?” Are ye sure we’re talkin’ aboot the same Lukas ‘ere?” Last time he had checked, the Norwegian male had not been the kindest person in the world, especially towards the Dane, unless punching and kicking was a form of showing your love in Scandinavia. The only person he had really seen Lukas show some form of gentleness was to the Norwegian’s little brother, who represented the country of Iceland.

The Scot followed the Dane to the window, and they both looked down. “Well shit, scrap that idea, then.” He said, turning his attention to Mathias. “Aye, the door. A far safer idea.”

He turned around, and folded his arms, watching with an eyebrow raised as the Dane ran at the wooden door. “… Er, I wis just gonna suggest breakin’ the thing doon way a chair, but I suppose tha’ done the job.” He said, joining Mathias. “Yer a bit scarred, Mat.” He said, grinning, then looking out from the broken window. “Ah dinnae see anyone, wit way should we run?” he looked down both corridors. “There’s an exit doon there,” he said, pointing to the left. “Ah say we go tha’ way.”

The Scot opened the door, and both edged out gingerly from the detention room. “Righ’…” Frazer whispered. “Aw clear, let’s go.”

(It's so short OTL Sorry, just not had a lot of muse for Scotland :\)

[Sadik Adnan]

((/sneaks into this thread))
Sauntering through bland halls brought to life only by the echoing click clack of Sadik's boots and the odd conversation of teen passerby, the Turk knit his brows at the lack of response from seeing the prior large, masked, stubbly, old man roaming through their school grounds. He would've expected somebody's eyes to at least scan over him, if not see legal authority sprinting and shouting with angered faces and cuffs in hand – it had happened more than once before! – Rather, he continued his brisk stroll in peace, each step adding to just a little more confusion and just a little more frustration.

From waking in a closet reeking of dust and cleaners, the Turk's first assumption as to where and why he was there was simply of a good night, but there was no moderately attractive woman/women accompanying him in the headache-inducing room, and after a quick feel-up, all articles of clothing were in place; Including his mask and wallet! Of course, as this was the most obvious theory, it wasn't completely disproved until coming out of the closet. In Turkey's case, stumbling over something or other and just barely catching himself in time to not crash face-first into the scuffed linoleum floor.

Not without a quiet curse, Sadik straightened up to brush off the imaginary dust clinging to his hoodie and fix whatever uncomfortable way the clothing had twisted around him, a soft pop from his maneuvering causing just as soft of a sigh to escape chapped lips. To anyone else the series of snaps that followed from a slow roll of the shoulders would've been off-putting, but to the Turk it was one of the few enjoyable things about the morning – that stretch done in the most bleary half-awake state. Although the fact that he was now walking through foreign halls and not laying in his own bed or some array of plush, tasselled pillows took a decent chunk out of this enjoyment.

Continuing with his journey, Sadik gained speed with his exasperation, trudging on towards a wing branching off the long hall of which he could only doubt would hold answers. All but cramming his hands into his favourite hoodie's lint-filled pouch, Sadik's brows raised at the sound of paper crumpling. Pulling out a small, creased envelope, he paused to flatten it out again, reading a more than slightly dented label, World Academy somethingorother. His ability to read English could be called shoddy and it was a thicker paper, making it hard to flatten out. Not that the Turk paid much heed to it anyways, he was always picking things up to fiddle with and forgetting them in a pocket, which was quite convenient for whenever he needed to fiddle with something. Leaving his hands unoccupied was something Sadik hated.

"Tha' fuck is this," Sadik mumbled to himself absently upon seeing the nearly classic image of shattered glass just on the other side of the wing, broken off of a door left eerily ajar and left scattered along the floor. Creasing his brow, a contemplative frown plastered on his lips, the Turk stepped forward to gaze into the deserted room, finding a childish solace from his bewilderment at the sound of glass crunching beneath his thick boots. As he stepped past the debris to within the room, a large blackboard showcasing in big, bold letters 'DETENTION' all but jumped out at him, making an easy connection with what was written and the beaten door. Still, without a clue despite the discovery, Sadik huffed at his inability to find any answers on his own, pausing if only for a moment to listen to the distant, obnoxious sound of laughter coming from down the way, debating finally questioning one of the delinquents or staying as he was. Wandering just until somebody was to question him. Which still confused him, as at least in his opinion he would stand out like a black eye on a perfect face. Though he couldn't help but recognize the creases and calluses on his hand seemed much fewer. Alas, his stubborn mind kept him from searching for others assistance, instead continuing on with his fruitless investigation. Scanning the room once more, the Turk dubbed it useless, turning on his heel to march out, admiring that sound of glass breaking beneath his weight once again.

