Last night I watched a German movie called "Gloomy Sunday." Look up Netflix's blurb about it. Tell me that it doesn't sound like anyone we know of at all. They even threw in some yaoi.

Sorry for forgetting to thank you, but- THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWS. :D

Today's story: "French Threaten Delay on European Bank Chief" by David Gauthier-Villars seen in the Wall Street Journal on June 23rd, 2011.

As always, I do not and never will own Hetalia.

The Westminster Chimes played from downstairs. A visitor!

"Coming!" Italy called, giving his hair a last towel- off and buttoning his shirt all the way.

He was puzzled to find Big Brother France in the open doorway. "Ciao, Big Brother France! Why is the door open?"

"Salut, mon cher." (He was wearing a suit, noticed Italy. Was this meant to be businesslike? Oh, he had the worst timing with showers.) "Your southern counterpart opened the door for me, but he fled at the sight of my radiant beauty, onhonhon~"

"You do look very fancy today," Italy noted, motioning for him to come in and have a seat on the couch. "Do you have a date later?"

France laughed in his quintessentially French manner. "Ah, how I wish, mon cher. Actually, I came to discuss something with you, s'il te plaît."

"Of course I will, Big Brother!" Italy rushed to the kitchen to grab a plate of pastries to present to his guest. Always best to keep up good manners.

France accepted a cannoli from the plate before speaking. "There is a little trouble with accepting the new president of the European Central Bank."

"Oh." The ginger was a little confused. "I thought you liked signor Draghi." Mario Draghi was currently his central bank manager, and had full support from the EU. What had happened?

"Non, non! I very much approve of him as a successor to Monsieur Trichet!"

"Then why is he a problem?"

"Remember our talks the other week about Monsieur Bini Smaghi?"

"Ah."

Lorenzo Bini Smaghi, an Italian, was one of the six members of the governing board on the ECB. Said governing board included the president, so France had been concerned that one- third of the European Bank's heads would be Italian. They'd tried to get him to resign, but no one had the power to force him to do anything- and he planned on serving out his last two years. Meanwhile, the meeting to make Mr. Draghi the president was later that day.

France took another bite of cannoli. "I think we may have to delay putting Monsieur Draghi on the board until he agrees to resign, mon cher. And when he does, maybe replacing him with a Frenchman would not be such a bad idea, non? Some members of the EU are a little disappointed about their lack of representation."

Italy let out a despondent "Veh~" noise. "We really are trying, Big Brother! But I don't think he plans on doing anything right now. He isn't talking to the press."

"Please keep trying. Dieu ne plaise, but if you were to become unstable . . ."

Yes, God forbid anything happening to him at a time like this. "I get it, Big Brother. Thanks for coming by."

France patted him on the head in a very . . . uhh, you know how France is . . . way. (And of course Italy noticed nothing.) "Well, adieu, mon cher. I enjoyed the cannoli!"

Germany (and Prussia, but he was ordered to stay in the car) stopped by Italy's house to carpool to the meeting. He was significantly less stressed-out than he had been lately.

"Germanyyyyyyy!" Italy cried when he remembered. "Remember all that with the ECB and signor Draghi and signor Bini Smaghi and-"

"Ja," Germany replied. "What about it?"

"Big Brother France came by to talk to me today and said he might have to postpone transitioning signor Draghi in! And he also spoke tons of weird French! What do we do?"

Germany couldn't believe France sometimes. Well, most of the time. Okay, 99.999394039% of the time (rounded to the nearest bajillionth). But he had a hard time not laughing at that. "Italy, calm down. It's very unlikely they'll delay bringing in Herr Draghi. Now let's get your Bruder and get to the meeting."

Italy beamed. "If you say so! I can't wait." He called out, "Romano! Romano, France has been gone for a couple hours, and it's time for the meeting! You can come out now! . . . Want me to pack a tomato for you for the car? Romano? ROMANO?"

I find French an annoying language, so I refuse to learn it (I plan to go into linguistics, so I'm learning a few right now). Much to the disappointment of my Francophile mom. Said mom is also really curious about this fic, and gets all "Nooo my little baby is in loooove" whenever I mention Austria. I try to explain these things, but she doesn't quite get it...

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