Ten Fingers
Request: . ?thread=65649671#t65649671
Pairings: None.
Warnings: Overused plot bunny, Switzerland in a pissy mood, and potentially offensive content.
A/N: Much love to my beta reader, without whom I would be running around like a headless chicken and spelling the word 'definitely' with an 'a'.
A/N 2: Wow, I first published this story on the kink meme more than two years ago! It's about time I deanon! I made a few changes to the writing, but the content itself has not changed. If you see the story posted anywhere but here or the Kink meme, please contact me. Not that anyone would want to steal it, but, anyway. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter one:
Switzerland was an expert on arguments, especially arguments between Nations. From this expertise sprung a kind of classification system; he mentally sorted spats and gave them numerical ratings according to subject, participants, general idiocy, and x, a stand-in for that unpredictable vitriol capable of turning a request to open a window into a brawl that required his intervention (the window remained closed.) Add and divide. If the result was a ten or above, he mediated. If it was about football, regardless of rating, he mediated with his shoulder holster showing. He was neutral. Mediating was his job. Who else was going to do it? Who else wanted to do it?
The bickering about whether or not to sneak out of the hall before their bosses' messenger came in to check on them rated a four on his scale. He could ignore it in favor of looking forward to not being cooped up in a meeting room that smelled like dirty socks and was hot as hell. He sat back and absently listened as Germany loudly vetoed the suggestion, politely asking everyone to take off their damn coats and settle down.
Right as the grumbling finally died down, a messenger opened the door a crack and peered in before entering the room. Switzerland saw his Adam's apple bob before he told the dust bunnies under the table that the meeting was unlikely to end in less than five hours. He jumped when Germany thanked him and practically ran out of the room.
Switzerland was fairly pissed off at having to spend anymore time in this nasty meeting hall, (Only. One. Bathroom. For all of them.) but his reaction was mild compared to many of the others'. Romano in particular looked furious. Then, his face softened into a "thinking" look, a look that, though rare, Switzerland had learned to associate with imminent migraines.
He turned to Veneziano and said in a soft voice, "This is so boring." Veneziano nodded, not looking up from the elaborate artwork he was drawing on the backs of official documents with the highlighters Germany had most likely given him to make him feel more involved in the meeting.
Romano leaned even closer to his brother, and Switzerland began to wonder if Liechtenstein had aspirin in her handbag. He spoke so softly that Switzerland lip-read more than heard him say "Do you have any ideas that seem like fun?"
Of course, Veneziano decided to take his brother's bait. "Ve, I have an idea! Germany, we should all play a game!" he said, loudly enough to stop several conversations. Germany sighed heavily while the more exuberant nations echoed Veneziano. Romano stuck out his tongue at Germany when he wasn't looking.
Germany, who had been attempting to keep the meeting under control all day, looked ready to agree to anything that might keep the nations occupied for more than a few seconds. "Fine," he said from behind his laptop. "Does anyone remember which games are banned- wait, here's the file. According to the record, Risk, Mafia, strip poker, Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, and Duck Duck Goose are no longer allowed."
Veneziano pouted. "Those are all the good ones."
"You actually keep track of stuff like that? God, you're such a dork." said Prussia. Germany ignored him.
"How about Ten Fingers?" asked Romano.
"I don't know that one," said Germany.
"Everyone puts up ten fingers, and asks questions, and you have to put a finger down for everything you've done," Veneziano supplied. "Oh, and if enough people vote on it, you can ask for someone to tell the story about why they put their finger down!" Switzerland could practically see Germany thinking through multiple (all disastrous) scenarios.
"This isn't a good idea," he said. Switzerland privately agreed, especially after seeing that Hungary was already writing down what he presumed to be questions with a fanatical gleam in her eyes.
"You don't know that," said Romano. "We've never played this game before."
"Yeah, West. Don't be such a party pooper!" said Prussia. "We can see which one of us is the biggest pervert! Show of hands, who wants to play?" he yelled. A large majority immediately raised their hands.
