It is very, very, very common knowledge that the World Meetings held every six months have not, do not, and will not ever produce any effective or useful results. Except amongst the nations who attended. Not a single human or non-attendee could understand why every nations insisted on going, despite the fact that they hadn't made any progress since 457 A.D.
What they don't know is that there's one certain aspect that no nation can seem to get enough of and frankly, they don't ever want to. But one day, it went terribly wrong.
Today's topic was Foreign Relations with the Middle East, and it was going boringly well. After speeches, arguments, negotiations, trade agreements, interruptions, and the occasional treaty, the lunch break was finally called. The nations stampeded out of the room, more than ready to mock the others for not having as amazing a cuisine as they did. After a brief food fight that resulted in only sixteen casualties, the meeting was reluctantly called on again. But something was very wrong.
"OKAY, WHO THE HELL IS IT?" Germany yelled, his jacket removed and shirt half-unbuttoned. A distracted-looking Italy Veneziano trailed after him, holding his hand and giggling. Most of the room looked up, but chose not to say anything.
"We have an agreement. Switch every meeting, in a VERY specific order. Someone… has broken that order." The other countries gasped. Someone had dared to defile their sacred schedule? MUTINY!
"Mon dieu, how could anyone ever do such a thing? Even I, the most experienced in these kinds of matters and in the most need, would never dare!" France exclaimed. Germany nodded gravely.
"I do not know anyone who would dare to alter the schedule and face the anger of us other countries. AND, it was Italy and I's turn today, so whoever is up there right now will have a sexually frustrated Italy to deal with," Germany said embarrassedly. The Italian by his side giggled dangerously and brandished a cooking knife. As if on cue, the ceiling started to shake rhythmically and dust fell, showering the seated nations in a fine white layer of powder.
"Ve~, that should be US right now. If they don't apologize afterwards… there'll be Hell to pay," Italy whispered. Every other nations in the room to a mental note to never mess with Italy's sexy-fun-times, and then highlighted, underlined, and circled it.
"So, who's missing? Like, all of the chairs are filled," Hong Kong commented. Germany shook his head.
"I don't know, that's why I asked all of you. Does anyone remember seeing other nations leave the cafeteria, or just not seeing certain people at all?" The room was quiet.
"Mein Gott, you people aren't helping. Imagine if you had been in our place, getting your… private time taken away. Cruelly twisted away from you, leaving you looking like this;" Germany said, gesturing to the deranged Italian at his side. He seemed to be foaming at the mouth.
A hand nervously cut the air. Germany gestured for the owner to speak.
"There's usually this weird… presence in the room, but I don't feel it today," Finland said. Everyone immediately focused on their mental Weird Meters, and found the Nordic's statement to be true.
"Yeah… he's right. It's a guy, isn't it?" Murmurs of agreement followed.
"But, he's not European, is he?" All the Europeans (Eighty percent of the attendees) looked around and saw that their neighbors were all present and accounted for.
"Well, he can't be Asian, there's not enough of them as it is." The Asians looked quite sour at this verdict.
"So, what else is there? The Southern Continents have their own meeting time."
"Wait, isn't he in the Commonwealth?" Britain looked sorely confused while plucking France's wandering hand off of his thigh. Everyone looked expectantly at him.
"Don't all stare at me like that! How am I supposed to remember all 54 members of the Commonwealth?" he shouted indignantly.
"I do remember him being really nice though."
"Yeah, he always listened to me whenever I had a problem."
"He gave me some really tasty stuff. Uh, 'maple syrup,' was it?"
"Man, he's such a great guy, isn't he?"
"Yeah, totally!"
"So… what is his name? America?"
"Nope, that's me!"
"Uh… the U.S.?"
"That's me again."
"The United States?"
"What do you think 'US' stands for?"
"The… USA?"
"Okay, seriously? The United States of America."
"Well, if Mr. 'Hey-Everybody-Look-at-Me-I'm-America' says it isn't him, who does he think it is?" All eyes in the room locked on America. He tugged at his collar and wiped some sweat off his brow.
"H-Hey now, not too much pressure…" he stuttered. Germany facepalmed for a moment before restating what he'd said before.
"Imagine that. That excitement, that expectancy, running down the hallway with your lover and you giggling like a little schoolgirl because we all know you do it," Germany urged. Italy popped up over his shoulder, look more disturbed than ever.
