"For the love of God, France, put some bloody clothes on!"
"I would, mon ami, but you're wearing them!"
Oh bollocks, England had forgotten that. He gave up on chasing France around the room and sat in one of the few empty seats, next to Japan, in an attempt to hide the hideously garish outfit. Japan acknowledged him with a nod, then went back to reading something that looked suspiciously like a doujinshi under the table.
England chuckled to himself, then took a sideways glance across the table, to check that a certain traitor hadn't seen what he was wearing. America looked to be too engrossed in his hamburger to pay attention to anything else. That was a good thing, England thought. Not that he cared what that bastard thought of him.
Said bastard had now finished his hamburger, and was very loudly telling Germany and China, who were sitting either side of him, about how amazing his party had been yesterday. England flinched, and Japan looked up from his doujinshi. "Are you okay, England-san?" Japan asked, struggling with the English pronunciation as usual. England nodded, not wanting to open his mouth in case he said something stupid. Or screamed. Or threw up. Japan looked almost sympathetic, a rare show of emotion for the Asian man. "I apologise for allowing you to drink so much sake last night, England-san. I should have at least accompanied you home-"
"It's fine, Japan, really." England managed to say, having calmed down a little. "Is that Yaoi?" He asked, nodding towards the doujinshi in an attempt to change the subject. Japan nodded, blushing a little, and went back to reading it. England made a mental note to see if he could borrow it later. Even if he couldn't read it, he could always... enjoy the pictures. Anything to take his mind off of that day. At least it's over now, he thought, sighing. A whole year until it happens again. Why the bloody hell does it affect me so much?
"We will begin the conference now!"
England jumped a little. Germany's angry, loud German accent tended to have that effect on people. Japan had dropped his book, America had thrown something that looked like a milkshake halfway across the room, and, possibly the most amusing of all, France had fallen over in shock, mid-naked skip, with a cry of 'Mon dieu!'. England chuckled, along with a few of the other nations, but they all stopped when they saw the look on Germany's face.
Five minute's into Germany's speech, England's mind had already drifted elsewhere. He was staring at a patch of wall, his eyes unfocused, trying to remember how he had ended up in the conference room last night. He remembered the events of that morning pretty well.
England had woken up on the floor of the conference room that morning with a pounding head, half-naked, with France looming over him. He had panicked, tried to scramble away, and ended up with a few shards of broken bottle embedded in his hand. Luckily, but also vaguely worryingly, France always carried a pair of tweezers with him, and there had been a first aid kit in the conference room. When he eventually managed to convince England that he hadn't done anything even vaguely pervy to him, for once, France had used these to remove the shards, clean the wounds (to the sound of England swearing loudly), and bandage them. Then he had proceeded to solve England's clothing problem in a way that was convenient to him, and disturbing to everyone else.
It had just occurred to England that it was suspicious that France had been there so early in the morning, when the conference wasn't until the afternoon, but thinking about it made him shudder involuntarily, so he went back to trying to remember the night before. He had left Japan's house at around 9pm, and he had found more alcohol from somewhere... he remembered staggering around a lot, and decided to assume that he had ended up in the conference room by coincidence, or maybe instinct reminding him that he needed to be there tomorrow. However, there was something else, floating at the edge of England's memory, something important...
I was here... Chair? Something about a chair... switching chairs, America, what? Buzz... Busby's chair? No, seriously?
England glanced at America, who seemed to be dozing off using a hamburger as a pillow, and sure enough, his chair was surrounded with that weird evil aura that seemed to only be noticeable if you knew it was there. Somewhat like Canada, England thought, wondering where he was. (Canada was, in fact, right beside him, dozing off like his brother, using Kumajiro as a pillow)
Well, this is bloody brilliant! Hold on, why isn't he being dragged to hell yet? England looked at the chair again, this time seeing the fault lines from all the times that fatass Russia had broken it. Maybe that weakened the curse... Aah well, I'm sure it'll kill him eventually. Somehow, he wasn't as happy about that as he should have been, but, he reassured himself, that was because of his hangover. Or something.
A few hours later, the conference finally ended. England thought it was a shame, he had been quite enjoying his nap. At least he was a lot less hungover now, and remembering his revelation about Busby's chair cheered him up a little. Only a little. He stood up and stretched, ignoring the disapproving look from Germany, who seemed to be quite annoyed, as usual, that the majority of the nations had fallen asleep during the conference. Even Italy had napped through Germany's speech, and he was practically in love with the German.
Once everyone had said their goodbyes, the room gradually began to empty. England hung back to keep an eye on America, who was talking at Russia, of all people, about his bloody birthday party. Once America seemed to have run out of things to shout about, Ivan was finally allowed to leave, giving England something that looked like a knowing grin on the way. England shuddered, and went to leave himself, but found his way blocked by a certain irritating(ly handsome, not that England would admit it) nation. England managed to change his guilty expression to a glare, and tried to walk around America, but found his way blocked by an arm. He sighed.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" England asked, half hoping that America would drop dead soon. He didn't acknowledge what the other half of him was hoping for.
"I was wondering if you wanted to come to mine for coffee, y'know, for old times sake?"
England stared at the grinning man incredulously, and was about to decline the offer, when he realised that it would give him more of a chance to see the effects of Busby's chair. "Only if I can have tea", he replied in what was supposed to be an irritated tone, and America chuckled.