It's a day like any other. The grass is green and perfectly manicured, the hedges are trimmed, and the flowers are blooming and fragrant. The sun is high, warming the air, accompanied by a soft breeze. Birds sing, the fountain out front gurgles. The relative silence is broken by a string of shouted profanity coming from within the palatial mansion, startling the birds into flight.
"No fair, Arthur! That was a cheap shot!"
"I say, for an American, you sure do fare poorly at these games."
Arthur and Alfred sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the massive flat-screen television, shoving each other as 'GAME OVER' flashes across the screen.
"Hey, guys, don't be so mean to each other…" Matthew says quietly from his corner of the room. No one hears him but Kumijiro, who giggles.
"Those two. It's not hard to tell they're related," Yao says, hand over his eyes in disgust. Kiku nods, watching the spectacle from his place on one of the sofas.
The rest of the countries are scattered around the large room, each attending to their own business. Feliciano is crawling around on all fours after Pookie with his rear up in the air, Ludwig is sitting at a table with a mound of paperwork before him, and Gilbert is fighting with Alfred over who gets to play next.
"Give the controller to the awesome me! I will show you how it is done!"
The only country not pre-occupied is Ivan, who is sitting off to the side, hands in his lap, looking around the room with his wide, violet eyes. He sighs.
"Attention, everyone. Lunch is served!" Francis announces, still wearing his 'French Kiss the Cook' apron, from the door to the adjoining dining room. He sighs, smiling and shaking his head. He'll just wait for the smell of the food to get to them. He disappears back into the kitchen.
The front door opens, but no one seems to notice it. It closes soon after, and the sound of high heels can be heard clicking across the marble of the front room.
"Francis, je suis à la maison! Je ai apporté une excellente bouteille de vin pour nous de partager!" A female voice calls from the front room, the sound of her voice approaching the living room.
The countries all stop what they're doing, turning their attention to the doorway.
"Whoa, who's that?" Alfred whispers.
"I'm not sure." Arthur says. "That was French. Matthew, what did she say?"
"Oh, um…" Matthew stammers, fixing his glasses nervously. "She said she has wine to share with Francis."
"Oh, my."
"Dude, I swear all that guy does is-"
"Francis?" She calls again, still in the other room. "Je ne peux pas dire en quelle année, cependant, parce que je ai laissé mes lunettes dans le salon."
The men all look back to Matthew, who blushes.
"She left her glasses in the…" He gulps, looking over at one of the end tables, upon which is perched a pair of reading glasses. "Living room."
Scrambling over one another, Alfred, Arthur, and Gilbert race to grab the glasses, ending with a few injuries and Gilbert standing victorious. He smirks and races over to the doorway.
"Here they are, meine schöne Dame! The awesome Prussia has saved the day!" He holds out the glasses, almost being knocked over by Francis.
"Gilbert," he hisses. "Get back in the other room. Now!"
Gilbert nods, taken aback, and hands the glasses to Francis before turning and speeding back to the couch.
"What'd she look like?" Alfred asks. "Is she hot?"
"Ja. She has not changed one bit…"
"Wha…?"
Gilbert looks up, met with the astounded stares of his compatriots.
The sound of heated arguing comes from the front room. Both Francis and the woman have raised their voices, and are spewing out French so fast that Matthew's head is spinning, trying to keep up.
Stomping into the room comes a tall, blonde young woman wearing four-inch heels. She's wearing a white jumpsuit and red cardigan, her long hair pulled up into a messy bun. She wears a scowl on her face that quickly turns to shock when she lays eyes on the room full of strangers.
"Oh, pardon! I didn't really think it was Francis' friends. I was thinking he had another of his…nevermind." She blushes, looking around the room. Francis walks in, holding his side and limping, and says something to her in a dialect of what is assumed to be French that even Matthew can't understand. She shoots back a venomous response, and then fixes her hair and smiles at the men.
"Francis, who is this?" Ludwig asks, now standing from where he was at the table. Francis sighs.
"This is my sister." He says, walking up to her. "She's been staying with me for a few weeks."
"S-sister?" Arthur stammers, quite taken aback.
"Dude…" Alfred says, adjusting his glasses.
"Older sister, merci." She says. "My full name is Genovefa, but you can all call me Gen. You all are my brother's colleagues, yes?"
"Ve! You are much more beautiful than I remember you, bella!" Feliciano dashes up, throwing his arms around her in a tight hug.
"Ma petite Italie! How big you've become!" Gen says, hugging him back. "You look so much like your Grandfather!"
Ludwig attempts to peel a blubbering Feliciano from her, blushing and muttering something in German under his breath.
"And you, mon amour!" She says, pulling him into the hug. "Look how big you have grown!"
Ludwig stiffens, looking slightly panicked.
"Um, I don't think we've met…" He says, confused.
"But of course we…" Gen stops, seeing Gilbert behind Ludwig waving his arms and shaking his head frantically. "Haven't. My mistake."
Gilbert relaxes, and a puzzled Ludwig finally manages to pull Feliciano off of her, and she walks over to Gilbert with arms open for a hug. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her very tight.
"It's good to see you, alter Freund," Gilbert whispers. "We will talk later."
"Oui." She whispers, nodding.
"Um…" Arthur clears his throat, standing up and offering her his hand. "I'm Arthur Kirkland."
"Britain, I remember you." Gen says, smiling brightly. "And I understand your family has grown."
"Yes, I suppose it has." Arthur says, pulling a still in-shock Alfred up to him. "This is my, um…this is Alfred Jones."