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we're going to play, then we have to establish some ground rules. A) The game stops immediately if it leads to tears or violence. B) Everyone must keep their clothes on. Does anyone else have a rule suggestion?"
"Why don't we put a limit on what can be asked—like, say, no political questions about anything from the past decade," said England.
"That sounds reasonable. And if things get out of control. . . ." He inclined his head at Switzerland. Switzerland nodded at the implied request and hoped someone would scare Latvia or Ukraine into crying and end the game early.
"Anyone else have something to add?" asked Germany.
"Nope!" said Denmark, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.
"Any more questions? Concerns? More complaints about the lack of leg room, burnt-out light bulbs, or mildew?"
No response.
"I'll start, then," said Veneziano. "Everyone, hands up!"
We look like we're at gunpoint, thought Switzerland as he carefully laid his gun across his lap (after double-checking that the safety was on), dreading whatever catastrophe was bound to happen.
"Never have I ever suggested a funny law just to see if it would get passed," started Veneziano.
Finland, Denmark, and Poland each put down a finger.
Liechtenstein glanced at him expectantly, but Switzerland didn't put a finger down because his law against flushing toilets after 10 PM was perfectly logical, dammit.
"What was your law, Finland?" asked Estonia.
"I joked that Donald Duck comics were unsuitable for children because he didn't wear pants. I didn't mean to get the comics banned; it came up in conversation with my boss one day and the law just kind of happened," said Finland.
"That was a good story! Romano, why don't you ask the next question?" said Veneziano.
"Never have I ever slept with my boss," said Romano, almost too promptly. Only eyes moved this time.
"Really?" asked Romano.
"What do you mean by 'slept with'?" asked Spain.
". . .are you really that stupid?" said Romano.
Already? This has to be a record, even for us. Switzerland shifted in his seat, his foot upsetting Belgium's handbag that would have been in the coat closet, if they had been given a room with access to one. In the process of righting it he banged his head on the table, aiding the development of what promised to be a terrible headache.
"No. I just wanted to know whether or not you meant sex," said Spain.
"What the hell else could I mean?" Romano pushed his hair out of his eyes.
"Royal children have just as many nightmares as normal ones, and they're not allowed in their parents' bedroom," explained Spain.
"That doesn't count because they weren't your rulers yet!" said Romano.
"I think they should count," said France, probably just to be contrary.
"You just want to make sure that you win the game!" said Romano, who was beginning to flush. Switzerland made quick mental calculations of the argument potential and decided to let it run its course (a nine and three-quarters, but the argument was inevitable, so preventing it now would mean a bigger explosion later); France prevailed, eventually. Spain lowered a finger.
"Can I ask the next question?" asked Spain.
"Go ahead," said Romano.
"Yay! Never have I ever. . .uh. . . ." Romano rolled his eyes. "Never have I ever slapped my boss!"
Unsurprisingly, Romano lowered a finger. Surprisingly, so did Taiwan.
"Storytime!" said Hungary. There was a general murmur of agreement.
"Have you ever seen one of my parliament meetings?" said Taiwan. "Violence is completely normal. I thought my boss was being stupid, so I slapped him. That's all."
"Okay, so I can choose who gets to ask the next question?" said Spain. Before anyone could contradict him, he said "Your turn, Germany!" Germany didn't bother to waste a glare on him.
He looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, "Never have I ever gotten dysentery."
This time, objections rang out from all parts of the table.
"That's too general!" said someone to Switzerland's right. The table was so big that it was difficult to see everyone, and Switzerland wondered how it was even moved into such a tiny room with a narrow door.
"We've all had that! It was, like, a rite of passage in the military!" said Poland.
"I was the only one in my wagon party who didn't die of it," America announced to no one in particular.
Switzerland put down his first finger.
Hungary asked the next question: "Never have I ever been caught watching porn while at work."
France, Japan, and the Netherlands all put down a finger.
"Japan needs to tell us now!" The unspoken addendum to their story rule was fast becoming 'pick on the most easily embarrassed confessor.' Switzerland cringed in sympathy.
