So, this will all be 2p Hetalia, focusing around FACE. Mostly drabbles off of pictures (which I don't have the links to, sorry!) snippets of conversation, or random requested items (which is why things will randomly be in certain stories)

Arthur was just finishing up with the final arrangements when he heard footsteps behind him and the tapping of wood against bricks. Giving the person a quick glance over his shoulder to see if he needed to defend himself, he looked back to his work. It was only Matthew, the blade on the hockey stick now clinking against the brick every second swing or so.

"May I help you?" he never stopped his work, but Arthur asked the question anyway.

Arthur brought his thumb up to his mouth as his left hand continued to mix around, taking a slow lick.

"Mmmm, needs more sugar. Love," He looked over his shoulder at Matthew, who was now holding the hockey stick over his shoulder, black sunglasses blocking Arthur's view of his eyes. "Could you be a dear and hold this for me."

A splatter of liquid as he pulled his left hand out, waving Matthew over with his other hand. A tilt of the head from Matthew, as he started forward.

Reaching out, Matthew waited for the item to be deposited into his hand. Once it was, he brought it up to his face for inspection. Arthur could still not see any facial expression, the glasses blocking what little emotion might be on the boys face.

"It's still beating Arthur." Glasses were lifted slightly from his face by his gloved hand. Mirth.

It wasn't as though he was weak, no, he was far from weak. In fact, he just took down about a dozen men with nothing but his trusty knife. But look where he was now. He had been shot right through his hand, forcing him to drop his blade, and was backed into a corner, with about twelve men surrounding him.

Arthur's blue eyes began to swirl with a faint pink, it often happened when he was excited, pissed off, or in a tough situation. Two of the men gurgled suddenly and were pulled back away from Arthur, and a loud thud of the bodies hitting the ground on the opposite side of the warehouse. There was no more noise as none of the men surrounding Arthur dared to move.

Stumbling along the wall for a good meter, Arthur pushed himself away and took a couple of (stumbling) steps back, standing in the shadows slightly. Fixing his blood soaked vest and still bright blue bow-tie, Arthur put his hands behind him, back straight as he put on his brightest grin. Blue and pink eyes swirling faster than before.

"Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my boys."

Two figures, silent as could be, appeared behind Arthur. Both had their sunglasses pulled down over their eyes, frowns on their faces as they looked at the men in front of them.

The group didn't know how to take this, so they just laughed. What were they going to do? There was just two of them, one with a old jacket and a baseball bat, and the boy in the slightly undone RCMP uniform and a hockey stick. Such sad weapons, they had guns, what could those two do to them?

The group of men were startled when the three started to join in on the laughter. Sunglasses came off, and blood red and shining purple eyes met their gaze. The two boys stopped laughing, smiling.

So much blood. It did Arthur proud.

Arthur payed a lot for this knife, and he liked the look and feel of it in his hands. Of course, the sales clerk who was ringing the knife through didn't know that it would be the murder weapon in a bunch of back alley killings that would happen in the next couple of days.

As Arthur left the store he held up the new pocket knife. The wood shining under the sunlight, and the blade was just glimmering from the many layers of polish that must have been put on. Running the blade along the palm of his hand, Arthur smiled as the knife easily cut his skin, blood leaking out of the wound and down his arm, soaking into the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. It was beautiful. Not as nice as his trusty knife back at home, (he would never use her on a bunch of worthless humans) but wonderful in its own way.

Using his hanky to clean up the blood on his arm, he started to hum as he walked down the street, and made his way to his favourite cafe which always served him the best cuppa, waiting for the sun to start setting.

As the orange rays started to hit the street, Arthur began to scan the road, looking for someone. It didn't matter who, although, if it was a burly male with tattoos... It always made Arthur feel superior when he took down someone twice his size, and to watch the look of terror in their eyes as he cut into their still beating chest... ah, yes...

Oh! And there he was, about 6 foot 5, shaved head, and tattoos running up the neck and onto his scalp. Black trench coat and... were those gold teeth? Oh he was taking those, could fetch a pretty penny in the black market.

Walking out of the store, Arthur made sure to station himself just in front of the man, and then stopped walking, causing the guy to run into him.

"Hey you dick! Watch what you're doing! Maybe I have to beat a lesson into you, huhuhu"

Arthur just looked up at the man and smiled, ignoring the stupid laugh and the nearly poisonous bad breath that was being blown into his face. His eyes started to twirl with a bright pink, but he didn't stop smiling even when he was dragged by the shoulder of his shirt into a dark back alley.

The man didn't even know what hit him. As not five minutes later, Arthur had pocketed his newly bought blade (now covered in blood, he hoped the wood would absorb some of it) and was whistling as he tossed the gold teeth up in the air only to catch them as they came back down.

Yes, this knife would do just nicely for the next couple of days. And these stupid teeth would bring in enough money to buy a new one in a week or so. He would retire this knife and store it in his weaponry, set it in a black velvet sleeve (with the date of purchase and amount of people killed attached), and proudly display it for all to see. Just like he did with every other pocket knife he bought.