I have written another chapter and I must say that this is annoying as hell. I knew it would take time, and I do have ideas, but I am probably one on the world's slowest typers, and I can tell any alerters out there that this will not be happening often. Expect new chapters relatively far between. So anyway, in this story, we meet a state. He's kind of rude...and abrupt. Why? Because I can. I also put this shot into 2 (or more) parts. Why? Because I can. I don't want the chapters to be more than 2K, and I am working on something else, but this was taking too long. Slow typer, feel free to point out any mistakes in the story. Stick to technical; I don't care about your opinion unless it's a compliment.
I did get the Italy's mixed up last time so thanks for that, I'd say your name, but I already deleted the E-mail. I don't know accents well, and I used an automated translator so don't get hung up on that.
Consider this Disclaimed.

"Like, who the hell are you?"

"I am America's replacement."

The nations, who had all been pretending to look bustling, (which was weird, because they never get anything done anyway), were suddenly trying to look more busy than before, when they heard Poland ask the question none of them would voice. They had strained their ears to hear the answer, which had them dropping their pen(cil)s, and their jaws. Poland,(he was on roll here,) once again took it on himself to voice what they were all thinking. "WTF?"

{Begin Flash Back/Review Thing/Page Break}

There was someone in the room as the first of the nations arrived for the meeting. England was early, as always, and dragging France along with him, (Quite literally. An unconscious Francis was being dragged by his ankle by a blushing and pissy looking Arthur.) England spotted the stranger only after he had dumped and straightened France's body into his customary seat.

The stranger was familiar looking, but England simply could not place him. He was wearing knee high combat looking boots with along skinny jeans, a long sleeve shirt that went to the knuckles and clung, and a black dress vest. Everything looked purposefully worn and designer. The stranger's hair was black and looked like it would have reached his shoulders if it had not been so messy, fighting the clips that failed to tame it. His face was almost aristocratic, but more arrogant than ethereal. It was also hard for England to place his race; it was like a perfect blend of them all. Though none of what he was wearing actually seemed to match, the stranger looked, dare England say it, 'hot', but also like he would be a complete asshole about it. Shades, that reflected the magazine he was reading, covered his eyes.

England was mildly, (cf. very,) interested, but the stranger was so rude as to not acknowledge him(England) at all, and seemed like he(the stranger) belonged there, and so paid him no mind.

Soon, the other countries began to arrive, and though they all gave the stranger the briefest, (or not so brief, as Russia did tend to stare), of glances, they assumed that he belonged there, so left him alone.

Canada was one of the last people to show. He was never all that late, and never as late as his twin, but he did not come early by any means. Why should he when no one ever even noticed him show up? His absence would probably be noticed, maybe, but all he had to do was show up before America, and that lengthened his sleeping time considerably.

He looked over the room, like he always did, for any changes in the seating or the conditions of his fellow nations. His eyes stopped at the person sitting in America's seat, and paused to wonder what New York was doing there, but figured that it couldn't be that important or he would have heard about it.

Canada took his place and waited for the meeting to begin. No one seemed to be willing to start arguing, (which was ridiculous, because they seemed to enjoy screaming at each other). In fact, they looking like they were doing things suspiciously like actual work. Canada was about to stand and speak, but something bright glinted in his eye. He turned to see New York smirking at him from the side.

New York made a discrete hushing gesture, and almost imperceptivity nodded toward the other nations. It was then that Matthew noticed the furtive looks between their "work," which did not seem to be real work at all, (except for Sweden, who was not one to waste valuable time). Canada hid his own smirk, and giggle (A/N: In my mind Canada giggles, even as he plots, and its adorable.) So, the other nations did not recognize New York. Holland, Canada could understand, and France appeared to sleeping, but England? Really? Well, never let it be said that Canada was one to ruin somebody's fun. He relaxed back down into his chair and took out his paper work. Because Canada was not one to waste time either, not with paper work, which bred like rabbits on aphrodisiacs.

The silence went on for a while. Nobody wanted to be the person who did not know who the stranger was, so they put off asking for as long as possible. But time for the meeting was slowly winding down, and they seemed to have dither even through the scheduled lunch. The stranger did not seem to notice the tension, (rather like a certain country we all know,) and even Russia's incessant stare was met with an unshakable finesse. The magazine must have been terribly interesting and with tiny words because the stanger was barely half way done. The nations with less patience seemed like they were going to brake under the pressure, when finally one did.

"Like, who the hell are you?" Poland finally asked, almost desperately. The countries all continued to work, perhaps more diligently than before. Everyone seemed to be holding their breathes though, ears straining, waiting for an answer.

The stranger finally looked up, uncrossing his legs, and closing the magazine. He said to Poland, with almost a sneer, "I am America's replacement."

