Germany was in a rut. He'd had it up to his ahoge with Italy (wait he doesn't have an ahoge). Either way, he was sick of Italy and his constant pasta. There was pasta sauce everywhere and do you know how hard it is to get it out of fabric? Italy had smeared his way through countless uniforms of Germany's, and he'd had enough.

He picked up the phone and called England, "Hey, you inselaffen."

"What is that?" Said England even though he had already looked it up on Wikipedia and was currently writing a list of ways to kill Germany.

"Do you know how to get pasta stains out of clothes?"

There was a silence on the line. Then England started laughing.

"Ha ha ha ha no. Deal with it, you jerry." And he hanged up.

Germany cursed and dialled the number again.

"Listen here!" He boomed, " You're going to help me, because you know all that pansy stuff like cleaning up pasta sauce!"

"Uhh.. Okay" Said England dully. "Okay. Meet me up in the central park."

Germany put the phone back on the hook, grabbed his coat (one of the few not covered in sauce) and strolled out the door before Italy could notice.

At the park, he found England waiting for him with his car.

"Hope in," England said, nodding at the car.

"Where are we going?" Asked Germany suspiciously.

"To meet some friends of mine," Upon noticing Germany's hesitant gaze, England added quickly, "Do you want my help or not?"

Germany scowled and climbed into the passenger seat with an awkward nod.

England hopped into the front seat and the drove off in a painful silence. Germany sat and watched the scenery go past with dull interest. There were lots of green paddocks and every so often they'd drive through a small forest. Was England taking the scenic route to toy with him, or was this really the right path?

As if hearing his thoughts, England spoke up, "We're almost there."

Germany sighed a sigh of relief which turned into a gasp as he saw the house they were drawing up in front of. Well, it wasn't what you'd call a house. It was a massive mansion. And England knew the people that lived here? Germany's eyes boggled as he took in the fancy front yard that they were now turning in to.

The large doorway to the house opened and a skinny man in black stepped out. He was wearing glasses and had slicked black hair. He appeared to be a butler.

"Greetings!" England called from the car as he parked. The butler nodded and stood watching them.

"Hey, hey, who is that?" Germany whispered to England, feeling nervous under the butlers gaze.

"Oh, that's just Claude. Don't let him put you off; he's a nice chap, really. He takes care of ducks."

"I see.." Germany said slowly, not really seeing at all.

They got out of the car and strode towards Claude.

"This way, sirs." Claude said in a voice that made Germany think of a duck. Maybe he'd spent so much time hanging around with ducks that he'd began to act like one. Well, whatever.

They walked inside and the large doors shut behind them.