[Lars Van Der Zant]

<sub>(/oh hai guys)

In retrospect, Lars considered his level of impairment somewhat fortunate. The latest event in his life that might’ve caused a mild stir was the loss of shoelaces. Granted, that led to a spiral of abysmal days without his favourite pair of lace-ups; but it was nothing compared to waking up in a classroom when you fell asleep in your warm bed. If he wasn’t hung over out of his mind, the Dutchman might’ve destroyed some innocent furniture.

The first thing that gave it away was that god awful chair, then the cold desk, and then the chalkboard dust that swirled around in the fluorescent lights above him. Stretching himself awake with a surprising lack of cracks and pops, Lars rubbed the sleep from bottle green eyes.

“Eh?”

Quickly filing through the memories of last night in his brain, everything was a foggy blur of intoxication and smoke, but clearly he never left the city. Where was he? Eyes scanning around the empty room for the first time, large, thick letters jumped at him from the dingy yellow coloured door reading HISTORY; underneath it were smaller characters that Lars quickly deciphered as kanji.

“What the...” he eyed the larger desk in front of him and squirmed out of the chair in speed. Walking over to the front of the room, there were several large piles of paper sorted into alphabetical order by the names on the sheet. His eyebrow perked as he flipped to the L’s, one eyebrow perked in curiosity.

LARS VAN DER ZANT was in large letters across the top of the page, as the rest of it explained how Lars was a student in his senior year, enrolled at a boarding school in Tokyo, Japan. As well as how he was acing every subject exempt from Drama.

Tokyo?</sub>[/b]

“Sure let the party git the best of yeah...” he mumbled quietly, really only to himself. Furtively glancing from the corner of his eyes, he discreetly folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Suddenly everything became overly amusing as Lars walked out the door and into the rest of the school. The situation was so absurd it was laughable; he figured he’d try to enjoy himself instead of having an aneurism.

Everyday life being as tedious as it was, Lars had taken it upon himself to learn some of the Japanese language in hopes of Japan and him talking again anytime soon. At first the characters were practically hieroglyphs, now, they were still hieroglyphs - just a smidgen more legible.

Posters everywhere advertized all kinds of extracurricular activists, after school tutoring, and social events. Lars really did find all of them hilarious, but hell if anyone outside his mind knew. Throughout his venture he kept his trademark stone-stiff face, the only sound that came from him were the rubber soles of his boots squeaking minutely on the linoleum floor. Turning the corner, the bleak, placard speckled walls were replaced with a lavish art display of work made by students. Nothing caused a stir in Lars’ mindset until the end of the hall, where a single watercolour piece depicting simple koi fish and shrimp led to his close scrutiny. It was stunning, Netherland’s honour.

Taking a few steps closer to the canvas, and then back, Lars continued walking around the corner backwards, still vaguely gazing at the painting until he ran into something that smelled of icing sugar and cats.

Snapping around hastily, Lars lips twisted into an unimpressed grimace as his green eyes took in the masked Eurasian man.[/sub]

[Sadik Adnan]

Slowly but surely, that urge to smash someone's head against a wall – be it his own or someone else's – crept up to the Turk as it always would in any time bearing a negative emotion. That same urge spiking in it's regular, much more slight ascend, as one of those negligent brats dared to bump into Sadik. Was he not a large enough man to notice, standing in the very centre of a very lit up hallway? Luckily for whomever it was, the Turk had in fact learnt to not harm those at least (roughly) five years younger than him.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Sadik took one, large gulp of air – God forbid he lost control of his anger in a school – before lolling his head to the side, expecting to see a stupid expression on an acne-covered face. The certainly just as stupid expression, but unmistakable face that met the Turk's masked eyes was all but just plain shocking.

"Oi!"

Dirty blonde, gelled up hair was to the first thing to meet the Turk's vision, then a remarkably distinct scowl. Had Sadik gotten taller? Or the Dutchman shorter? Undoubtedly he looked younger, if anything. Perhaps the narcotics were finally leaving side-effects. Though they were different from what the Turk knew of (which wasn't very little, mind you).

Unluckily for who it was, the Turk had in fact learnt to harm those he dubbed rivals, and in this mans case, many others had as well. "What tha' hell are ya doin' here?"

Remembering his past questions, Sadik stopped the spiky-haired weed enthusiast from replying, instead asking a second question, "Scratch that, what tha' hell am I doin' here?"

In a state of confusion or anger – blame someone else! Already Sadik's thoughts weren't on the more positive side when the topic of Netherlands was brought up, which it really wasn't unless the Turk were to find someone else really interested in tulips. Sadik's thoughts weren't on the most positive side when speaking with Netherlands. Even if they were fairly alike, neither man would admit to it, and two wrongs don't make a right anyways.