"America, yes, I remember you. You're much taller now." She says, chuckling at the blushing Alfred. "Oh, and Matthew!"
Gen steps over to Matthew, who by now is fidgeting uncomfortably. She whispers something to him in French, and he smiles nervously, nodding his head.
"And the rest of you…" She says, turning to look around the room again. "Please, do not be shy. I'm not as voracious as my brother."
Yao and Kiku introduce themselves with a bow, and Gen turns to look at Ivan with a smile.
"And you, my quiet friend. Who might you be?"
Slightly surprised at her friendly tone, Ivan stands, adjusts his scarf, and holds out his hand to her.
"I am Ivan Braginsky. Though I am tended to be called Russia." He says, smiling.
Gen smiles in return, looking into his violet eyes. She doesn't notice the looks everyone is giving her and Ivan – mainly the expression questioning her sanity.
"Well, please do not let me disrupt your video gaming. I will help my brother with lunch." With that, she steals away to the kitchen, ignoring the multiple pairs of eyes following her with a smirk on her lips.
"Dude…"
Once in the kitchen, Gen busies herself with dishing out portions onto the gleaming white porcelain plates set out on the counter. She hums softly, gracing each dish with her trained precision.
"You were not supposed to be home until tonight." Francis says, coming into the kitchen a bit red-faced and out of breath. He takes the plates from the counter and begins to place them on a dinner cart, avoiding her questioning gaze.
"Sorry, brother. There are only so many times that I can see the same film at the cinema." She says, her tone a bit more venomous than she meant it to be. Francis winces.
"Gen, it's not that I don't want you around my friends, mon amour, but…I don't want you around my friends." He says, sighing softly. "It's too much for even me to handle some times. I do not want the stress to get to you."
"I'm not as fragile as you make me out to be, Francis. But thank you." Gen places the last plate on the cart and hugs her brother from behind. He smiles wearily.
"Damn, this is wicked good!" Alfred exclaims, stuffing more food into his mouth. Arthur leans away from him, still managing to get bits of food flung at him by the rampaging American.
Gen is the last to enter the dining room, plate in hand. Most of the table seems pretty crowded, save for one end, where the chairs have all been scooted away from one seat in particular. In this chair sits Ivan. He looks down at his plate, picking at the food, which looks barely touched.
Jumping when a chair is dragged loudly towards him and a body is seated just a few inches away, he looks over sheepishly at Gen, who smiles and scoots her chair up to the table. Arthur almost chokes on his mouthful.
"I say, why on Earth is she sitting next to him?" He whispers to Alfred, who stops mid-chew to look down the table.
"Maybe she hasn't figured out how creepy he is, yet." Alfred whispers, loudly resuming his eating.
"I hope you don't mind me sitting here. Everywhere else looked pretty crowded." Gen says, cutting her meat delicately.
"No," is all that Ivan can manage. Had France put her up to this? He shakes his head to clear those thoughts.
"So, Genovefa, where it that you represent?" Yao asks, looking down the table at her. The rest of the countries follow his gaze. Francis frowns, a displeased huff escaping his lips.
"I, um…" Gen stammers, cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson. "I represent Gaul. Or, I used to."
"What the hell is a Gaul?" Alfred says, and Arthur smacks him upside the head.
"It's an area that used to cover parts of Europe. It's not a country anymore, so can we please just drop it?" Francis spits, chest heaving. He glares around the table.
Gen's breath catches in her throat, and she shoves her chair back, standing and rushing out of the room with her still-filled plate in hand.
"I'll get dessert." She says, voice wavering. Once in the kitchen, she slams her plate into the sink, gripping the counter on each side of it and leaning forward with her head down. She grits her teeth, but the tears overflow anyway, cascading down her cheeks and dripping to the floor in soft pitter-patters.
"Genovefa?" The voice comes from the doorway, and Gen's head snaps up, cheeks aflame. It's Gilbert, his plate in-hand and a sorrowful frown on his face. He pads across the kitchen floor, placing his plate on the counter and wrapping his arms around her shaking shoulders. "I know."
Gen melts into him, hugging his chest and soaking his shirt. Gilbird lands on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek, and Gilbert, in turn, buries his face in her hair.
"Shhh…" He whispers, waiting as the sobs subside. Gen pulls back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. She sniffs, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"Thank you." She says, trying a smile. Gilbert returns it sadly, putting his hand on her shoulder.
"We will stick together, ja?" He says, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
"Ja," she whispers as Francis enters the room, fuming.
"That stupid Yankee brat! Was he dropped on his head as a child?" Francis curses under his breath and walks up to the two of them. "Is he annoying you, sister?"
"No, no. He was being very kind to me." Gen says, smiling at Gilbert. "Merci."
"Hey, I am the awesome Prussia. It is what I do!" Gilbird flits from Gen's shoulder to his master's head, chirping cheerfully.
"I should apologize to everyone. I must have made an awful scene." She says, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cardigan. She smiles reassuringly at her brother, then glances at Gilbert before re-entering the dining room. She gasps.
There was clearly some kind of tussle – the table is overturned, chairs are flung carelessly everywhere, and someone's lunch is splattered all over the wall. Feliciano is hiding in a corner, while Ludwig and Ivan are holding back Arthur from attacking Alfred, who is scrunched up against the wall, looking like he's seen a ghost. Everyone else is merely watching, save for Matthew, who is running around frantically waving his arms in the air.
Gen clears her throat, and the chaos comes to an immediate halt. Everyone looks at her.
"Please, forgive me. I suppose I overreacted a bit." She smiles, making eye contact with each of the countries. "Now, who wants a pastry?"