Japan was coerced into sharing a long, embarrassing anecdote about his secretary going into his office to deliver papers and finding—not papers, to state the obvious. Under an interrogation technique consisting mostly of someone asking "And then?", he revealed that this happened during the internet's early days, sometime in the late nineties. Japan had left hentai on the computer. . .secretary freaked out. . .asked Japan about it when he returned to the office. . .poorly lied that it was "for medical research". After he detailed the obscenely expensive box of White Day chocolate he bought for her to make up for his indiscretion, he received a round of applause for completing his story without dying of humiliation. Japan's eyes darted around the room, likely looking for someone to take attention off of himself.
"Switzerland," said Japan. It took him a moment to realize that Japan had just chosen him to ask the next question.
Everyone was looking at him. He really didn't want to, but he knew there would be more of a fuss if he refused to participate. Might as well, even if he wasn't good at games like this.
"Never have I ever, um, salted a field." Dammit, brain. For a second, absolute silence. Germany, for possibly the first time in his life, made it clear that he preferred silliness through an irritated glance in Switzerland's direction.
Then, from somewhere to his left: "Aww, he's been neutral for so long that that's the worst thing he can think of." His temper flared. This person was very lucky that Switzerland didn't see him. Or, Switzerland amended, he was lucky that someone was trying to break the tension. The knot in his stomach disappeared as suddenly as it arrived.
"Wait, I take back the question!" he said. "Never have I ever. . .uh. . . ."
"Is that allowed?" asked China, which led to another debate (only a six, nothing terrible) that nonetheless didn't go in Switzerland's favor.
Nobody moved to put a finger down after all the nonsense, which pissed him off even more. Before his brain caught up to his mouth, he said "I know personally that at least one of you has done it." Germany shot him another glare that clearly said Nice display of diplomacy, there.
"That was Grandpa Rome, Switzerland, not me," said Veneziano softly, eyes clearly on Switzerland's rifle. What about Palestrina? he was tempted to ask, but didn't want to cause anymore damage.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said. He looked around the room for someone he was sure would ask a light, fluffy question that would take the attention off of him.
"Belgium," he chose.
"Never have I ever used my status as a nation to get out of an embarrassing situation or avoid being arrested." A relieved laugh passed around the table. Five people lowered a finger: Hong Kong, France, Prussia, England, and America.
Nobody was stupid enough to ask France, so he sat, looking somewhat put-out, and watched China try unsuccessfully to convince Hong Kong to share his story. America similarly harangued England, with the same degree of success. Switzerland thought he saw England and Hong Kong give each other significant glances, which to him implied that they were thinking of the same incident, whatever it was. Never one to let an opportunity for attention go to waste, Prussia talked over them all and volunteered his story, an odyssey of a prank involving twenty cherry pits, a bribed stagehand, and the flute belonging to a man named Johann Quantz. Oh yeah, and alcohol too. Lots of alcohol.
As Prussia ended his story with Fritz's physician treating his wounds, Liechtenstein tugged on Switzerland's sleeve.
"Who's keeping score?" she asked. He repeated the question to the crowd at large. A storm of 'not me' gestures followed, until Russia volunteered Lithuania's services. Lithuania didn't protest, but Switzerland saw the corner of his mouth twitch as he took score; nobody had ten fingers up anymore. France was winning (or losing, as it hadn't been specified which extreme was desirable), with three fingers down. Romano, Taiwan, Spain, Japan, the Netherlands, England, America, Prussia, Hong Kong, Finland, Denmark, and Poland had two fingers down.
When the game resumed, Taiwan said "I didn't get to ask a question before, so. . . never have I ever run into trouble with airline security. It's funny how suspicious loose tampons can look in an x-ray machine." All of the girls, even Liechtenstein, put down a finger. As did Austria, which naturally raised some questions, to which he gave an emphatic cautionary tale on the dangers of not removing the batteries from one's metronome before traveling. Noticing that Taiwan lowered a finger to her own question, Switzerland wondered whether it was against the rules. Nobody commented, so he decided to let it go.
