Password (Noun): a word or other string of characters, sometimes kept secret or confidential, a secret word or expression used by authorized persons to prove their right to access, information, etc.
Warning! Rated K+ for use of swear words! If you are offended by this, please don't feel obliged to read on!
France glanced over his shoulder, hoping that the houses occupant wouldn't come in any time soon. What he was doing was, technically illegal, but that wasn't what he was worried about. He'd broken in before and all the house's inhabitant had done was attack him. Rather viciously. That was what he was worried about, he'd received a rather painful kick to his 'vital regions', which he was not eager to have happen again.
After he was sure the person wasn't here, definitely at his meeting, he sat down in the swivel chair, getting swiftly to work. The computer in front of him was fairly new so, with only one press of a button it was up and running, quickly going straight to the welcome screen.
This was where it got difficult.
He had little to no clue about computers. He knew how to log onto his own computer, a laptop to be exact, on which he used to update various online social websites and email his boss. That was about it. When his laptop got a virus, or wouldn't turn on, he'd generally call Estonia, who resented being called for such stupid things, like not charging his laptop.
Now, things were more serious. He had to hack, hack, into someone computer. Although, that involved guessing someone's password, someone he liked to think he knew very well. Not that the other man would agree.
Now, what would England's password be?
He thought for a moment, what does Angleterre like?
Tea, he eventually came up with, tea and the disgrace to food, which England called scones. He tried it, just with two words together, separate, with a space, without a space and so on. All of them failed, making him cry out in despair. Why did nothing work in his favour?
He tried a few names, his brothers, wanker that sort of thing. Even his own name, both country and the alias he went by, Francis Bonnefoy, but none of them worked. He groaned, loud and dramatic, slapping the keyboard harshly with on hand, accidentally typing in a random sequence of letters and numbers and, for a sweet moment, thought the combination had worked, when it took longer than usual to process his request.
However, he later found, it was simply the computer telling him he'd had too many login attempts and he was now denied access. He sighed aloud, kicking the desk in frustration, knowing he had only one choice left and he would be less than eager to help the Frenchman.
He dialled the number, praying he would pick up. A Nordic voice answered, not sounding at all pleased, "Yes?" he simply asked, not bothering with pleasantries, knowing that it would be something to do with computers, as it always was,
"Bonjour, I was wondering if you could 'elp me with a little problem…" he waited for a reply, only hearing a rush of static from the other end of the phone, but no reply. Francis took it as a yes from Estonia, "Well I need help getting into someone else's computer…"
"You mean hacking someone's computer? Might it be England's, by any chance?" Francis must have sounded surprised, "I have Facebook too, you know, I saw the post where he said he had pictures of you when…"
"Okay, okay, I get it." Francis interrupted, not wanting to hear the next part of the sentence himself. He'd been, supposedly, blackmailed by England, who said he had photos of him. Photos which he didn't want anyone else to see. He had to check if they existed, "Then you know why this is important."
"Fine, I'll help,"
After a few painstaking minutes, France had successfully broken into England's computer. Estonia had compiled a list of all the countries, which had computers, passwords, in case there was an incident, or he needed some information.
France was now laughing with joy, which was creepy, so Estonia hung up, hoping he wouldn't call back. Ever.
He was just about to search through his computer, when a cough from behind him, made him freeze.
"Find anything useful, frog?" Shit. Francis turned slowly, looking rather sheepish. England stood in the doorway, looking less than pleased. In one hand he held a knife, which was covered in carrot peelings. Oh God, he was attempting cooking. He didn't know what scared him more, at this point, the fact he was angry with a knife, or that his food was somewhere in the vicinity.
Francis just ran. One of his main features was that he was prone to fleeing if his was afraid, which he was, however it also made him a very fast runner, so he got away with only one close shot, when the Englishman threw the knife, with startling accuracy, two centimetres away from his head, embedding itself into the wall at the end of the corridor.
By the end of the day, part of him wished he had been hit with the knife.
You were warned, frog. Was the caption with the photo. Prussia was the first to like it. It then got ten more likes almost straight away, with others liking it as the night progressed. There were lots of comments, almost all of them mocking him. A few were from others expressing pity, but mostly there was a general consensus that he deserved it.
After all, a photo of him in a pink dress was a rather big punishment. He'd lost a bet with Prussia, so his punishment had been to dress up as a girl, which he didn't mind so much, and had to let Spain and Prussia take pictures.
How did you even get this? Spain asked, which got a murmur of agreement from the other nations. Francis, especially, wanted to know.
Idiot left his laptop here once. Frog, you really need a better password, 'Francis' just isn't going to cut it.
A/N: This isn't meant to be romance, but if you feel it's implied (really, really implied) then fine, go ahead! Enjoy your violent pairing! Kidding, anyway this was just a little oneshot I felt like writing, the idea had been swimming around in my head for days, so I wrote it down. Enjoy!