Apprentices of The Bad Touch Trio?

"So vonce upon a time zere were sree awesome countries. Of course, only von vas as awesome as me, because he is me, but zat is besides ze point. Zese sree nations here ze best of friends. Zey always hung out together, und did random crap. For some reason, zese countries' bosses thought zey vere very immature. So zey were like, 'Jou guys gotta learn to be all smart und disciplined und stuff. So jou gotta get apprentices.' So me und Francis und Antonio vere like, 'Okay. Zis could be fun. Und we get to pick anyvay.' So ve got our choice of apprentice and you sree ended up vith us!" 

Poland's face looked blank at this explanation. He was always an idiot; it makes me wonder why Gil ever picked him, but it seems I'll never know. Now Romano.. Well, Lovino looks mad as heck. It's almost as if he wants to ring Spain's neck, but something tells me he'd never do that. I, however, now understand he situation completely. I've always been good at converting Prussia's 'explanations' into comprehensible information. 
"Hey Matt, you're like, spacing out. You okay?" I shook my head wildly, curl bobbing up and down. "S-sorry Feliks. I-" Of course, the blond started looking around as if he had no idea who he was just talking to. I sighed, shoving my hands into the pockets of the soft red hoody I was wearing, and looked down at Gilbert. He never forgot me. "So you're going to be... Training us for.. Something?" I whispered. Prussia was accustomed to the voice, so he understood perfectly. "Ja. We're gonna train you do za stuff zat we do. Oh, gott, this is going to be interesting." 

"So why am I Francis' apprentice instead of yours?" I asked, walking alongside him into the building he and his two best friends had 'requested' (it was more of an order) to meet us at. "Vell, jou see," he began, "we started choosing and France immediately yelled, 'I call dibs on mon petit Mattheu!' Ja, he said that. Obviously Toni instantly vent vith Lovi, so I got my choice of anyone else, und I picked Feliks because I like him almost as much as jou." He didn't even notice me blush at this. "Okay... So.." 

Interrupted by the fabulous Polska himself again. "Woah! It's like, awesome! It's as if you had it built for this single purpose! But it could use some pink." I could practically sense Romano rolling his eyes; he was walking beside Feliks. "Just-a shut up. You're being annoying and acting like a freaking chick. And Gilbert is not in this to mentor a chick." Poland's face was blank once again. He is so very naive.. Those days are lost to me, I was raised by France.

We climbed the stairs slowly, taking our time. Honestly I think he BTT was just as confused as their apparent new 'apprentices.' We stepped in through the tall, rather overdone front doors. "What first?" Lovino asked, glaring scrutinizingly around the room. The ground had a rich red carpet spread over it. Two dark red couches sat at an angle in the center of the room, in a way curving around he huge tv. Side tables sat next to each couch, each sporting a coaster and a vase of fresh looking roses. France certainly had plenty of input. 

Gilbert grinned, throwing his hands up and turning towards his trio's new trainees. "Welcome to ze training house sing! We've got video games, tv, internet, a hot tub, an indoor pool..." He listed things for quite a while. Once the albino Prussian had finally finished, Lovino growled out, "I asked a question! What the hell are we-a doing first? I wanna get this thing over with and get away from Tomato Bastard and Potato Bastard's Brother." Gilbert looked a bit hurt at being called Germany's brother, but shook it off nonetheless. "Ve vere sinking combat training first."

"And how exactly do you plan on that?" 

I just had to ask...

