America was a very attractive nation, truly one that appealed to any and everyone, provided they either knew horrible people or no one else at all, or were particularly down on their luck.

When one spends so much time down on their luck they forget that they're down on their luck; anyway, most everyone knew people, and good people at that. Amazing, the prevalence of them— but either way good people were not in the shitty, run-down hallway in the middle of Washington D.C., the one with the flickering lights and the constant noise from the traffic outside. It was quite possible that 'good' was an outdated concept used in fairytales and to help people sleep at night (the two being unrelated), a concept that at any rate existed to make life simple but challenged an unlucky few. It was also quite possible that 'good' simply could not exist in this goddamn hallway.

This hallway was... bad; for some reason, the building designated for World Meetings in America was absolutely horrible, but it had been assigned by the Holy Leader and America couldn't do anything to change that. To be fair to America's boss, this building had once been quite nice, with solid layers of paint and a functioning AC system, and little noise pollution— America had once slept in the room down the right because he'd had nowhere else to go. To be absolutely fair to America's boss, this hallway was still very garbage. It was well beyond its peak, humiliating really, but America reminded himself that his boss had probably just forgotten to get to the three urgent requests America had put in to attain a different building. After three America had figured his boss just had other things to get to, like running the country, and would get around to it soon.

America liked the concepts of 'good' and 'bad'. It helped him sleep at night. That was why America preferred to believe that 'good' was simply not present in this hallway— one might even say it was not deserved in this setting, that it could not thrive under such poor conditions. Needless to say, America was not at all surprised that he was getting bullied on his own soil.

"Hey, America. Have you put in a notice to get the World Meeting hall fixed up? It's really not a good look for a superpower," England advised him.

America reminded himself that this was not bullying, merely a question.

"No, I haven't. Not yet."

The next person, Romano, announced what England was trying to say: "This hallway again? Just like the rest of your country— it's shit."

America didn't point out what he immediately thought about Romano as a person, nor did he respond to the comment. It was the duty of the strong to sit silently while the weak made themselves feel better. America was, essentially, the world's California. Everyone else was some variation of Texas or New York, or worse still anywhere in the southeastern United States.

"He hasn't even put in the paperwork yet, so don't get your hopes up," England told Romano. They talked like America wasn't even there, which was about accurate, given what America was actually thinking about.

More people filed in, but most of them were polite enough to not comment on the deteriorating state of the World Meeting place, despite the fact that it was absolutely filthy.

America went first because he was hegemonic and influential to more people in the World Meeting place than, say, Russia or China. So that was cool and everything, but unfortunately everyone was still full of energy.

So there was a shooting because of course there was, which got a few responses along the lines of "America, you are personally responsible for all those dead children." Which was really neat, and then America had to talk about his healthcare, which prompted an, "America, you are personally responsible for every single time one of your people decides to go to work instead of to the doctor when they're ill." That was also very cool.

Finally, America was at his final piece of news; just this and he could fuck off. "We... uh... Kids can get screened for deafness now. Until the age of three, and then access can get fucked again. So now it'll be easier to detect hearing loss. That's great, right?"

"Who did that?" Japan asked.

"What do you mean, who did that?"

"Was it an executive action? It wasn't on the news."

"Oh. No. Congress did that."

"Woah, Congress actually did something?" England butted in.

So that hurt a bit. "Yeah, they did."

"What about your boss? What is he up to?"

America shrugged. "I don't know," he said, because he genuinely didn't. The meeting continued.

The second nation was Spain, who said, "I had to put down Catalonia the other day," but nobody cared because Spain wasn't hegemonic and therefore could not be used to make anyone else feel better. Anyway, this wasn't an EU meeting— even if it had been, the Europeans would still look the other way until asked not to, and they were quite preoccupied with music and loud voices; indeed, the other Europeans were going to turn a blind eye if it meant they had to gouge it out. No; if anything, the Catalonian independence movement would just make everyone else feel bad, and nobody wanted to discuss things that made them feel bad.

America didn't comment because this wasn't an EU meeting— nations outside the EU did not weigh in, and nations in the EU didn't weigh in either. This wasn't an EU meeting and, after a period of silence in which every nation pretended Spain hadn't said anything, they continued.

The meeting continued in a very similar fashion, with the news of the day becoming gradually more and more fucked up and nobody saying anything either because they were afraid or because the nation reporting simply was not significant.

Finally, at the end of it,

"America, have you gotten that paperwork signed yet?" England queried.

"What paperwork?"

"The paperwork saying that these meetings are still covered as a business trip and you don't have to pay out of pocket for them."

"Oh. Yeah, no. I haven't."

"Why not?"

"I would personally rather shell out 30,000 dollars a year just to show up here than talk to my boss."

This was also a lie, although theoretically it was true. In reality, the paperwork was sitting on his boss's desk, unsigned.

A/N: Sorry for Spanish politics; I could probably brush up on them— this is just from memory and a bit of reading. Sorry to any Spaniards, in particular the nationalistic ones. I think you can probably deal if Americans can deal, though, so please don't prove me wrong.

This takes place in October of 2017, but the President in this doesn't refer to that particular President, or any real person. On a somewhat related note I haven't been doing anything because my computer is shit and it took me months to getting around to fixing it, because I would rather completely fuck off than talk to my parents. Anyway nothing like national neglect and foreign politics as a nice 'This is the shortest thing I've written in a long time and the only one I can format on mobile' as a good reminder that I exist, both to you and to me, right?