Arthur's Point of View:

"Arthur, Arthur! Look, I colored the cow purple! Cows aren't purple 'because hamburgers aren't purple!" Alfred stood at his desk with a coloring book in his chubby little paws, his arms out reached to the highest point he could without falling down from exhaustion. Alfred was all of five years old and trying his hardest to garner his big brother's attention.

Arthur sat at his great oak desk, pen in hand as he sat in the hard back chair staring at the latest missives from his brothers. The events that were surrounding England were at a stressful tantamount and there wasn't anything that Arthur could do to lighten the load. His arse had been placed in the frying pan, sizzling and awaiting to be placed next to the scones and served as breakfast to his boss. He nursed his tea, and tried to drown out the sound of a small child jabbering beside his uncomfortable wooden chair. The boy's posture was always off so England had taken to leading by example, as always, straight back and true. The task of drowning out Alfred F. Jones was always difficult, as the boy raised his voice to steal away Arthur's attention and gather him into his company. Alfred had always fussed about wanting to play with Arthur, but he had no time for feeble games of cowboys and Indians, and whatever silly dribble that Alfred came up with.

"Not now, Alfred, I am very busy," he said turning his full attention to the stack of papers without even raising an eye to the child.

"But I colored it just for you, Arthur!" The boy struggled to place his coloring book on the desk, but Arthur merely held his hand in the air.

"No, not now Alfred, I am busy!"

It was after that moment that the blond haired boy had carried his coloring book out, his head hung low and a sad expression painted on his face.

-Memory Ends-

It was memories like this…that reminded Arthur of why he should never try to be a brother figure to another boy again, and each time Peter Kirkland, a pesky little boy at best wandering around in a sailor suit and attempting to make good relations with him, attempted to pull at his walls; he merely ignored the little pest instead and focused all his attention into something more productive to drive away the painful yesterdays.

It was always worse in the meeting room, where he sat in his posh chair waiting on the problems to be presented out right. America always was the first to try to speak, loudly interrupting everyone save for Germany and Russia and plowing ahead. Alfred was a rather scrawny looking youth with an appetite that would one day make him the fat overweight man that he was trying so hard to achieve.

Green pools were scanning the room dully, each nation seemed to have its' own reaction to Alfred's stupidity. From suggesting that all that need be done about world hunger is create one enormous cheeseburger with milkshake and fries for the masses to share, to suggesting that terrorism could be solved by consulting with an alien…Alfred was full of stupid ideas. Every word the man seemed to say screamed of a child trying to make his imagination the focus of everyone's attention. He had thought he had stamped out attention seeking in the child long ago but it was hard to see Alfred as the same sweet little boy now. Instead, he was the arrogant pompous twit standing before everyone and counting himself more important in solving every issue. A silly teenager draped in a jacket, glasses and an unorganized uniform suit and tie…not a man in the slightest. How he longed to grab the younger nation by the ear, and remind him to not act a fool or make England look a disgrace.

It was only then he remembered that America, Alfred, was an independent being now. He relied not on Arthur's finances, stability or wisdom…he relied on only the sweat on his brow. He had the world at his fingertips and turned it down to look an idiot in front of the entire room.

"Oh yes, because it is so practical to make a ten story cheeseburger, America. Bloody wanker," Arthur gazed at the younger nation sardonically.

"It's a great idea! You are just jealous that you didn't come up with it first."

"Monsieurs, ve are vrying to hold a veeting, not a circus," the French man said, waving about his finger in scolding to the two Englishmen, who both had begun to yell at Francis about his attitude, dress, and his general desire to argue about their every action.

"ENOUGH! This is solving nothing! Five minutes each to talk, no interruptions, no talking back, and a vote of hands to decide! No one will do anything vut breathe! Understood?"

Germany shot up from his seat, the blonde was slamming his hands against the oak table, and it was obvious that he was nursing a headache only a beer and a long bath…and a reprieve from Italy could cure.

Still, the only thing Arthur could seem to think as his deep emerald pools took a glance at the sky blue hues locking with his own was that this whole meeting fiasco was all Alfred's fault…again.

Alfred's point of View:

There was nothing worse than a meeting room that wouldn't listen to a single unique idea, even if they were completely brilliant! One of the biggest culprits that sat at the table was stupid old Britain, sticking his thumb down and making a disgruntled face at every new suggestion. Well, why didn't he try to solve it if he thought his thoughts were better! Alfred sat in his chair at the meeting room, disgruntled and heated, watching as Germany had taken over control of the meeting room. England seemed appeased that someone besides the Great America, admittedly not thought of as so great by Arthur, was taking the lead.

Arms crossed over his chest and his cheeks puffed up in a disgruntled display of agitation, Alfred let it be known that he was not happy with the way things were run. He had every intention of changing it all around; all he needed was one good jab at Germany! He would then gain control of the room and England would have to admit defeat.

"You're the one that tried to take over the world, why do you get to take charge!"Alfred spoke up, admittedly sounding slightly sulky about the whole thing but all the same…he stood up, they'd have to realize it now! Standing loud and proud, Alfred enjoyed every moment of the limelight, the brown jacket with the number '50' written proudly on the back was the outfit that would signify his victory.

"America, stop interrupting Germany, you twit!" England blurted out.

What was this? No, England was suppose to be surprised at how he had garnered control, but instead he found himself immediately sitting down and at attention…he'd not forgotten that rather tense tone meant serious business. Still, this meant nothing! He was still the Hero of this room and he was going to prove it by photographic evidence!

-Memory begins-

"Hey England, I'm going to make us something to eat cause your foods horrible!" Little Alfred called out, running out to the kitchen at light speed.

"America, if you go near that stove, you won't see the sunlight again and I'll be sure to make nothing but my scones for you from now on!" Arthur called out loudly, his voice an irritated call to the small nation running at top speed into the kitchen…if he caught Alfred, well Al just knew he'd get it good…and couldn't help but gulp at the idea of nothing but Arthur's nasty scones for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.

That was just torture.