Even though centuries of life and frequent travel made all the nations experts on what Switzerland thought of as Briefcase Tetris, the sheer amount of alcohol and food snuck into what was supposed to be a business meeting astounded him. That's not to say he wasn't grateful when Belgium passed him a bottle of beer, Liechtenstein gave him a sandwich, and someone (probably England, though it was a mystery how he fit an electric kettle into his briefcase) handed Liechtenstein a steaming cup of tea.
Never have I ever slit a mattress," said Prussia around a mouthful of soljanka. Switzerland resisted the urge to bang his forehead on the table, if only because he didn't want another lump on his head. He settled for watching everybody's faces turn from mild interest into a chain of surprised winces occasionally broken by annoyance. Prussia had apparently mistaken Germany's expression of alarm for one of confusion; he abandoned the soup, slung an arm around Germany's shoulders and perched on the arm of his chair.
"You see, kiddies," he said with perfect older-brother condescension "once upon a time, a bed was the only comfortable piece of furniture in the average house. Cutting open a mattress and emptying it outside meant they would have to sleep on the floor or some scratchy straw shit until they could pluck enough feathers to make a new one, and that takes a hell of a long time. This was something soldiers did when they wanted to be remembered. My army punished soldiers who did this, but I know some of the people in this room looked the other way or joined in."
Prussia looked pointedly around the table, only breaking his gaze when Germany shoved him off the arm of his chair. Among a few others (not as many as there should have been), Austria and Hungary put down their fingers. Prussia smirked at this, ignoring that France, England, Turkey, and Spain each lowered a finger, too. Under Prussia's scrutiny, Austria had the decency to blush and shove his glasses so far up his nose that the tips of his lashes brushed against the lenses, his nervous tic. Hungary was more interested in scolding Prussia for bragging about the one time he was ethically ahead of the curve.
Most of the Nations chose to ignore Hungary and Prussia's ensuing quarrel (a twelve, so he'd have to break it up) by lavishly praising the Netherlands' brownies. Right before Switzerland got up to preemptively physically separate Hungary and Prussia, he whispered to Liechtenstein that if her brownie tasted funny, she should spit it out immediately.
"Never have I ever tipped over a privy," said Denmark, after Switzerland made Austria and Hungary switch seats (while mentally cursing whoever made the meeting's seating plan). Canada was the only person to lower a finger, and after he realized this, he sank into his chair and stared down at the table.
"I vote for a story!" said America. "Who's with me?" Only Japan bothered to raise his hand. Canada continued staring at the grain of the table's wood.
"This is what I think happened. I was having railroad troubles at the time, and it blew up into a huge scandal. It was giving me a terrible headache, plus I was fed up with the rest of the parliament making fun of me, so John—" he broke off. "I mean, Sir MacDonald, my first Prime Minister for those of you who don't know, took me out for a drink after work. He made sure I was pretty hosed before he told me he was going to resign. I don't remember much after that, until the next morning. We woke up on some unfortunate family's property, next to a horizontal outhouse. It took weeks to get all the splinters out of my hands." He fiddled with his pencil, sticking it into a knothole before adding, "Of course, John and I made sure the people got a new outhouse. We even paid for the supplies."
"Can I ask you a question?" said America.
"Sure," said Canada, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Does the song 'Old MacDonald had a Farm' play any part in your schools' history curriculum?"
"Eh?" Potential twenty or more on the argument scale. . . .
"Because if it doesn't, you're missing out on a golden educational opportunity! You should make up a verse about each of your Prime Ministers, something like...'Sir MacDonald something something dee dee dee dee dee. And then you can fill that in with all sorts of facts about him." Switzerland scooted to the edge of his chair and grasped his gun, ready to intervene.
"I'll keep that in mind," said Canada, with a tone to his voice that Switzerland couldn't decipher.
"Really? You're going to do it?" asked America. Canada merely exhaled rather heavily and loosened his tie, but Switzerland was never able to read him well, so he told them that the conversation was over just to be safe.
For once, Switzerland was happy to hear France's voice.
France grinned. "Never have I ever been so drunk that I tried to participate in a traveling morality play," he said. England put down a finger.
"Never have I ever taken a courtesan to a state function," England retaliated. France winked and put down a finger.