Thus, it was decided. The Dutchman was the bane of Sadik's strange condition. The condition being waking up in the janitor's closet of a high school and supposedly fitting in just fine. Had it been nearly any other country the Turk was high likely to say the same thing, and he had his reasons, too! But a good argument was exactly what the situation called for. A good argument or a good thirty-seconds banging his head against the wall.

[Lars Van Der Zant]

<sub>Lars’ lips pressed into a thin, irritated line as Sadik twisted around to stare at him. Noticing the taller man’s unclenching fist, he began to chuckle. The Dutchman raised his hand to flick away a stray piece or hair, bringing down to a sarcastic little wave at the Turk’s face.

“Eh! Expecting a teenager, cat man?” he jeered, fanning his nose jokingly. “I’m surprised I even ran into yeh! You smell like someone threw fur into pastries,” he laughed, slapping the other man on the shoulder and grinning wildly. He looked the Turk over, brushing off whatever he had to defend himself.

Had Sadik lost weight? Familiar lines in the man’s face seemed to be missing. Lars’ lips pursed in confusion, maybe it was his hangover playing artifice on him.

“Hm? What am I doin’ here? Hell if I know, just kinda woke up in a history classroom.” Lars replied quickly, and shrugged, brushing off invisible lint from his tan jacket sleeve. Looking up from the buttons, Sadik fired another question at him, causing Lars to raise his eyebrows. “What’re you doing here? I don’t follow you around, not a clue,” He squinted, trying to stare down the narrow eyeholes of the Turk’s mask, scouring for some sort of emotion. Staring at a blank canvas as half of the other man’s face was particularly unsettling, but hell if Sadik ever found out.

Looking away off into the rest of the hall, Lars mind whirred with questions. That didn’t stop him from cutting Sadik short once more though, he knew the other man far too well for even his own liking.

“Don’t you be thinking ‘bout blaming someone else for a problem neither of us caused either.” That someone else namely being Lars himself; and an accusation wasn’t something he needed in his day, much less one lacking in truth.

Eyes moving to the floor in thought, Lars spied miniature shards of broken glass stuck in the rubber soles of Sadik’s boots and around the floor. The small shards reflected light from the ceiling as Sadik moved around.

He pointed at the boots inquisitively, “‘sup with your boots, Turk?”</sub>

[Sadik Adnan]

Sadik snorted, lifting his head up in something of a show of pride. The Turk took scent into high regard; A trademark of his past being those gaudy, intoxicating oils and perfumes. To say he smelled of pastries was no offence, though it brought the horrible recognition of his own hunger, but the thought of fur brought along cats, then Greece. Fortunately or not, a swift sarcastic remark was enough to make Sadik's anger focus itself back on the Dutchman in front of him before it were to escalate, mumbling under his breath something or other about the comment.

Willing himself to stay quiet, the Turk heard no hint of a lie when Lars explained a story close to his own. Why would the two of them of all people suddenly wake up in a school? "Whatever d'ya mean – I'd never think to blame ya fer anythin'!" A crooked grin seemed to split the Turk's face, chuckling at the Dutchman in a tone that could be called mocking. The man could read his mind, and it was something Sadik couldn't help but admire. Though he'd only ever cover it with insults; His own inability to read others would be labelled as stupidity, thus it made him jealous just the same.

'Sup with his boots?

He paused for a moment to gawk at Lars, what the hell was wrong with his boots? They were just boots.

Dropping his head, Sadik let out a quiet 'ooh' sound, shifting his feet just to hear that loud crunching. Now that he thought about it, probably wasn't all that good for his boots. "I dunno," he continued moving his feet, walking in one spot with his eyes still downwards, "Just came over here 'n there was this broken door 'n glass everywhere."

Knowing the Dutchman would bear a quizzical expression, Sadik stepped back to the open door, holding one arm out to the inside of the room, and the other arm up by his chest. "If ya will," he smirked, at least he found his own act humorous.

[Lars Van Der Zant]

<sub>Turning around to face Sadik once more, Lars supposed the man somewhat reeked of sandalwood as well. Just the scent of feline and dessert were merely too assaulting.

“Wouldn’t blame me for anything? Whatever yeh say,” Lars let it slide, hearing something in Sadik’s voice that was far too believing to be an insult. An uneven grin or somethingorother stretched across the masked man’s face, causing Lars a cheeky smirk of his own.

After mentioning Sadik’s boots, Lars got a very bizarre gape from the other man.

