25th December – 9pm

Arthur arrived at the Nordic house alone. Scotland had tried to hitch a ride - attaching a hook and rope to the bumper of Arthur's mini cooper as he headed for Heathrow airport no less, proceeding to skate down the road like a water-skier - but the Brit had shaken him off. Arthur walked up the pathway now, sporting a bottle green jumper. The phrase 'Merry F*cking Christmas' was stitched neatly across his chest in pillar-box red yarn - at first he had wondered if his creation was too distasteful, but then he thought "Fuck it," and threw it on over his white button down shirt.

A steady flurry of snow had begun to fall by the time Arthur exited his car. Upon turning towards the Nord's household his face became a picture of astonishment. The wide pathway leading to the entrance of the house was lined with pale white trees, each with rows of golden fairy lights suspended from them, dipping from branch to branch. There were beautifully crafted wire reindeer, each one pointing to the direction of the entrance with their noses. To top it all off, a wide, sparkling red sleigh was parked just outside of the garage for all too see. It was three times longer than his mini cooper, with a sharp, steel runner that had been lovingly polished to a gleam. Eight wire reindeer were harnessed to the front of the sleigh in two rows of four, standing proud. Arthur strolled down the path towards it with childish glee. Upon reaching the sleigh he placed his hand atop it, feeling the smooth polished wood.

"Welcome, Arthur! I'm glad you could make it," Tino called from the entrance, just behind the Englishman. The Finn was dressed up in a pair of red slacks that were tucked into thick black boots. With his traditional white-trimmed red Santa coat open, Arthur saw that he had a matching red sweater with the words "Santa, baby" knitted in white. Last but not least, an oversized Santa hat sat at an angle on the nation's pale hair. Arthur greeted him with a gentlemanly handshake.

"Your jumper is very cool, in fact it reminds me of a metal song I have on my ipod…" Tino mentioned thoughtfully.

"Why thank you," Arthur returned. "You're in quite the getup yourself."

"Well, I have just got back from delivering everybody's gifts!" the Finn admitted. "I see you're admiring the sleigh," he continued.

"Ah, yes – she's a beauty…" Arthur replied fondly: he remembered saying the exact same thing about his own ship, back when he used to terrorise the seven seas and rule the world. He was more than a little envious of Tino. "I do have one query though: Where do you get the real reindeer from?" Arthur asked curiously.

The Finn leaned towards him. "You see those wire reindeer?" he whispered, "Lukas uses his magic to turn them into real sleigh-pullers!"

Arthur's emerald eyes widened. "That's astonishing…" he gasped.

"Yo, Arthur! Look who made it!" cried a familiarly loud and obnoxious voice from somewhere up the path. The Brit's back stiffened as he braced himself.

"Greetings Alfred!" welcomed Tino.

"Wassup, Tino? Your place is decked! And your outfit is awesome, dude!" the American replied.

"Thanks! Yours is… it's…" Tino was struggling with a compliment, and now Arthur turned from the sleigh to see why.

The jumper that Alfred F. Jones had made was a monstrosity. Multi-coloured fairy lights had been stitched messily into the chest of the jumper with deep blue yarn. A collection of wonky white stars sat sadly on his stomach, and a circle of red tinsel curled around the base of the jumper. Oh, and it had wings: they were a metre wide, knitted in blue and with a random assortment of Christmas tree decorations dangling from them.

"Nice jumper Artie; What'cha make it from, eyebrow hair?" Alfred guffawed. Arthur was still too stunned by the state of the boy's sweater to even acknowledge the insult. "Dude, seriously, what's wrong with you?" the American asked.

"What… how… Alfred, are those wings on your back?" the Brit faltered.

"Oh yeah, these babies? Made 'em myself," replied Alfred proudly, placing a hand on his hip and flipping his amber hair.

"I don't doubt that…" Arthur said meekly. The Englishman gave Tino a 'I swear I didn't raise him to be this way' look.

"Anyway guys, why don't we head inside already? I'm freezing my jingle bells off out here!" the American exclaimed as he headed for the glass porch.

Alfred was blown away by the interior of the Nordic house. Upon entering he stepped into a wide hallway, and at the end of it he could see that it opened up into a huge room with an enormous Christmas tree on display, at least ten metres high. He impatiently waited to be greeted by Berwald, Mathias, Lukas, Emil and Peter, all the time just wanting to run up the hall and inspect the tree. They took his coat and hung it on the many hooks that lined the entrance. Lukas's staff – an object he sometimes used to amplify his magic - leant ominously in the corner. The group of northern countries were taken aback when they caught sight of his sweet jumper, which made Alfred puff up like a proud papa bird.

"Woah!" Peter gaped at him. "Your jumper is so cool!"