"Never have I ever punched a bishop," France shot back.
"Never have I ever issued a recipe for cooked boots to my military," said England.
"Mon ami, you have never issued a recipe for anything." Polite laughter filled the room, but the joke had lost its luster long ago.
While they ran through more mundane questions (farted during sex, started an argument on the internet, taken a taxi to the battlefield, accidentally used ancient honorifics, et cetera), Switzerland conducted his bihourly safety check.
General above the table scan? Good.
Below the table scan? Good.
The usual firearms people attempted to smuggle in? Sitting safely in a box in the security guard's office. (The other nations voted Switzerland the only one of them given special permission to bear arms, which he found oddly flattering.)
Potential improvised weapons? None obvious enough to worry about.
Pipe and pan? Nowhere to be seen.
Assorted menagerie and micronations? Left at home, or removed by security this morning. He still scanned the room to make sure that nobody had snuck in.
With a last glance at Prussia, who merited his own weapons check, Switzerland deemed the room physically safe for another one hundred and twenty minutes.
The last question Switzerland had heard before tuning out was Austria's transparent attempt to catch the 'mystery vomiter,' whose mess, left in his piano, had gone unsolved for over two centuries now. Switzerland actually knew who it was, but thought it more merciful to keep his mouth shut as Austria whined about how much it had cost to get the piano cleaned. Now, Turkey and Cuba were lighting cigars and having an oddly intense discussion about "when a girl has hair on her tits. Not like the fine little ones, the ones that look like a pube that got there by mistake and when you try to brush it off, it's like 'oh fuck, that thing's growing out of her areola'."
"OFF TOPIC," said Switzerland, as he saw Liechtenstein starting to look uncomfortable.
"What's your problem?" asked Turkey.
"My problem is that you're off topic," said Switzerland.
"Quit bitching," said Turkey.
"Excuse me?" said Switzerland. He made a point of wrapping his fingers around the grip of his gun.
"You're really uptight right now," said Cuba.
"And you're off topic," said Switzerland.
"I'll ask a question, then," said Turkey. "Never have I ever started singing church hymns in a bar." He paused.
"Switzerland, put down a finger." The fuck?!
"Brother?" said Liechtenstein.
"That never happened. They're just trying to embarrass me," said Switzerland, which was true. Probably.
"You don't remember this because you were drunk!" said Turkey too loudly. For the only time in my life, thought Switzerland.
"Who wants a story, because the poor boy can't remember a thing?" An entire fucking table of raised hands, except for Liechtenstein, who was staring at him with wide, questioning eyes.
"Majority!" sang out Poland, who then blushed and covered his mouth with one hand while pushing away his cup of wine (and it was a cup, as the only ones they could find were those red plastic ones commonly seen at university parties) with the other.
"Okay, then," said Turkey. "So Poland and I were having trouble sorting out some stupid diplomatic thing that I have long since forgotten, and we asked Switzerland to come over and help. After the day's work was finished, Poland convinced us to stay for dinner at some seedy little tavern in one of his cities. Well, we all know how Switzerland feels about free food." Under the table, Liechtenstein passed him two tablets of aspirin. Switzerland quickly washed them down with the last of his beer.
"There were, like, a lot of young, unmarried ladies there that evening, so we took our time, talking to them, flirting with them and stuff," contributed Poland.
"I didn't!" said Switzerland.
"Don't be modest," said Turkey. "The ladies loved you, once you had enough alcohol in your system to loosen up."
"Especially that girl with the red hair," said Poland. "You were totally flirting with her the most. It was adorable." Switzerland felt his face grow hot.
"So, we took Switzerland aside to give him advice, and promised to be his...what do kids call it these days? His wingmen?" said Turkey. The entire table seemed entranced by the story, while Switzerland shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waited for the aspirin to start working.
"Turkey and I told Switzerland that impressing her somehow was his best chance of getting into bed with her that night. The party was at its peak when he tried. The pianist—wait, this was pre-piano, I meant. . . harpsichord?" Poland looked to Austria for confirmation.
