Bad Dreams [open]

Arthur, generally, slept rather well. However, he was a rather fussy sleeper as well, and couldn't sleep at all without certian perameters, unless he was really tired. He liked to hold things when he slept, at home, when he was a child, a teddy bear or other toy, but now he tended to hug his blankets or pillows, ending up somewhat tangled up in the morning. He also struggles to fall asleep when he's in a new bed, so whenever he was moved, he always slept terribly and was very irritable.

Today, they had moved him to a different bed in the camp, as they felt he was getting too familiar with his roommates and the room. Ha, as if they could stop his escape attempts by moving him to a different part of the camp? There weren't many buildings left that he hadn't been in now. He didn't know the prisoners here, since they were all new, and he frankly refused to associate with them.

But now he was in their quarters, sitting up on the bunk and rubbing his face. He kept quiet, not wanting to light a match and wake his bunkmates, heaven forbid he actually have to talk to them. He ran a hand through his hair, the night heavy and thick, stuffy. He was tired of sitting there, he wanted to do something; to smoke or to have a cup of tea. He would do something to go back to the cooler tommorow, he liked the cooler, but for now, he was stuck here, surrounded by strangers, and foreign strangers at that.

Feliciano could already tell it was not going to be a good day. Generally, he was a pretty happy person, but the moment the words 'administrator' and 'visit' were muttered by one of the other guards, his mood dropped considerably. Yes, Feliciano was a guard, but he was also a very bad one. He had a habit of not paying attention, or simply flat out napping during an afternoon shift, curling up in the corner and passing out. None of the other guards seemed to mind, if only because Feliciano was one of the only half decent cooks in the whole camp. If letting a lazy Italian be lazy meant they got half decent food later, most were simply willing to look the other way and let him sleep.

Supervisors and officers, sent to either inspect the camp or retrieve a prisoner, on the other hand, were not. Supervisors didn't generally care that he was the best chef in the camp. They only knew he was a crap guard, and if they noticed when they visited, it meant he was at serious risk for being sent back to Italy. It wasn't that he didn't like Italy (because he did), but being sent back meant he was going to be going right back to the front lines, and he had little doubt he'd end up splattered if he made it back there. He'd barely made it out once, and the guards at the camp were nice - so that meant he was going to have to be perfect for inspection.

Feliciano generally would have managed to get through one day without slacking off or getting in trouble - if he hadn't drawn the short straw. The short straw meant one thing, and one thing only - Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, who was always trying to escape. He was supposed to be guarding Arthur's section, and if Arthur actually tried to escape during inspection... well, things wouldn't end badly. For one thing, Feliciano couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. For another, no supervisor was going to be happy with just dragging Arthur back to camp. No, they'd want him dead, especially if they found out how many times he'd tried to make a run for it. It was a bad situation, and it required something extra.

Every other guard assigned to the section had all more or less agreed to look the other way as Feliciano went on 'patrol', checking each barrack in turn. It wasn't even time for roll call, and he had a single solitary hour before he was supposed to be on the wall, and the inspector was going to arrive. One single hour to attempt to convince a man he'd never spoken a word too that he shouldn't try and escape today. It was not going to end well.

Even so, it wasn't hard to locate him. People were still sleeping, staying still in their bunks, and when Feliciano carefully pulled the door open, he was surprised to see someone sitting up. Not just any someone, but Arthur himself. It wasn't too uncommon to have a guard step in for inspection, and Feliciano was more then aware that sometimes guards stopped by to take their bribes or to trade (something he dutifully looked the other way for). He stepped neatly inside, glancing over at the British man and holding up what he was fairly sure would bring him over - a teabag. A single solitary teabag, dangled in the air. If that wouldn't get him to come over and talk, nothing would.

There was a flicker of light as the door opened, the moon only pale and the dawn not quite broken yet. He looked over to see Feliciano, one of the youngest and softest of the guards. He held up a teabag and Arthur raised an eyebrow, wondering what he usually wanted. Feliciano was the most innocent one, he rarely traded with the prisoners or guards, just closed his eyes and turned away.

He shrugged and went over, waggling his fingers. "Mr Vargas." He said, saluting lightly, managing to make the polite tone and voice appear insubordinate. "Did you want something?" He plucked the teabag out of the man's hand, leaning against the door lightly. Well, it was better than lying in his bed, alone with his thoughts and a room of strangers.

Well, that was good. The teabag had worked as he'd thought, had lured him out for a nice chat. Arthur certainly wasn't one of the more belligerent prisoners, the kinds that insisted on making trouble for the guards who were just doing their jobs. He was fairly well behaved - assuming you ignored the constant escape attempts.

He gave a little nod, and rather then responding in German as most guards did, his voice dropped straight to English, albeit with a fairly heavy Italian accent. He had known English when he was far younger, so his English was nearly as good as his German, although far more out of practice. He rarely spoke to the prisoners, after all, and only spoke German to the guards. "I wanted to ask for a favor, and I'm willing to trade for it." It was a reverse of the usual, really. Most of the time it was prisoners asking for favors, and guards deciding to help or to not. It wasn't even a favor - he just had to not escape, and it would be easy as that.

