America frowned. He was frowning for two reasons, the first being that once again Germany had confiscated his snacks, and England had snitched on him when he tried to sneak his back-up snacks out. It just wasn't fair! How did they expect America to have good ideas when his stomach was growling? When China shot him a sharp glared when he tried to slide his backup backup snacks out, it felt like the whole world (litteraly) was against him. It was so unfair, especially when America could see the second reason for the frown sitting right across the table from him and doing much worse than he had been.
Canada was tipping his chair back on its back two legs, heels up in the table, snacking on a donut pulled from the box resting on his legs, and washing it down with syrup straight from the bottle. And no yelled at him for any of it! In fact they didn't even notice him! America knew his brother was usually overlooked, but this was going too far. He almost thought Canada was trying to see how far he could go without getting caught.
He glanced around the table with a deepening scowl as he looked for some sign that someone else noticed. He looked to France first, hopefully, but France was "accidently" jabbing England with his pencil under the table, and England was crushing his foor with his own. Great. So they were both useless then. He looked to Netherlands, but he looked slightly out of it, and if America were to guess, he'd say he was high as a kite. Useless!
He turned his head to look at Cuba, and hesitated on the albino man behind Germany, shoulders shaking with barely surpressed laughter and clearly seeing Canada's antics. Prussia, America realized. Germany's brother. America pouted. Disgusting. Why wasnt he shouting? Or at least reprimanding Canada? He really wasn't like Germany at all! Not that America woukd have minded if he was in Canada's shoes, but he wasn't, and if he was getting punished it only felt right that his brother should be too.
His attention was drawn back to Cuba as something small and white flicked by. Cuba made a circle with his arms and a moment later the white ball flicked back. A crumpled straw wrapper, probably from Canada's Ice cap. America watched with growing infuriation as Cuba looked up, met his eyes, smirked and sent the paper ball back across the table to Canada. Oh, America was going to get him back as soon as the meeting was over! He glared at his brother, who didn't notice.
The chair beside Canada shifted, and America's feelings soared. There was at least one country he could always count on to start shit if only for the sake of amusement, and America stared hopefully at Russia, the beginings of a you're-gonna-get-it smirk forming on his face. Canada got bored of his paper ball game and tilted his chair back once more, pulling France's (probably stolen) fedora over his eyes, clearly planning on sleeping. America swiveled his head back to Russia expectantly. Why wasnt he mentioning it?
Russia sipped at a Tim Hortons ice cap and America gritted his teeth. So that was why. That bastard Canada bought him off! America continued to glare daggers at Canada's lounging form, even after the rise and fall of his chest told America he was fast asleep. It was almost poetic justice when Canada turned a little in his sleep and the chair tweetered, then fell with a loud crash, drawing attention to Canada in a messy heep on the floor, surounded by donut crumbs and the empty box as evidence as his crimes.
That is, right up until the moment Germany angrily snapped a name at him.
"America!".
America hated his brother.