[ Oh god. Italy is spazzing out on my poor England. x3 ]
England propped his hand up on his hand, sighing with exasperation as France and Italy fought over foolish things like pasta. His green eyes wandered to Russia and his eerie smile, and at that, England scooted himself and his chair down a few feet from the mysterious and powerful country. His attention was diverted as Italy ran up to him and practically yelled in his ear. "Italy! You don't have to yell in my ear! And no, I don't have pasta!" he said with a scowl. "Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't give you any! You're always talking about how British food sucks, and--Wait, did you say France?"
England's eyes slid over to France, his mortal enemy. He would jump at any chance to humiliate his blondie rival. "Wait, maybe I can do something...."