"There's an inspector coming today, and he's going to do the rounds. If you try and escape like you always do, we'll all get in trouble, and he'll probably just want us to shoot you, rather then capturing you again." It was a strong possibility, and not a pleasant one.

He stretched and folded his arms, turning the teabag around in his fingers. "Huh, so you want me not to make a scene, do you?" It made a great deal of sense, yes. Well, he didn't want to get shot, that would put rather a damper on his day. "Hm, I don't know... what's in it for me?" He would have done it anyway, but since Feliciano was offering, why not see how much he could get out of the boy. He was young, naive, he probably didn't know how to barter with the prisoners very well.

"Why are you warning me, anyway? Wouldn't it be a good chance to prove that you are good guards? Shooting a rowdy prisoner that tried to make a scene." He ran hand through his hair, staring down his nose at Feliciano, condescending and bored.

Feliciano didn't know how to barter at all. Not even a little bit. He bartered with the other guards, sometimes, but he was terrible at that, and the only reason he didn't starve to death was because the other guards took pity on him. He squirmed under the condescending gaze, wiggling slightly as if that would somehow stop it. "I've got two more tea bags back in the kitchens I've been holding onto." He offered, which was probably more then he should have. Really, if he'd thought about it, he probably could have had Arthur bribe him for the information - only he was far more worried about getting sent back to Italy if they caught him slacking.

He enthusiastically shook his head no. "I don't want to shoot anyone! Even if we are enemies, shooting someone who's running would just be... no no no no no." The very idea of shooting someone was a scary thought, and he knew that if it came down to it, the rest of the guards would find him hiding in his quarters and pretending he didn't see anything.

(( I hope it's alright for me to jump in X| haha you could always just ignore Al ))

Rolling away from a sudden brightness, Alfred grunted softly and shifted further into his pillow; it couldn't be near morning yet... Letting himself relax, his half-focused mind started drifting off again, but not before snatches of conversation was heard. Wishing they would just either shut up or go away, but not nearly awake enough to do something about it, he set to ignoring the voices resolutely.

Suddenly though, he realised the words had an odd, familiar quality, almost as if he was back home. Blinking some of the sleep from his eyes, he shifted heavily, and realized they were speaking in english. Finally turning to face what he now saw was the opened door, Alfred could just make out a mop of blonde in the moonlight, belonging to someone he vaguely remembered seeing in this block. The other person was hidden by the doorway though.

'Must be a friend from another part of the camp,' he thought, 'maybe a lover even...'

But before he could speculate further, the tail end of the words from the mystery person registered in his brain. Jerking slightly, Alfred tensed, and slowly rose from his bunk. Thankfully, he had a bottom one, but he still nearly woke the person above him when he hit his head on the underside of the bed. He made a small pained sound and moved towards the center of the room. Debating whether or not to sneak or not, he decided against it- if the person DIDN'T want to shoot them, then that must translate to safe- and awkwardly shuffled slightly to make his presence known.

Arthur loved Feliciano now - he was probably the single worst barginer he had ever met. He could have held on for so much longer. But he was young, wasn't he? He never really did much trading, as far as Arthur had seen. "Hm, two teabags, eh?" He pretended he was reluctant, "Well, I think that will cover one day of good behaviour." Too easy.

He snorted as the boy said he didn't want to shoot anyone. He was sure that wasn't why he really did it. No, chances are he probably couldn't a fish in a barrel. Why else would he be here, not on the front line? "What a good citizen you are." He said dryly.

Suddenly, he heard a noise of movement behind him, ears overly sensitive in the dark. He turned around, and saw a boy there, rubbing his head. He was only young, he surrounded by children. Those bloody Americans, why couldn't he have kept his bussiness to himself instead of going over. "Had nightmares, kid?" He asked, his lip curling in a slight snarl, trying to be as insulting and condscending as possible

His eyes snapped to the blonde and winced at his tone, quickly glancing over to see a guard he'd perhaps noticed around the camp before. He seemed really young, a bit spacey too, and Alfred often wondered how he came to be so far into Germany when he was obviously not a native. 

But at the other prisoner's words, a fierce blush coloured his cheeks, and he did his best to glare. This blonde couldn't have been that much older than him, maybe a year or two at best in his opinion. With both of their eyes fixed on him now, Alfred started regretting actually standing up- he could have spied just as well in bed...- and as well as a bit conscious of his sleep attire, or lack thereof. But now that he knew the mystery person was a guard, it confused him even more; why would they be talking to each other?

He took a breath and said, "I-I'm not a kid! I just have a baby face- wait, I mean I just look young ok? You can't be much older than me anyways." He coughed a bit into his fist and continued, "I was just curious, and I was worried when heard something about shooting and enemy..." Here, his tone turned accusatory, and glanced at the guard suspiciously. "Besides, why are you talking to his guy?"