"WTF?"

{End Flash Back/Review Thing/Page Break}

The room was silent again, but with shock, as the nations all tried to comprehend what they had just heard.

"For the day anyway," the stranger continued, looking strangely (A/N: Would this be a pun?) smug. England's considerable eyebrows furrowed as he processed what was happening. He had just noticed that the stranger was sitting in America's chair. Before he could open his mouth, however, France took this time to awaken. He took no notice of the gaping looks on (most) everyone's face. His eyes almost instantly fell on the stranger, and his face brightened with recognition and delight.

"Vinny~!" He shouted, and almost vaulted over Arthur, definitely stepped on Canada, and flew at the state, moving to catching him in what could only be described as a glomp. It was easily stopped by a straight armed fist, before New York hooked his arm around his neck and kissed France. Once for each cheek and another on the lips. New York then threw France away and stepped on him, the whole time looking nonchalant and indifferent as he grinded his heel.

"What did I say about calling me that?"

"But, mon petite, you never mind it when dear mother Amerique, calls to you so," Francis whined with a pout.

"Oh, but vous, stupide, pervertir, dumb-ass, fort heureusement, vous êtes pas le père.," 'Vinny' replies cuttingly, and France could only scowl before replying.

"How I wish it were not so," he says, smiling again. "We could be great together."

"One," New York begins, "don't say stuff like that, it makes you sound like a villain… a bad one. Two, if that were to have happened, then we would be committing actual incest, instead of Moms' and Uncle Mattie's, kind of, sort of type. Three, I don't think you- "

"OI!" England interrupted, with a yell. He had been sitting there, waiting for an explanation, before he was interrupted by the stupid frog, who apparently knew the stranger. This meant that England should also know him, but, though the voice and attitude were more familiar, he still could not place the face. "What the hell, Frog? Who the hell is that, and why in the bloody hell is he here instead of America?"

Which was the question wasn't it. He said he was America's replacement, and everyone had instantly stopped breathing. But then he said only for the day, so that meant that either America had something more important, or that he had skipped, the latter being more likely. It was probably for a stupid reason too, like finishing a video game or the opening another McDonalds. The countries continued guessing, and England was busy working himself up into a frenzy. Ooh, I'm going to beat the cholesterol out his arteries when that bloody, bastard finally shows his face…

Before he could continue on that tangent, (and he could, right up until he punched 'that bastard' right in the jaw,) England was brought out of his mind by New York.

"The moms got shit to do, so he couldn't take the time to visit ya'll sorry asses." England, and everyone else, but France and Canada, was floored, by the sudden bluntness, increased rudeness, and change in accent. But as soon as it was there, it was gone (or lessened anyway). "He had to take care of my twin and his little problem. 'Joisey' has a lot of 'little problems,' but I suppose that this was one not technically his fault. Still, time is money, dammit, and something should have been done about this sooner. Fuck, now we can only seal it away for a while again. I swear to God, Allah, and who the fuck ever is listening; just when you think you got the last of them, something else decides to bite you in the ass. It's worse than that damn goat-eater thing that Maria keeps letting in when she sneaks into Ma's house, and lords know those damn Sutherner's won't shut the fuck up about that! Whine, whinge, bitch!-"

He seemed like he could go on for a while, so Italy raised his hand to ask the question that they were all burning to know. A quick hit by hands, now swinging wildly in their expressions, quickly put a stop to that (and really, Italy, of all people, should have known better than that). Spain had to hold S. Italy back, from attacking, but by that time Germany had had enough, and a crying Italy was not helping. He put his fist down, quite literally, making the table shake under the onslaught.

"Enough," he yelled, making the nations next to him flinch away. "I demand that you shut up, and tell us who you are!"

The attention of the room was again caught as the still mysterious stranger cut off in his ranting. He had stood up at some point, as to have more arm room, and now slowly turned his head to look back at whomever dared to interrupt him; his siblings knew better than to do that. Taking his time to notice the countries looking at him with interest, he snared then raised an eyebrow.

"Despite the fact that that is technically impossible, I suppose you should know. My name is Vincentius N. Jones, Vincent to my siblings or friends, and New York to you people." He took off his shades to reveal mercury eyes that showed only dislike to all but a few. They hardened to steel. "And if any of yous bastards gets ta thinkin' of eva call me Vinny, I'll pop a cap in all y'all asses."

To be Continued…

'Oh, but vous, stupide, pervertir, dumb-ass, fort heureusement, vous êtes pas le père.,' "Oh, but, you, stupid, pervert, dumb-ass, fortunately, you are not the father."

And now we know...

New Jersey...{Derrick(m)
New York...{Vincentius,Vincent,Vinny(m)