"YEAH, YEAH, all those kisses and gentle, teasing touches. You can feel that suspense and adrenaline flowing through your veins. You finally detach yourself from your lover just long enough to give them the look and turn around, and reach out for the key… AND THE DAMN THING ISN'T THERE! SOMEONE TOOK IT EVEN THOUGH WE ALL AGREED THAT IT WAS MY TURN TODAY!" he shrieked. Germany looked up at him oddly. Italy's hand clumsily patted the German's cheek. "Your turn too, Germania, your turn too." America looked thoroughly disturbed, and the rest of the room wasn't much better.
"Wow. That was… I'm ashamed to be the person that statement was aimed at. Well, if you asked me to just wildly guess who this mystery person was… I'd say… my brother Canada." Unsurprisingly, a gasp of shock didn't ripple around the room. "You know, this tall, medium build, long blonde hair with a curly thing, and blue-violet eyes, has a bear, usually wears red, really quiet, almost invisible…" None of America's descriptions got any reaction from the crowd. His shoulders fell, and he sighed.
"Okay, seriously people? You all say that he's such a nice guy, but you can't even recognize him? Ugh, I made something for situations like this," America sighed, putting a DVD into the laptop attached to the projector. A photo slideshow of Canada came up, along with a few short video clips of Drunk Canada, Drunk Canada on his Birthday, Drunk Canada Smacking Random People's Asses, and Canada and Kumajiro having a fight over a piece of toast. After it was over and the lights magically flicked on again, America turned back towards the audience. A lone voice rose up over the crowd.
"Hey… isn't that that Canada kid?" America facepalmed almightily, and nodded weakly.
"Yes. Yes, that is Canada. Is anyone else having any sudden bursts of recognition?" Most people murmured yes, or something like it.
"Alright! We're getting somewhere! So, any guesses as to who he's up there with?" No, obviously.
"Shouldn't you know? He's your brother!"
"Well, yes, but I don't! He's really into 'personal space' and junk like that, he doesn't like me sticking my nose into his personal life. He's quiet guy." America's statement was quickly proven wrong when the pounding stopped, started again, and a voice rang out from above.
"AGH, don't be such a bitch about it! TAKE IT LIKE A MAN, EH!"
"Wow, he's not the kind of person you would expect to top, huh?"
"I'M NOT MADE OF FUCKING GLASS, HARDER YOU STUPID BITCH!"
"Oh. Never mind then. " The room was silent, save for the loud swearing and squeals coming from Canada a floor up. The tense atmosphere didn't dissipate until loud German swearing joined Canada's.
"YEAH, YOU LOVE THIS, DON'T YOU? YOU'RE MY NASTY LITTLE SCHLAMPE, AREN'T YOU?"
"OH GOD YES, I'M YOUR FILTHY LITTLE BITCH, DO WITH ME AS YOU PLEASE!" Germany moaned and let his head fall onto the podium.
"That damn brother of mine…" Italy patted his shoulder while licking his knife. As the banging got louder, the dust thicker, and the swearing even dirtier, the nations below sat in quiet embarrassment. Then, a high keening shriek was heard, along with some garbled German/English/International. At first, all was silent. Then, Canada started crying loudly, babbling about Italy and fear and death and knifes. A smack, a door slam, and pounding feet echoed through the room.
The doors burst open, letting in a crying, half-naked Canada. He ran straight for Italy. He clung to the Italian's shoulders, still sobbing.
"I'm so sorry Italy! I knew it was your turn today, but I couldn't stop Prussia! He's very needy when he's horny, and he was complaining about how we haven't done anything in a while. Please forgive me; you can have my turn next time!" Italy hummed in thought before gently pushing the Canadian off of him.
"I take your offer. You are forgiven," Italy said calmly. The doors were thrown open again, this time revealing a half-dressed Prussian. Who was looking far too casual for all the trouble he was in.
The whole room turned to face him angrily.
"What? Men got needs, you know?" No reaction. "Come on, what's the big deal? It's not like you have a running tab or anything." Close, but no.
"Ah, I bet you're all just jealous. Want these glorious five meters for yourself, eh?" he asked, gesturing rudely. Italy slowly advanced towards Prussia.
"Apologize, you jerk. Apologize for cock-blocking me and Germany or so help me God I'll beat you into the next century," Italy hissed. Prussia scoffed and put his hands behind his head.
"Nah, it was worth it. You and Germany couldn't ever be as good as me and my birdie over there," Prussia said very, very arrogantly and very, very stupidly. Italy last, sexual-tension-filled nerve broke, and he lunged at Prussia.
Who ran as fast as he could from the deranged Italian.
He didn't get far.
I really didn't want to put in an Author's Note, but I had to. Prussia doesn't know about the schedule because he doesn't attend most meetings. He tries to push all of his work on his government. He wasn't even attending this particular meeting; he just broke in to screw Canada. And this is also a present-day oneshot.