Two teabags, valuable as they were, seemed a very, very small price to pay for not getting screamed at by some supervisor and then shipped back to Italy. Really, he probably could have offered more (he was the main person with access to the guard kitchen, after all), but Arthur seemed entirely content with those two little teabags. Well, that was just as well. After all, Feliciano was slightly worried that he may have just paid too much, but he'd just have to check with the other guards later.

The appearance of a second prisoner was enough to make him jump, shuffling backwards quickly. What if they tried to jump him? They were the enemy, after all, even if neither of them seemed to get along with each other. In fact, they were pretty close to downright bickering. Feliciano actually had no idea who the second prisoner was, only that he was probably an American (the accent was pretty hard to miss). He rarely paid enough attention to prisoners to learn who they were, and the only reason he even knew Arthur was because having Arthur in your area meant you had to actively try.

Feliciano was vaguely aware he had what most people called a 'baby face', although he didn't see what the big deal was. It just meant he didn't have to shave, which seemed like a nice thing after seeing all the nicks taken out of other people's faces from bad shaving.

The glare from the American was enough to make him cower a bit, shoulders slumping as he inched backwards, towards the door. "Uhm, I was just - ah - talking." Talking. Right. Why did everyone have to glare at him? He hadn't even done anything!

Arthur sneered at the American. He annoyed him a lot already, and they'd barely spoken ten words to each other. Arthur didn't speak much and they didn't bother trying to talk to him. "What bussiness is it of yours, boy scout?" He asked, stepping closer to him, his body naturally turning to a defensive stance. If he started a fight, they'd send him to the cooler. He had a choice now, spend the day in solitary or get two tea bags?

"My bussiness is my bussiness, with the goons or the prisoners." He turned back to Feliciano. "Give me one of the teabags now, then the other when the inspection has passed. Sound good?"

Was there a fight brewing? Feliciano didn't like that in the slightest, edging backwards instinctively. He didn't want to be in the middle of a fight, after all, and even if he was supposed to be the one breaking it up, the odds of that happening were microscopic. No, it was far smarter for him to go and get a guard with some physical mass, who'd be able to separate the two physically, and then reappear to help take whoever to the cooler. Probably Arthur, because Arthur was more or less on a first name basis with anyone who happened to guard the little room.

"Well... I didn't bring it, so I'd have to give you both after. I'm supposed to be on duty soon." Well, in an hour, but he didn't like the idea of having Arthur follow him back to the kitchens. Who knew what he might do if they were alone? He was dangerous, after all. Anyone who tried to escape might also try and take a hostage, and if being caught was going to get him shipped back to Italy, getting held hostage was going to have them ship him straight to the front lines as a meatshield.

As he watched, the guard backed off quickly, and instead, it was Arthur who turned to him. Alfred flinched at the harsh question and fought with his instinct to draw himself up, and made a dissatisfied noise before slouching a bit into the darkness. Though he was loathe to admit it, the moody blond looked way more intimidating than the actual guard did, and as he rounded on him, Alfred felt a bit worried for a confrontation. This was one of the first months at the camp for Alfred, and he didn't want to risk a trip to the cooler, especially with an authority figure- no matter how harmless seeming- standing right there. 

He turned from the door slightly and kicked at the floor, halfheartedly listening to their continuing conversation. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought they were bartering. But with tea bags? Subconciously, he wrinkled his nose a bit. Back when he would save up from his labour for weeks, his favourite beverage was coffee and however much sugar he could afford. 

He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he saw the little yank flinch away from him. Serves him right for poking his nose in to other people's business, after all. He could hear the boy fidgiting still, and it annoyed him, especially since the bugger could just go to bed and be done with it.

He sighed. Not perfect, but he really shouldn't leave his block, or the guards in the watchtower would raise some kind of alarm. "Fine. But if I don't get them both, I'll cause a fuss next time there's an inspection and I will make sure that it comes down on your head." He snarled lightly, in warning, then turned back to the inside of the bunk.

"What are you waiting for?" He hissed, "Someone to tuck you up? Get back in to bed before the wake up call comes." He was in a rather poor mood for someone who had just been given what was basically free tea. It was probably being in a room with so many annoying Americans. At least there weren't any French here.

When the other prisoner backed off, Feliciano let himself relax a bit. It was unlikely there would be a fight, then. Fights generally only happened when both wanted it. Few people were belligerent enough to pick fights, and while Arthur did have a reputation for being in solitary a lot, Feliciano would have liked to believe it was for his escapes, rather then for starting random brawls with prisoners.

Feliciano gave a little nod at the threat, and something in his brain told him that, as a guard, he probably shouldn't just be giving in to threats like that. The alternative, though, was him getting in trouble, and he had promised, even if it was to a prisoner.

Arthur then went right ahead and ruined that nice little mental image of him not picking fights, leaving Feliciano squirming. "H-hey! Don't fight!" It was perhaps the most ineffective attempt to calm a brewing fight that had ever been witnessed, but at least he'd tried, right? Trying had to count for something! At least he was trying to keep his voice down so he didn't wake up an entire section of annoyed Americans.