"Romano, would you like to step outside?"
"Vaffanculo. We're in a meeting."
Germany sighed and rubbed his temples. "Your pet is a little distracting."
Romano huffed and turned his head, ignoring the broad man. The World Meetings had been a notoriously boring affair for years, only broken up by occasional petty arguments between England and France with outbursts by America. Sometimes Switzerland will argue with Japan or Italy would start drawing on the desk in crayon.
This was a special occurrence. This time the monotony was broken up by Romano and it wasn't for his usual outrage directed at Spain, Germany, or his brother. Oh no, this time it was his new obsession: a small squirrel he had recently adopted.
This creature was the only thing they had seen Romano show actual love and affection toward. It was a small, young rascal with a bushy tail and pointed ears. He would carelessly scurry around, climbing up Romano's pants and hopping from shoulder to shoulder. He would give Romano a small lick on the cheek when rewarded with his favorite treat: nuts.
Spain thought it was adorable. Germany thought it was a little much to take the furry little thing to meetings but Romano insisted, in a few different swears, that he needed to spend time and bond with the little guy.
"He is my son, damn it!"
Germany sighed again and dismissed the nations to a fifteen minute break before they continue their presentations and reports on their economies and countries. Not many left the room, a surprising amount actually stayed… and surrounded Romano and his squirrel. The little fuzzball was doing tricks for more peanuts.
Romano held his hand above the squirrel's soft ears. The animal stood on his hind legs and did a pose. The more excitable nations cooed and awed at the tricks. Italy was nearly shaking with dog-like excitement while Belgium tried to get Netherlands to stay and watch.
For the final trick, Romano made a gun with his hands and flick his wrist. The squirrel fainted, his fluffy tail dramatically slumped down. The nations cheered and clapped. Germany watched, disappointed in the turn of events, soon met with the smug gaze of Southern Italy.
The following month was another meeting, this time Romano returned with the same squirrel—who he now demanded everyone call by his new name, Signor Marcello Vargas. Marcello was also now wearing a suit, a small beige outfit that resembled Romano's own clothing.
Marcello even had a new trick involving a small briefcase and a miniature bowl of pasta. Needless to say, the meeting was in total disarray until Germany told Romano he could leave and hit on women instead. The Italian was more than happy to ditch the event, calling back, "Later, losers!" with his squirrel perched on his shoulder.
"Come on, this is getting out of hand!"
The other nations took Romano's lead and began adopting their own small pets and bringing them to meetings.
"You can't bring pets to business meetings!"
Spain pouted and held his small red-ear slider turtle close to his heart, "But Señor Àngel needs to bond with his papa!"
Beside him Prussia defensively held onto his German Shepherd's paw. "Ignore the bad man, Fritz."
Germany groaned and slammed his fist into the table, ready to start yelling at the room of idiots. The loud noise instead startled the animals—and Italy—causing a wave of alarmed barks and chirps and squeaks. Prussia's dog began to flip out and ran around the room, spotting France's cat and chasing it around the room.
"Jean, no!"
Jean the cat ran around, hissing, knocking into the legs of the table with the large dog close behind. Marcello was disturbed by the movement and starting running around the table and making papers fly. Japan's small dog whimpered and hid under his chair while Finland's armful of hamsters struggled to run free. China's lizard was staring at Russia's rat—an actual wild rat, not a domesticated small rodent—as if ready to fight. Sweden's goldfish was unfazed in his bowl.
The pet owners hurried around, trying to gain control of their 'children.' Germany was having trouble controlling his anger and simply left the building and everyone in disarray. Romano smirked, Marcello back on his shoulder. He sure showed that stupid damn potato-eating bastard!
The nations left the meeting, clothes torn and dirtied up. Romano had never felt so satisfied since the first time he cussed out the German idiot brothers.
"Come along, Marcello. We're going to get some gelato."
The squirrel licked his cheek.
"I love you, too."
A/N: "Mio Figlio" is Italian for "my son." Or that's at least what Google Translate claims.
"Vaffanculo" means "fuck you."
Romano played the long con just to frustrate Germany. What a scamp!
Pierre and Gilbird (France's and Prussia's actual pets) were safe and at home during the animal nonsense. They had better things to do and hotter chicks to see.