Morning sun peeked behind the off white curtains of the Swiss-man's home. Light bounced around the room in waves, streaking the floor and walls with an early morning sunshine. A bright beam lay across his green eyes, shut tight for another moment of rest. The distant humming of Liechtenstein down the hall kept him from further rest.
With a soft grumbling sigh, he sat up straight, tangles of short blonde hair swaying slightly to his movement. It would be another long day of diplomatic relations, one he did not look forward to.
Moving from the bed, a restless Switzerland approached the closet doors and drew them aside. He looked through his wardrobe lazily, quickly growing tired of the endless waves of green he possessed. He took hold of his double breasted jacket and usual military style pants and moved back to the bed. Sitting perpendicular to the head board of his bed were his black boots, neatly placed together in an orderly fashion. They were clean of dirt; his sister had taken care of that for him. Usually he wished she didn't concern herself with those sorts of things so much, but it was nice to be above the others at the world conference with clean and polished shoes.
He dressed in silence, unbuttoning the blue tinted pajama shirt and folding it on his bed. He slipped off the matching bottoms and laid them beside the shirt before he moved to his clothes of the day. He pulled his pants on, one leg at a time and buttoned them. He glanced around for his belt, but when he looked to his dresser; his eyes fell upon a small package. It was wrapped in a pearl colored paper, and held a nearly indistinct shape. Dear, sweet, Liechtenstein. She'd never learn. He wasn't much for gifts.
Shaking his head, jacket still lying on the bed beside his night clothes, Vash moved over and picked up the package. It was soft, and the tissue paper tore slightly at his very touch. The deep blue ribbon held still as he took hold of the small package. It was beautifully wrapped, as always. He wasn't sure he wanted to open it, he hated gifts, especially when dear Lilli did it so often, but he always felt guilty if he didn't open it, she had worked hard on it. Head hanging slightly, he slowly pulled the ribbon cord and placed it on the dresser top. His fingers moved the tissue paper aside to reveal the pale pink shirt.
His face brightened a hundred shades of red and he looked down at what he was wearing already. Knowing Liechtenstein, she'd intended such a gift for a world meeting, she wouldn't have given it to him then if she didn't, but he was embarrassed to even consider pink in front of those buffoons. He could just imagine that American's laughter, or the evil stares of a certain Austrian. No, he would not wear Lilli's gift to the world meeting, he'd find another time to wear it and make her happy.
Step by step he walked back to the bed and set the new shirt beside his night clothes. He took the dark green jacket off the coat hanger and pulled it on, left arm then right. He followed with a pair of socks that was sitting in his shoes before he pulled the black boots on. They were contoured to his foot after so many years of wear. He loved those shoes; they were the one particularly consistent thing from day to day. When he was constantly dealing with world issues at ludicrous meetings surrounded by crazies like Austria and Poland, well, that wasn't a consistency to count on.
Dressed for success, or so they said, Vash ran a quick comb through his tangled mess of blonde before heading into the hall. His black leather boots made a sound almost like a quiet sloshing as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The distinct aroma of fresh baked bread wafted through the kitchen and breakfast nook where little Liechtenstein sat, quietly working on her cross stitching. There was a piece of warm bread on a plate in front of her, a dab of butter spread across it with a bit mark in the corner.
Vash sat across from her, taking a tart off the tiered lazy Susan in the middle of the table as well as a piece of the fresh cut baked bread beside it. He ate quickly and quietly, occasionally looking across to Lilli as she moved between eating and sewing. Their breakfast was particularly quiet, just the way Vash preferred it.
With one particular glance to his 'sister,' he spotted a smudge of butter at the corner of her lip. A sigh on his lips, the blonde young man took the napkin from his lap and leaned across the table to wipe the food away. There was a pink tint in his cheeks as he sat back and he coughed into his closed hands as if dissuading any unnecessary discussion about it. In the moment of distraction, Liechtenstein pricked her finger with the needle, a single red drop of blood running down onto her hand.
Vash nearly panicked at the sight of his precious sister bleeding, and it only made it worse to see her lick it clean and suck on the wound. What if it got infected? It would be his fault for distracting her and not stopping her! He couldn't bare such a though, and immediately took her hand in his, holding her finger in the napkin to clean off the blood. It had already stopped it's bleeding, but it didn't ease his thoughts and he tore a small strip of white fabric off the corner of the napkin. He tied it around her finger in a small knot before handing her hand back.
With a shake of his head, the Swiss man ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "Be a bit more careful Lilli. You'll be home alone today; you know how much that bothers me already."
The young girl nodded and stared at the bow tied on her finger. It was a curious thing, how he worried about such little things, but it was quite precious to consider. He really had nothing to worry about; she was always good while he was out at world meetings. At one time she might have gone with him, but lately he'd been asking her to stay home, something about the dangers of France stealing her innocence. It didn't matter much to her whether she went or not, but it was a little odd to imagine Switzerland sitting beside an empty seat where she should be.
A few feet away, a small hand crafted cuckoo clock chirped, signaling nine in the morning. Time for the headache of the other countries to begin.