England was rather slow at taking in all this. He was about to inform Flandre that he couldn't find any jam to put in his scones, only to notice the slowly approaching figure of the money-loving blue-haired doll. Thinking he would have another mouth to feed, he examined the charred fruits of his cooking, only to be beaten to the punch ( no pun intended, hah ) by Flandre, who had taken to assaulting the poor chap in some kind of no-holds-barred-beatdown. He thought he should do something, since he was, you know, the personification of England, and technically, despite most of these toys being from Alfred's homeland, he was still the representative of all things English. But Arthur here wasn't too happy about the idea of using himself as a meat shield. Until the pitiful doll was sent tumbling off the shelves, he only stared with the look of someone whose sanity was perfectly intact, but by some sort of fate, was forced into a room filled with lunatics. The only thing he was thankful for was that most of the toys' eyes were now on him and his psychotic new "friend" before she casually decided to beat the stuffing out of some other miserable toy. Or worse, do unspeakable things to him. Unspeakable things.