Warning: This is what happens when you marry my writing prowess to my sister's comedic passion. There will be references to other things, nautical nonsense, epic scenes of childish violence, personified countries being married to one another, gay relations, minor language, and all around randomness. Enjoy...

We Need to do Something for Ciano

It was another, boring, mid-afternoon, summer's day at our favorite Austrian's household. The sound of a beautiful Mozart masterpiece could be heard resonating through the spacious mansion. Little Ciano peeked around the corner, smiling to himself. He loved it when Roderick played the piano. It was beautiful, everything was so calm, and Roderick wasn't grinding him under the heel of his boot… But there was something off today.

Suddenly there was a resounding clang, and Feliciano swore he could hear the piano stings twanging. Yup. Something was definitely off. He usually he kicked the stool before beating his beloved piano.

Roderick sighed, running his hand through his hair, adjusting his glasses. He didn't know what it was lately, but… Where was that Hungarian when you needed her? The sound of hooves outside answered his silent plea.

"And don't you ever show your face around here again!" God. Between the perverted Prussian and that lusty Frenchman, she was never going to get the gardening done. Still, there was something thrilling about chasing the light haired lechers on horse-back, brandishing her frying pan like a battle-ax.

All in a day's work for our favorite Hungarian.

Wait! Her Austrian senses were tingling. "Roderick!" Elizaveta nudged the horse around, trotting to meet her normally stoic husband. "Roderick, dear, you don't look well. You aren't ill, are you?" She asked, leaning down to place her hand against his forehead.

"I'm fine." He assured her, brushing her hand aside. "It's just… It's Feliciano I'm worried about." He admitted reluctantly.

They both glanced over to their charge, who, at the moment, was being chased by a butterfly in the garden, screaming, "HELP! It's vicious!"

"Moron."

Elizaveta gave him a light slap, which knocked Roderick into the grass. "Don't talk about our child that way!"

Elizaveta turned towards Feliciano again to see him pinned against a tree, cowering in fear, with the butterfly on his nose. "It's gonna eat me!"

"…Well, you may have a point." She relented, "But what can we do? There's nothing that can cure stupid."

"That's not what's worrying me. I've learned to accept her… peculiarities." Roderick lifted himself up, lightly rubbing at his bruising cheek. "It's just that he's been different since the Ludwig left to live with Gilbert. Depressed, somehow." He brushed dirt off his delicately bordered sleeves. "She needs children. Kids her own age to run around and socialize with."

Elizaveta stared at her husband blankly for a moment. Then it suddenly dawned on her. "We can throw a party!" She cried triumphantly, rearing back on her trusty stead and, once again, knocking the poor Austrian to the ground.

"A party?" Feliciano shouted upon hearing the one of the dreaded 'p words,' forgetting his fear of butterflies and dancing over to his two parent figures. "A party, a party~! We're having a party, right? Can there be pasta at the party? Pasta would be great! Please, can we have pasta at the party, Mama~? Pizza would be nice too~." He chanted, bouncing on Roderick's chest.

"Yes, of course we can, sweetie. I'll go write the invitations!"

"Yaaaaaaay~!"

…What had he done?

"Oh, come on mon cher!"

"No, you bloody frog." England sneered at his fellow blond. "And stop speaking that disgusting language around the children. You'll poison their minds." Said children were hiding just above them on the staircase. Alfred could barely hold in his sniggering, Angelique was trying to push him down the stairs, just to see if he'd crack up at the bottom. Matthew was staying as far away from them as possible, and Li had to pull back Peter, who was craning between the bars for a better look.

"I'm surprised they haven't died from food poisoning with the way you cook, mon Anglais!" Francis winced at the crushed look that passed over Arthur's face, but was saved from having to brave a torrent of half-broken curses by the annoyed voice on the end on the phone.

"He declines, I take it?"

Francis shifted the phone so that I better tucked against his shoulder. "Oh no, we're going, even if I have to drag him by his eyebrows." Poor Angelique was in tears, giggling, and nearly tripped down the stairs before Li caught her.

England shot a glare up at them before turning it on his dear fiancé. "I said no, and that's final."

"Oh, come on. The kids will love it."

"Yeah, we'll love it!"

"Alright, that's it!" Arthur exploded, "Everyone! Couch! Now!" You knew Arthur was mad when his sentences fragmented. Al and Angel groaned, but they still followed Matthew down the stairs. Peter tried to walk the other way, but not before Li grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up and carrying him to the couch like a naughty cub. "How many times have we told you not to eavesdrop on Daddy and Papa's conversations?" He fumed.

"Only a thousand times," Matthew answered, "Maybe more."

"But they're not even real 'conversations', are they?" Angelique interjected.

Al laughed, "Yeah! It's more like, 'Don't you use that tone of voice with me!" He switched to a botched French accent, "'I'm only yelling 'cause you're yelling!" Back to Dad, "'I'm not yelling!'" Even Mattie and Papa had to crack at that.

Back to our favorite Austrian, "Oh, please, feel free to say no." He could only be so lucky. …Or perhaps not. Nearly everyone shouted – "We're going!" – more or less causing his ears to bleed. Feliciano held up a bandage.

"We are not going, and that is final!" Arthur stamped his foot, "I've spent all day slaving over a hot stove to prepare a fantastic dinner for tonight, and you're going to love it!" A look of horror passed over the family.

Roderick sighed and glanced down at a tearful Ciano, who'd tugged on his sleeve. "Th- They're not coming?" ...Roderick gripped the phone tightly, biting his lip. This was for little Ciano. If they did this for Feliciano…

"Francis, hand the phone over to Arthur." Francis hesitantly obeyed, passing the phone over to his raging amour. Arthur snatched it from his hand with an irritated 'wot?' "Arthur. You can cater."

A moment of silence, please. One. Two. Three. "We're going!" Arthur tossed the phone back to Francis and dashed to the kitchen. "Pack your bag, crickie, we're going on a field trip!"

An excited chorus of - "Hooray!" – rose from the children, except for Li, who simply lifted his hands in the air with a soft "Woot."

Francis put the phone back to his ear with an appalled expression. "Roderick, what, exactly, did you tell him."

"Don't worry, we'll have pizza and pasta in the other room."

Poor, poor France, having to deal with his cher's general pissyness. Angelique is Seychelles and Li is Hong Kong, just so you know. Reviews are appreciated, and ideas for new materials are loved.

France says:

amour - love

fiance - they're engaged

mon cher - my dear

mon Anglais - my Englishman