"Before seventeen hundred?" he said.
"Uh huh," said Poland.
"It was indeed a harpsichord," said Austria. Switzerland had a nasty suspicion that he was hiding a smile behind his cup.
"Anyway, the harpsichordist went home sick. The owner asked if anyone in the bar knew how to play the instrument—"
"Switzerland jumped at the opportunity, no matter how much we tried to convince him otherwise," interrupted Turkey. "He kept insisting that he'd had lessons and knew what he was doing." At this, Austria made a very undignified snorting noise that Switzerland could almost hear Hungary mentally planning to tease him about later.
"He spent the rest of the night glued to the harpsichord, loudly and quite terribly singing church hymns while the red haired girl looked embarrassed to have even talked to him," said Turkey. Unfortunately, Switzerland could neither confirm nor deny this story and was thus forced to lower a finger. Poland walked over to where Switzerland was seated and patted him on the back.
"It's probably a good thing you didn't sleep with her," said Poland in what he evidently thought was a whisper. "I saw her, like twenty years later, and it turned out that she had syphilis."
At least he wasn't losing (or winning. Nobody clarified which was which.) He had eight fingers up, as did Finland, Denmark, Poland, Romano, the Netherlands, Ukraine, Liechtenstein, Belgium, Turkey, China, and Korea. Spain, Austria, Hungary, Belarus, Hong Kong, America, Prussia, Canada, and Vietnam had seven fingers up. Japan and Taiwan had six, England had five, and France had four.
"So I can ask a question now?" Poland tapped his finger against his chin while looking back and forth between Germany and Russia, clearly thinking. "Never have I ever—"
"—made myself a fake moustache out of Post-it notes!" Lithuania filled in. Poland glared. Amazingly, Iceland lowered a finger.
"That wasn't what I was going to say," complained Poland.
"I know," said Lithuania. Switzerland made sure to give Lithuania a glance of gratitude.
"Ukraine, you haven't asked a question yet. Would you like to?" Lithuania said.
"Sure. Never have I ever experimented with my immortality, if you know what I mean," said Ukraine. No one moved. She took a swig from her bottle of horilka and raised a questioning brow. "Come on, I know most of us have, and even if you haven't, admit you wondered what it would take to kill you." It took a few seconds and a lot of looking around, but eventually Sweden, Norway, Finland, Lithuania, Latvia, Belarus, Russia, China, Japan, Korea, and Greece lowered a finger.
Switzerland also lowered a finger, even though his 'testing' was more out of necessity than curiosity, a product of his hard times.
"I would always taste whatever my alchemists were working on. Since whatever concoction they gave to me didn't kill me, they assumed it would be safe to give to the Emperor. Sometimes they were right. Other times...not so much," said China.
"I would just test the limits of my liver," said Russia.
"Went without sleep f'r a month," said Sweden.
"During the winter?" asked Norway. Sweden nodded.
"Has anyone ever done formal research on how we're different from normal humans?" asked Ukraine.
"I used to have some documentation," said China. "Nothing special, just observations on myself, and if another nation was visiting to trade with me, I'd ask him or her a few questions. All of my copies were lost, and I never got around to starting a new record, but I know for sure that I gave Greece's mother a copy."
"Huh?" said Greece, cracking an eye open upon hearing his name. Switzerland took out his polishing cloth.
"Do you still have your mother's copy of the Observations on Nations?" Switzerland pretended to focus entirely on polishing his gun, so he could pretend not to listen a while longer before breaking up the conversation.
"I've never even heard of it until now," said Greece
"Do you think that she let someone borrow it?" asked China.
"It's possible. She was on good terms with Egypt's mother, intellectually if not always diplomatically. Egypt's mother might've asked her for a copy to put in the Great Library. If that happened, it's most likely that the ship either sank on its way to Alexandria or the Library burned down before she could get the original back," said Greece.
"We should start working on a project like that again," said China. It pained Switzerland to have to call off-topic, but no matter how interested he was, there were rules to be maintained.
"I think you two can discuss that in your spare time," said Switzerland. "Who wants to ask the next question?"
