Germany clenched his gloved hands at his side. A flimsy thread was all that remained of his eroded patience. He knew he needed the job; he lived with two other men and a recent world peace act was driving generals out of business. However, the pressing inquiries covering the past fifty years had been wearing him down for the past hour.

Mr. Roderich Edelstein peeked at the file again. He was a rather peculiar man. He stood at 175 cm, his Mariatzel curl that he always styled adding possibly another two centimeters to his stature. His eyes were the violet that fills the sky in diminishing presence of sunlight. However, they hardly ever held the accompanying warmth. Half-rimmed spectacles hid them when he was not busy glaring at his supposedly many inferiors. A mole, seeming so out-of-place on his face, protruded stubbornly beneath the lower left corner of his mouth. Other than those features, he appeared as any other employer behind a cherry desk and clad in a deep purple suit.

He raised an inquisitive look to the German, a man appearing barely into his thirties with strong Aryan features such as golden hair and piercing blue eyes.

"I see you still live with Italy and Japan," said the Austrian. It was not a question, but Germany still answered.

"Ja."

Violet eyes narrowed. "Still? Even after Italy's…for lack of a better term, personal crisis?"

"He needed support," Ludwig answered simply. He suppressed the urge to run a hand through his slicked-back hair as he did on occasions when he was under extreme stress. "I wasn't about to abandon him after all we've been through. Besides, in a way, it was just another war."

"Indeed." Austria returned to the document. Silence fell over the room like a blanket, muffling even the rustle of papers in the file. It quickly became stifling.

"So…" Germany began. "Why did I need to write up a résumé anyways? You know everything there is to know about me."

"Yes, but I know nothing about what's been going on in the Axis recently. I've missed the past fifty years with you. If you've been acting like an idiot in that time, I'll certainly need to know about it." Another period of silence followed, this one accompanied with negative thoughts and a heated glare aimed at Roderich from cerulean eyes.

Finally, the beige folder disappeared into a drawer. "Everything seems to be in order," the Austrian muttered. "All I saw that concerned me was the outbreak. But since that seems to be dwindling…" He let his sentence trail off as he picked up rolls of paper sitting behind the desk and stood up.

"Now, since you've been able to hold out with Italy, I expect this to be a cake-walk with you. You realize how long you'll be up here, yes?"

"Ja. I'd like to think of it as a vacation."

"I would too, if your war buddies weren't tagging along."

"You know they don't leave my sight."

"Which is why I don't call it a vacation." Ignoring the vein that began to throb in Germany's forehead, Austria continued. "I have the floor plans here to show you." He unrolled the first plan, the lobby. "Over here is the front desk. The offices are behind it. Then the lobby stretches for about thirty meters on either side of the desk. Through the left door is the dining room; beyond that is the kitchen. Across the lobby is the ballroom. Rarely used nowadays, of course, but keep it maintained at the very least. The batwings in here lead to the Beethoven International Lounge." At this, he gave Germany a sharp look. "He'll have no problems there, will he?"

"Nein, I don't believe so."

"Making sure." Austria snatched the plan and set it aside. "The first floor," he proclaimed in a scholarly voice, "has thirty rooms. Fifteen are doubles and fifteen are singles. There are two linen closets on this floor. One is in the extreme west wing; one is in the extreme east wing. There's a storeroom in the center. With me so far?"

Ludwig nodded, and away went the first floor.

"There are fifteen rooms on this floor, all suites. Five in the east, five in the middle, and five in the west. Again, there are two linen closets and a storeroom." That plan disappeared.

"The attic. Mainly just filled with garbage. I meant to clean it out earlier this year, but I never got around to it. Set up some rattraps and poison there. And keep it locked. We don't want anyone getting hurt."

The Austrian whisked away the plan and returned to his seat.

"Wait, what about the basement?" Germany inquired. "That should be the most important. Where the magic happens, shall we say?"

"Our maintenance man will show you that," Roderich replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That will come next, don't worry. I have one more question for you."

"Okay."

"Now, last year didn't go very well. A grave mistake on my part, I will admit, but it was still very upsetting. I wish to rest assured that it will not happen again. So I want to know if you have enough to stay occupied."

Germany blinked in surprise. That is not what he expected at all. "Sir?"

"Please answer."

"Well, Italy has a painting to finish, and a number of others he can start afterwards. He's been planning to give me lessons, in fact. Japan is currently repairing his computer. He can keep to that task, and even when he finishes, he can use it to keep busy. In addition, we all like to read and listen to music. I believe we'll be plenty distracted during the winter."

"Good." A look that almost seemed to be relief bloomed on the Austrian's features.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, last year we had a bit of an incident. Nasty business. I don't want you guys to end up like that."

"Like what? Please, just tell me."

Austria cleared his throat. "Last year I hired a British man. Short-tempered, not exactly in the greatest mood when drunk, either…"

"Arthur Kirkland?"

"Yes, him. He brought Francis and Alfred with him. I am afraid that one of them developed a severe case of cabin fever. You're familiar with the term?"

"If memory serves, it's the slang words for a reaction due to being closed into a confined area with individuals for extended periods of time. The claustrophobia turns into paranoia, and that evolves into irrational hatred. The person, or people, becomes edgy. Physical abuse and even murder have occurred over small matters such as fighting for a television channel or who has to clean a room."

"Exactly. Anyways, it appeared that Francis had attacked and brutally killed them. Law enforcement found him that spring drenched in their blood. According to him, England had attacked the three of them in late March with a knife from the kitchens. America failed to escape; his death was first. Supposedly he turned on France, but when he evaded capture, Kirkland slit his own throat."

"Oh mein Gott…"

"Mr. Bonnefoy was taken to court and found guilty of the crime, later to be labeled as mentally unsound and sent to an institution."

"Has he improved any?"

"Nein, he hasn't." Germany shook his head, eyes wide in shock. France, Britain, and America? But they had been at the final World Meeting in September. They were all their usual perverted, annoying, and cranky selves. None of them seemed to be the type to suffer cabin fever.

Then again, it was usually who you least expected that snapped.

"Well, did they check the blade?" the Aryan asked suddenly. "That's the key piece of evidence in the case."

Austria shrugged. "No one could find it. We replaced it, bought another one later, but we have yet to come across it."

"Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Because I kept it out of the papers. And trust me when I say that that was no walk in the park." The brunette pushed his glasses up higher onto his nose. "That's why I asked. The Chopin Resort is just beginning to get its reputation back, and I do not want it messed up again. I'm going to have to pay the newspapers, get some serious cleaning done... Oh, and there's also the well-being of you three."

The vein throbbed again. Why was that not your FIRST concern? the blonde mentally shouted.

"At any rate, I probably shouldn't keep you from our maintenance man any longer." Austria rose to his feet, offering a hand to shake. "It was nice seeing you again, Germany."

"Ja, you too…" Ludwig took the hand firmly (perhaps more than he intended), making direct eye contact.

"So after this, I'll see you…"

"Three o'clock, the twentieth of September. Don't be late."

"I won't, I won't. See you then." When the two released their (rather tight) grips, Germany beat a hasty retreat out the door.

(A/N: Sooooo... Yeah. Intended mood for this was supposed to be tense, awkward, down-to-business. Came up with the story with France, England, and America on the spot. FAIL. But anywho, hope you enjoy, and I've started working on chapter 2, so keep an eye out for it~!)