Germany was unable to decide if this was better or worse than the time Veneziano had decided that unearthing Germany's ancient collection of cheap romance novels and reading them out loud in interesting voices was a good idea, but judging from the insane grin on America's face as he passed out papers to the rest of the assembled, it would probably be worse.
The annual G8-plus-China-because-we-don't-want-to-make-him-an gry-and-he-brings-sweets sleepovers usually got worse, however, and maybe reading wouldn't be too bad.
Until Germany looked at the papers he had received.
And looked at them again.
Turned them sideways.
He could still read English, right? Then what in God's name was this?
Glancing around, China and France seemed to be having much the same problem, Japan's face had gone wooden, Veneziano and Russia were already snickering, and England and Canada suddenly groaned "Oh, God, not this again" in nearly perfect unison.
America sat down on his sleeping bag, clearing his throat. "All right, everyone. Here's the rules. We're gonna read this out loud, in a circle, exactly the way it's written including typos and all adjectives and as soon as you start laughing your turn's over. Also if you get through more than a page your turn's over by default or you have to keep going after inhaling helium-"
France cut him off. "We don't have any."
"No helium? This party sucks. Anyway, so those're the rules and does anybody have questions? No? Great." America looked around again. "Um. Canada, you're starting."
Canada sighed in the manner of a particularly long-suffering sibling, and Germany would know about that. "All right."
He took a deep breath.
"The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked climes of the baren land which dominates large— l-large— oh man." Canada snickered. "Sorry. Russia, your turn."
Russia cleared his throat, smiling distantly. "Large portions of the Norgolian—" He squinted. "Nor-go-li-an— Empire. Age-worn hoof prints smothered…"
Russia was good at this, unnervingly so, but "three heaving mounts" got a chuckle and then it passed to Veneziano.
This will be short, Germany thought. Veneziano had a talent for suddenly breaking into giggles anyway without phrases like— he had skipped ahead without regard for his sanity— "his shock of fiery red hair tossing robustly" or, for that matter, names like "Grignr".
Veneziano began. "—In blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome…"
So far so good, and then.
Dialogue.
Germany suddenly remembered Veneziano's propensity for doing funny voices, and so did Japan, and they shared a slightly panicked look before Veneziano squeaked "'Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of hell, barbarian,'" in a quite impressive falsetto. And then there was suddenly a shift several octaves down, nearly at Sweden levels of bass, for "'Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death, wretch!'" and then a quite game attempt at pronouncing a name with only one vowel in it, which must have been difficult for him. Veneziano managed to hang on until "his rippling right arm thrust forth," laughed, and passed it—
—to Germany.
Damn.
He'd rather been hoping to be passed over, but if even Canada got a turn, then he'd have to go.
"—sending a steel shod blade to the hilt into the soldiers vital regi—organs, vital organs. Sorry." He could hear the cackles of Prussia from here, and also a great wave of relief that nobody had invited him.
Not laughing until "The enthused barbarian" was quite an accomplishment, considering the earlier mentions of "crimson droplets of escaping life fluid".
To Japan. Who kept a straight face until "Grignr's emerald green orbs stared lustfully at the wallowing soldier—"
-to China, who barely managed a sentence before handing off to France—
-oh God, France.
France had definitely played this before, or something like it, and finished off the chapter, lasting until "her stringy orchid twines of hair swaying gracefully over the lithe opaque nose", at which point his professional cheap-romance-novel-reader voice gave out.
England didn't even try.
America managed well enough until "a loin cloth brandishing a long steel broad sword" sent him into a giggling fit.
By the time it had come around to Veneziano again, there was something that possibly could have been a sex scene going on, although it could also have been enthusiastic hugging.
God.
The voices. Even when nobody was actually talking, Veneziano still did voices and had specific faces to go along with them, and the one he made for "caressed her firm protruding busts" was a sight to behold.
As Veneziano managed to get past the word "thews" without losing it, which had obviously been a struggle, Germany wondered what would have happened if Romano had been here.
He ended up having to pick up at "segregated torso", and decided that, considering the way America fell sideways at his attempt to do voices for— Grignr? Germany still wasn't very sure about that— perhaps this wasn't a horrible game.
He still wouldn't invite Prussia, though.
All text quoted from "The Eye of Argon" is verbatim. You cannot make this shit up.