"Never have I ever done something I regret. Not like 'oh God, did I really think that was a good idea?', something you're really ashamed of," said Greece. Of course, everyone put down a finger. Switzerland mentally apologized to the long-dead mercenaries he used to lend out for money while he tried to guess those of others. Everyone knew Germany's, of course. He was pretty sure Belgium was thinking of the Congo. Lithuania stole a glance at Russia when he put his down. Japan was inscrutable as always.
"America's turn to tell a story!" Switzerland didn't see who said it, but Canada looked uncharacteristically self-satisfied, so Switzerland could guess without too much difficulty. America was tugging at his collar and squirming in his seat. Canada gently nudged his brother, smile now almost in check.
"Nah," said America.
So quickly and subtly that Switzerland nearly missed it, Canada waited until America was looking in his direction, bent his elbows until his fists were level with his shoulders, and moved his elbows minutely in the universal gesture for chicken.
"Okay, okay," said America. He took a fortifying gulp of beer. "I know that this isn't the worst thing I've ever done, but I always feel really bad when I think about it. This was part of the. . . Russia, maybe you would tell this story better than I could?"
"I think not," said Russia. America sighed.
"This was part of the Yalta Agreement. There were some Russian POWs at one of my camps in New Jersey. We had to exchange POWs as part of the treaty But Russia's soldiers didn't want to go back," said America, avoiding everyone's eyes.
There was a whisper somewhere to Switzerland's right; he turned in time to see Vietnam finish whispering in Korea's ear. Korea smiled and nodded at her.
America had to choose now to not be oblivious. "Do you have something to say to me?" he asked. Korea shook his head, and Switzerland tensed in his seat, ready to break up the inevitable.
"So we had to—" America continued. There was another noise from that area of the table. "What?!" said America.
"You're just that sexy, America," said Korea as Vietnam tried to cover his mouth. America looked genuinely confused.
"What?"
"You're so cool that nobody ever wants to leave you?" asked Korea.
"It's not my fault that people want to stay with me," said America.
"But it is your fault that talking about people who don't want to leave you is the 'shameful moment' you chose to share," said Korea. Switzerland wondered how much he had had to drink.
"You know what? I was just trying to bond with you guys! I didn't even want to answer this—"
"How'd you get the soldiers to cooperate? Injection?" interjected Korea.
"It was tear gas, actually. They woke up on a ship halfway back to Russia." This conversation had the dubious achievement of making Russia look truly uncomfortable for the first time Switzerland could remember; that alone pushed its potential into three digits.
"Alright, both of you shut up." His words were lost in the tense babble as people took sides in what was promising to be an emotionally-loaded argument. He made a show of removing the safety from his gun. Nobody saw or heard it over the discussion. Okay. Next step, then.
"I have gags and duct tape, which I will not hesitate to use if the argument gets out of hand," said Switzerland. France, the only person who bothered to look in his direction, leered at him. Distraction, the last option before physical force, had the most promise of success right now. Switzerland took a deep breath.
"NEVER HAVE I EVER CONFUSED A SIDE ARM AND A SHORT ARM INSPECTION." Well, that stopped the argument. America still looked like he wanted to kill someone, and at least half the table would have wanted to watch the fallout, but enough people laughed to diminish the tension. England stopped laughing long enough to lower a finger; so did Greece, which should have surprised him more than it did.
France changed the target of his leering. "Oh, I can just imagine it. . . the rest of the barrack holding out their rifles, and then, at the end of the line, England with his pants at his ankles, displaying his, er, short arm."
"Fuck off," said England mildly. "I want to ask the next question."
"Never have I ever wondered how much a historian would pay to meet one of us," said England. Switzerland lowered a finger. So did Belarus, China, America, Austria, and Germany.
"So, how much do you think?" asked America. Switzerland was too drowsy to call off-topic.
"At least a million pounds for me. . . not sure about other currencies," said England. "As a base fee, anyway. It would also be a good idea to charge per question."
"That would actually be an excellent fundraiser," mused Germany.
