All right, chapter two! This next chapter is relatively short, as I had writers block after a bit, and wrote myself into a corner I could not get out of. I will be changing the viewpoint of this chapter, as it is told by Sir Karkat Vantas. It is quite literally a continuation of the chapter, as it was a bit hard to write the rest of the chapter without changing views, as England has now assumed the command as antagonist. Go Thick-brows!

Till the afterword!


Toris rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Karkat." He said with an unusually outgoing tone. He whacked Arthur with the frame of the Mona Lisa again, checking for scuffs.

"Ivan, you have a gun. Shoot him!" I said indignantly.

"Da, I do, but they're too close together." He said as Arthur grabbed the painting, yanking at it harshly.

"Just shoot!"

Ivan shook his head in defeat, shooting at round at Arthur. We both heard the sound of canvas ripping, and Toris bellowing in Lithuanian.

"And you said to be careful!" He peeked through a hole in the painting.

"But you didn't die, asshole." I stated bluntly. I caught sight of Arthur turning and pointing a gun at us.

"Arthur, you know you can't shoot us." I scoffed. "Vests."

"How about your head, lad?" Arthur cocked a thick eyebrow. I was about to argue at his word choice to name me, when he promptly shot Ivan in the head.

I let out a little scream of horror, frozen.

There was a loud rip, and a leather boot burst through the painting, hitting Arthur in the back sharply. I looked up as Toris pulled his leg back through it carefully. He held out his hand to me.

"Come on, before he fixes his back."

I took his hand, shaking ever so slightly. "What about-"I glanced back for a moment.

"Shut up, we have to go." Toris placed me roughly on the back of the Vespa, face a grim frown. "The painting isn't worth much anymore, but I guess we can still take it." He murmured. With final hesitant choice, he shoved the painting in the canvas bag and literally threw it into my arms.

"Let's go!" I said quickly as I caught the painting, the coppery smell of blood creeping in under my nose.

Toris swung his leg over the seat, handing me skater helmet with a smirk. I gave him the bird, swearing under my breath and put on the helmet. He jangled his Doctor Who keychain as he started up the motorbike, revved it, and we shot off through the streets of France.

Well then, that was a cliff hanger! My my, you Russia fans are going to kill me now, huh? Sorry about killing off Russia, I'm not good at writing him as you can tell, and that's how I usually kill of characters. Or if I love them and for the sake of being mean I kill them, then cry about it whenever the character's name is brought up. But more on the story, yes, Lithuania likes Doctor Who, it's a headcanon. But if we're talking in this fanfic's terms, it's the fact that England maybe got Lithuania into Doctor Who. If you are one of those people who doesn't know the human country names, England is Arthur and Lithuania is Toris. If you didn't figure that out before the end of the 2nd chapter, shame on you. From here on out, there be monsters, because I'm done transferring this fanfic from my iPod to my computer. Well, this has been a long afterword-and very confusing to look at-but I have more to say. If you've seen the Italian Job, you can probably see where this is going. If not, just go rent the stinking movie. It's facking amazing.



Doctor Who=British= A science fiction show on BBC. It includes an alien, the Doctor, who travels around in the TARDIS, which is disguised as a 1969 London Police Box, and fights evil aliens that attack Earth.



(PS: If you didn't know either of the translations/clarifications, shame on you. Shame shame shame.)