"Good morning, guys!"

The various nations assembled (Austria, Japan, Canada, Turkey, Switzerland, United States, UK, France, China, and Russia) looked towards the speaker, not interested on what he was talking about in the slightest.

"Are we talking about climate change again?" Switzerland asked, annoyed. "I'm sick and tired about hearing how we need to be cleaner and more environmentally friendly."

"I agree," France said melodramatically. "There are so many more pressing issues in the world. World peace--" a chorus of groans drowned out his next words. He sighed. "I was about to say, world peace has been covered so much that we're all tense from having so much peace IN the world. I suggest instead we talk about horrible things that are happening every day." He paused dramatically. "Like British cooking."

Austria pounded the table in agreement. "I concur completely," he said, standing gracefully. "I nearly choked to death on a scone once."

"Hear, hear!" various other nations called.

England's eyes got wider and wider with each declaration. "I…I…what?" he muttered, ashamed and angry. "You could've bloody said…" With that, he got to his feet, and stormed to the door.

"QUICK!" shouted China. "We can prevent him from cooking like that again if we pass a unanimous resolution-aru!"

"Um, isn't that a bit unfair to England?" Canada said quietly, but he wasn't heard, as usual. He sighed. It was hard sometimes, being an invisible nation.

England grabbed his trench coat, bowler, and gloves from the waiting doorman, and stormed out of the UN building in a foul mood. Not caring where he was going, he walked as quickly as he could down the street and away from his scene of disgrace. "Not like my cooking?" he muttered. "Not like it? How can't they? I mean, haggis can be a bit of an acquired taste, but still…My scones are NOT that bad. Bloody bastards…"

Rain started to pour from the sky; England sighed, and opened his umbrella. "How does it feel," he hummed, "when you're alone and cold inside?"

It was really beginning to pour; England looked for a place to duck in. Half a block away, he saw a small Italian restaurant. Perfect, the country thought. No one will find me here.

"Good afternoon, sir! What would you like to eat today?" Italy said lightly, smiling.

"A gin and tonic. And…whatever tastes the best…"the strange muttered, shielding his face with his trench coat collar.

"Ah, then you want some delicious pasta, ne?"

"Whatever."

Italy looked at the gentleman, confused. "What does sir WANT to eat?"

"Bloody hell, I just want something that's not British!" the man yelled. Italy's eyes widened, and he patted the stranger on the back understandingly. Another victim of English food; they always came here for the best Italian to recover.

"Ah, are you a victim of British food? Then I'll make the pasta extra-good! And your gin and tonic will be out in a second, sir." Italy skipped into the back kitchen, giggling. It had all worked according to plan.

AND I'M ENDING HERE! STAY TUNED TILL The 14TH CHAPTER FOR MORE!