~~Timeskip Brought to You By POLAND RULE Brand Hairspray!~~

That's how I got to be in THIS situation. I was standing next to France (I'll explain his outfit in a moment...) in a very thick camouflage coat. Under this was my red maple leaf tee shirt, but you couldn't see it, so it's rather unimportant in describing how completely ridiculous this is. Anyway, under that, I was wearing faded denim shorts (for some reason Poland insisted on contributing to my wardrobe). For motives beyond my comprehension, there was a tie laced around my forehead, the actual tie part falling gracefully onto the back of my head like a little girl's pony tail. I had knee-length, laced up brown boots on, and what could be called a tool belt laced with various 'weaponry,' of which included a paintball gun, a grenade launcher loaded with tomatoes, several miniature smoke bombs, some of England's scones, three bottles of coke with mentos just waiting to be shaken, a rope, assorted cans of silly string, and many other things I don't care to list. I wore bright blue- yes, bright blue- fluffy gloves on my hands and was holding a potato gun. I also sported a pair of thick, lilac-tinted goggles, which were being heavily utilized as Feliks had been taking this opportunity to splatter everyone in neon pink spray paint. My own 'camouflage' was now well beyond concealing; it was decorated in an assorted mix of tomato red, Prussian blue and 'wicked hipster pink.' I could also feel bruises starting to form all along my body from potato hits. I actually looked rather mangled; tomatoes look like blood when they splatter, you know?

France looked.. How do I put this? Interesting. In the beginning, he'd insisted on fighting 'like Greece's mom's people,' breaking out the rose. After excessive persuasion by everyone else involved, and Poland tipping the scale by saying the older blond looked 'way more fabulous when he was like, wearing stuff,' we managed to convince him to wear a more suitable outfit. If you could call it that. Francis was, above all else, wearing bunny ears. Long, fluffy, white bunny ears that people sell to kids around Easter. He for some reason felt the need to wear huge, clunky dark sunglasses, along with a bikini top of all things, decked out in French flag stripes. In sharp contrast, he also wore a pair of baggy, dark denim shorts. Around his neck he wore his typical cape- excuse me, cloak- and a fantabulous plastic gemstone studded choker. He had on rainbow colored (I'm pretty sure they were white in the beginning, but with the paint and all..) tennis shoes with no laces and knee high black and blue striped socks. He had a tie like mine around his head, in the same shade of blue. He was equipped with whipped-cream filled water balloons and mentos coke like mine. All in all, he looked just as strange as me.

Now our opponents.. I'll start with Prussia. He had chose to do the whole thing shirtless (not that I was complaining.) On each arm, he wore a fingerless black and white glove that extended up to his elbow. He had some kind of full-face mask on; I think it was red at one point, but it has so many splatters of tomato, paint and silly string it's hard to tell any more. He was still wearing the black jeans he'd been wearing when we first came here. Instead of regular shoes, the prussia was wearing bright orange flip flops with neon green ankle socks. Yes, socks with flip flops. Did I ever say he was same? He sported a tall black top hat with a huge red bow tied around it. He had three belts wrapped around his stomach; one in Prussian blue, one in purple, and one in gold. He had black marks painted onto his mask like one of America's football players, and it seemed that poland tripped and dropped his art project on Prussia, because whether or not it was intended, he was covered in glitter. For some reason, he was armed with a marshmallow gun. Wrapped around his forehead was a pink tie. Now that I think of it, I guess they were kind of like team markers.

Poland was a different story altogether. Obviously, he was wearing a lot more... pink. He wore a pair of shorts similar to my own, only they were a bright bubblegum color (and of course paint splattered). He had on a lilac colored shirt that's sleeves were so long they hung over his hands like gloves. He'd been running around in pink flats the whole time we'd been 'battling' (I think it'd been about four hours by then). He wore a tail, yes, a fluffy fox tail belt, around his waist along with a pair of black leopard print leggings. Instead of a regular tie, Feliks had adorned his head with a bow tie in the same bright pink as Prussia's. He had chosen a water gun as his weapon, but it was filled with some kind of thick pink liquid mixed with blue, gold, white, red and green glitter. I'm pretty sure that after concocting this mixture Poland dumped the leftover glitter on my poor albino friend. Also included in his arsenal was a very large assortment of makeup. I would know, I had lipstick stains in the shapes of smiley faces all over my clothing.