"What? I ain’t batty, your boots got glass stickin’ out of them, and the ground’s covered ‘n the stuff”, he gestured around the two men for added effect. Sadik’s explanation didn’t do much to lessen Lars’ confusion. He nudged a few granules around with his own boot, watching the other man step over to a door unnoticed by Lars before and gesture to it, smiling as if it was something exceedingly amusing.

The window in the upper half was smashed, jagged edges still wedged out from the frame. A sign above the door blared DETENTION in bold lettering out at the hallway, a few passerby teenagers steered wide clear of the room, like it resonated a bad aura. Lars smiled, mumbling something to himself about wimps before striding past Turkey to open the door.

His excitement fizzled slightly upon finding out the front handle was locked. Sheepishly laughing and turning around to look at Sadik for a split second, he reached through the window, keenly avoiding the gleaming shards of glass, and toggled the inside handle. The door opened with a small click and swung in.

Unfortunately, Lars had been leaning against the door to open it, and once it gave way it brought him down along with it. Military boots lacked any grip against little bits of broken glass, the Dutchman practically slid, arms waving stupidly at the walls only to miss them by miles.
“Shit!”</sub>

[Sadik Adnan]

Sadik's bemused smile stayed in place even as he stepped back to allow the Dutchman his way to the door. "Figures it'd lock, the kids are willing to smash the window open just to escape this hellhole!" The Turk mused to himself, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. And of course, the second his mind left the man in front of him Lars was doing something stupid.

About to make some snide remark about how senseless it was to put your arm over broken glass, he only had time to open his mouth before the Dutchman was soaring with the grace of a Magikarp on land to the ground. The ground covered in little, broken shards of glass. With his mouth already open, Sadik couldn't stop a strange, strangled sort of sound escaping his lips as his reflexes forced him forward to clutch whatever article of clothing or limb closest to him with an iron grip, yanking back once his left arm was latched around Lars' and the opposite hand holding his collar.

The horribly awkward hold the Turk had managed in this sudden action proved to be a large inconvenience as Lars crashed against him. While one arm kept the blonde-brunette in place, the other bent painfully between them.

"Fuck!"

Regaining whatever composure he had in the first place, Sadik managed to shove the Dutchman off of him to rub his arm with a scoff and a pout. "'s people like you who're the reason I find grey hairs on my head!"

Heart pounding unnecessarily loud in his chest, the Turk pat down each of his pockets, his wallet giving the false hope of a cigarette packet. Tilting his head up to glare at Lars with a look far from amused, Sadik almost growled in this state of stress. Honestly he would've laughed were the Dutchman to fall to the ground, he was sure, but his body just had to act without consent of his mind.

"I hope ya know, I could'a just saved your life right there," a smirk twisted his lips again, though this time much more hostile. "You owe me. 'N I'm gettin' a pack o' smokes, for starters."

[Mathias Karlsen]

Mathias snuck out of the class after the fiery haired Scotsman. His face stung from the glass shattering, but he just made it worse by trying to wipe away most of the beads of blood with his sleeve. “Fanden…” Good Lord never mind huge cuts being painful, tiny little ones stung like a bitch. He’d have to look for a bathroom, but he doubted he’d get away with sneaking into one at this time. There would be a 50/50 chance of being caught by a staff member. Oh well, they could go somewhere and he could use the bathroom to clean up.

The Dane let off a laugh “Man I did not expect that we would make a break for it like that! You know what? I say we go down and out to a bar, hm?” He’d treat Fraser to a drink for a change. Mathias sure was in a giving mood today. A cool beer during a warm day would be the best. Though, he doubted that Lukas would be pleased with him being kicked out of class, breaking a door and fleeing. Oh too bad. He’d done it already and there was no turning back! He grinned and dug his hand into his pocket.

Oh shit.

“Joy…” he laughed nervously, raising his hands in the air. “I think I might of lost my wallet…” he blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. “Hey Fraser? Didn’t you have suitcases in there?” Yeah, he remembered spotting a few bags and cases underneath Fraser’s desk. Maybe they could pick them up? God knows what the teachers would do with the stuff. “Since I need to find my wallet I think we should go and get them, ja?”

Turning on his heels he started back to the classroom. Mathias heard talking. Shit, was it teachers or curious pupils? Well…he needed his wallet and he was going to get it! His school trainers crunched over the broken glass and he peered inside.

“Well I be damned.”

Oh boy the Dane did not expect to find two more nations in such a short amount of time. But, it seemed like he had walked in at the wrong time. Lars seemed like he had been in a near death experience, his eyes wide in shock. The other man which stood in the room, Sadik, did not at all look pleased.

“Hállo? Did…I walk in at the wrong time guys?”

(Heya!~ Thought I would find a way to get everyone together, if that is alright with you guys? O n O)