"Yes, we could finally stop paying travel fees out of our own pockets. There are the problems of how we would select the historian, and how he or she would get enough money to pay, though," said Austria.
"If this person is a university professor or affiliated with an organization, I'm sure they have a fund for miscellaneous expenses. Of course, it would depend on how the school or organization itself responded to the request, and we would have to create a contract stipulating that nobody let our existence be known to the general public. . . why am I actually trying to apply logic to this question?" said Germany.
"It's past midnight, that's why," spoke up Belarus for the first time since the game began.
I have a semi-related question," said America. "Never have I ever crashed a museum tour or a reenactment just to be a showoff and piss off the tour guide." Switzerland himself had never done that, but he appeared to be in the minority. He, Russia, and Latvia were alone in not lowering a finger. Even his dear little Liechtenstein had done something of the sort.
"What did you do?" he asked, rather surprised.
"This was a few years ago. I was a little upset over that banking thing..."
"No politics," interrupted England.
"My apologies. Anyway, I decided to go to my museum in Vienna." Switzerland scowled. Austria smiled at his doesn't make up for leaving her, Switzerland thought sourly. "The tour guide was a man who thought that his two weeks of training justified his condescending attitude towards others. He actually asked me if I just there to giggle with my friends and break things. So, I acted like a student. Not impolitely, of course, but like a child who asks more complex questions than the teacher can answer. By the end of the tour, I was answering all the questions," said Liechtenstein.
As the evening carried on and Switzerland became sleepy in addition to tipsy, he thought about how much Nations lied to each other. It's not that this was an earth-shattering revelation to him, but listening to them play a game based on the assumption of honesty really brought this to the forefront of his mind. It was probably more at the forefront of his mind than anyone else's, because, yes, he was a misanthropic prick, but he was neutral. That alone was enough for some nations to ignore the former trait and stop by his house to sob out their troubles to him. He actually allowed this, if the distressed nation brought food or helped him with chores. Most of the time, he didn't even have to talk to them beyond a 'mmhmm' or 'you should clean and bandage that before it gets infected.' Consequently, he had valuable gossip on practically everybody, not that he used it. For most of the game's questions, he knew at least one person who lied; he was probably alone in that what interested him wasn't so much the truth itself, but seeing which person chose to withhold which truth.
In the end, someone finally asked whether the first or last person with no fingers won. It was an amiable disagreement that, after China's Shinatty-chan plushie was declared the 'winner', degenerated into random conversations as people fell asleep. Greece and Turkey weren't at each other's throats. Latvia had stopped shaking. Switzerland knew that everything would have to go back to normal tomorrow, so, as he watched Prussia wad up his sweatshirt and sneak it under a sleeping Germany's head, he took the time to appreciate that, for the first time he could remember, his argument scale rested at a perfect zero.
Omake:
John didn't know anything about them except that they were really, really important and making them angry meant removal from his internship. So, he kept his messages polite and brief. He had no idea what made them so important, and he was unwilling to test their influence. That's why he was nervous even delivering the happy news that the meeting was over. As always, he peered in the door before he stepped into the room. He briefly wondered why such important people were holed up in a room that most organizations would have complained about. They were asleep, curled up in their chairs or resting their heads on binders or laptop cases. Many of these people had obscene pictures drawn on them with a sharpie marker.
Which one's the nice one? he tried to remember. He scanned the table, going through his mental nice girl is sitting next to the guy with the gun, so I shouldn't ask her. Shouldn't wake up any of the loud ones, even if they're friendly...the quiet friendly one is in a corner, so I can't reach him...ah, there's the quiet one covered in cat hair! I can wake him! He approached the man and tapped him on the shoulder. He startled awake.
"The meeting's over," he whispered into the man's ear. The man nodded. He leaned back to face John.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll wake the others for you."
"Thanks," said John. "Um..."
"Did someone draw a dick on my face while I was sleeping?" said the man.
"Yeah."
"Any idea of who did it?"
"No." The guy sitting next to him began to stir.
"Leave before whoever really did this tries to pin it on you." The man motioned to a cooler next to him. "Take a beer on your way out. You look like you need it."
"Thank you."