Spain and Romano were dressed identically for the most part, not countig splatters and stains. Something tells me this was not Lovino's doing. Each of the two wore a bright red jacket with a tomato shaped zipper. They shared similar style in jeans; two ripped up pairs of denim. Up and down their sleeved arms they each wore an assortment of rainbow colored bangles. Romano had a green sweatband across his forehead, tied to which was the signature tie everyone was wearing; it was also green. Spain also sported a green tie, but lacked the sweatband. They both wore a pair of blue rain boots and several rings on their fingers. Romano had a belt with multiple bags of tomatoes attached and had been launching them at everyone. Spain, instead, carried an oversized straw and a bag of churros, shooting them like darts. He was also equipped with an assortment of weapons similar to my own. 

I guess I should start from where I was describing us, which was about four hours into 'training.' All three alliances stood panting in the living room. The couches had long since been knocked to the floor and used as shields. No team had gotten away with much luck in taking another team's bases; they'd all been well guarded the whole time. France and I had claimed the video game room (which was now splotched red and pink and included some unexpected out of order Wack-A-Remote games), Prussia and Poland had decided on the kitchen (which was decorated in rainbows and sparkles as well as appearing to be the battlefield of a ninth grade food fight),  and Spain and Romano had taken the garden (unexpected, right? It was covered in a glass dome. The garden had flattened plants and fruit everywhere, as well as an inconspicuously multicolored pond with several incredibly disturbed and confused fish). We finally all ended up gathering back here in the main room of the house to fight it out. Eyes stared into eyes; violet met red, brown met blue, red met brown, violet met green, and every other combination imaginable when suddenly...

The first shot was fired.

And maple, it was at me. I was Poland's chosen target; nailed in the chest by a thick blob of sparkly pink goop. Simultaneously, everyone else began to attack. Poland's previously blond hair blossomed a bright tomato red, France was suddenly covered in red and yellow silly string, and Romano's jacket switched from red with pop out white splatters. I stuck my arms out, aimed, and fired, nailing Prussia in the shoulder with a potato just as he launched a pudding cup (don't ask) at Spain's stomach. I was assaulted by a cloud of pink, flowery scent and tackled to the ground. After coughing to clear the scent from my airways, I squinted through the cloud to see a blond leaning over me and holding up a lipstick tube as if it were a carving knife. "Spare me!" I whisper-yelled dramatically. "Francissssss!" My cry was answered when  suddenly my 'mentor' was standing over us, holding a writhing Italian by the collar. "What do you need? I was busy beating this guy up." I raised an eyebrow at the question before motioning vaguely to the Polish man attempting to decorate my face. "Oh..." It was rather comical to watch Francis cast Lovino aside, because he landed on none other than Antonio himself. To this day I cannot tell you if France did it on purpose. 

Moments later I was liberated from Blondy and he had been sprayed with maple syrup. "One down, three to go!" I cheered. Poor Poland looked rather pathetic lying there on the ground, complaining about his hair. "Sorry Po," I murmured. France and I turned to Prussia, who had obviously come to save his comrade. He rose his marshmallow gun to his mouth. "Not ag-" France started frantically before getting interrupted by a spitty marshmallow in the face. "That is it!" I stood back nervously, scratching the back of my head. "I'll leave this to you.." I murmured, stepping backwards. I can take Toni and Lovino on my own, right? 

I turned and was immediately cut off from breathing. To be more specific, I was suddenly inhaling tomato. Care to guess who that was?

I balled up my fists, wringing them around in my eyes like a crying child until they were clear of tomato juice. When my vision finally cleared, I was staring into the faces of two brown eyed nations. My hands immediately found their way to one of the bottles of coke at my waist. "You asked for it!" I yell-whispered. I dodged a flying churro as I shook the bottle; i could practically feel it fizzing. Romano and Spain were suddenly upon me- a double attack. Luckily, that was the moment I chose to uncap my soda. The two brunette were knocked back by the force of mentos-charged coca cola. "Gaaah!" Their voices were almost identical as they cried out. I backed up from the two, my own feet now soaked in coke, and turned to see that France had just finished taking out Prussia. "Eh Canada? I think we are victorious!"

Being victorious is a great feeling.

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