"Thanks little man! Omg – is that a Frozen sweater?" Alfred asked eagerly as he poked the micro nation's jumper - a pale blue sweater with Olaf the snowman on it.

"Yeah!" Peter beamed. "Lukas and Berwald got it for me!"

"Sweet, dude!" the American replied just as enthusiastically. He surveyed the rest of the jumpers: Emil's was blue-black, with flowing green lines that represented the northern lights; Mr Puffin was perched on his shoulder in a matching mini-sweater. Lukas had Elsa from frozen on his, his deadpan eyes daring Alfred to question it. Berwald's had the letter 'L' with a red circle backslash over it, which Alfred didn't really get. Mathias's was red and had a weird goat thing on it.

"Dude, what is that? Alfred asked the Dane.

"It's a Julbock," Mathias grinned.

"Yeah, I don't know what that is." Alfred admitted. "Berwald, I don't really get your jumper either, man."

"No L." Was all that slipped from the Swede's mouth. Alfred examined the jumper for an embarrassingly long time before he got it.

"Oh I totally get it! NO-EL! Hahahaha," howled the American.

"I actually wore it to keep Ladonia away." Berwald confessed.

"Oh," Alfred replied, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

Arthur and Tino had finally came through the door.

"Mathias, would you kindly lead our guests into the main room? There are still people who need to be greeted," Tino asked the Dane.

"Sure thing, boss!" he saluted, escorting Arthur and Alfred down the vast hallway. "After Finny's little intimidation at the meeting, a lot of people actually turned up early so they wouldn't offend him," whispered Mathias.

"I'll have to keep that technique in mind," Arthur remarked.

The three men entered the main room. It was high and round, with scattered groups of nations chatting idly: Bulgaria was munching on some yoghurt with Romania; the micro nations were inevitably grouped together; Hungary, Ukraine and Liechtenstein were comparing outfits. A sound system sat to the left, ready for when the party started to pick up. The room's centre piece was a colossal fir tree, wrapped in beads, tinsel and white fairy lights. Each bauble had been hand-painted to have a flag on it (Arthur noticed his and Alfred's were hung close to the top), and a coating of fake snow crowned the very top of it. A large gold star sat fat and proud on the tip.

"This…is… AWESOME!" Alfred squealed, and before Arthur could pull him back he was jumping around the tree, examining every decoration with childish awe and climbing under it to check if there were any presents there. Arthur face-palmed.

"Mathias, could you tell me where the drinks are?" Arthur blanched. This was going to be a long night.

"Remember buddy, there's no alcohol here" – the Englishman wilted – "but we do have a lot of fruit punch," informed Mathias. "It's in that room there," the Dane pointed at a door back in the hallway.

"Thanks," Arthur replied, exiting the room with haste as to not be seen with that idiot Alfred.

The Brit moved to exit the room, only to be confronted by his least favourite Frenchman. With revulsion Arthur noticed the jumper that Frances was adorned in: It was the richest shade of navy blue, decorated with sweet, little white snowflake patterns… and with an intricate knitting of three – not two, but three - reindeer copulating in the centre. Before Arthur could chastise him for being so vulgar, he was noticed by the other nation.

"Ah, look what the cat dragged in," Francis chimed. His azure eyes became critical as he read the phrase on Arthur's jumper. "As usual, mon cher you lack any speck of finesse. It pains me, it truly does." He continued grimly. Then, to Arthur's horror, the Frenchman began advancing towards him. "Let us take this ungodly fashion atrocity off, shall we?"

"We shall not!" Arthur managed to cry just as Francis had reached him, now curling his fingers around the edge of the Englishman's sweater.

"Ohonhon, Angleterre you are so easy to tease! Your cheeks turn such a fierce shade of rouge so quickly," exclaimed Francis as he ceased trying to remove the Englishman's clothes, instead opting to put an arm around the other nation's shoulders.

"I hope that's a carrot in your pocket, you dirty prick." Arthur retorted, viciously trying to wriggle free of the Frenchman's grasp. Frances simply tightened his grip.

"Now, now, we must be friendly at these big social events. We wouldn't want to cause any upset now, would we-" Francis' soliloquy was cut short as Arthur suddenly shot free from his clasp. The potent smell of strong cheese and fruity wine had just been too much for the Englishman to handle. Arthur brushed his clothes down with his hands and stood defiantly across from Francis.

"That jumper is hardly appropriate." England finally commented through gritted teeth.

"You think? Well then, I can always change it!" At this, Pierre – from seemingly out of nowhere - ripped open the Frenchman's crude sweater with a single white swoop, revealing another jumper underneath.

England's thick eyebrows raised. "Oh dear God,"

Francis' new sweater had the pattern of an innocent-enough snowman on it, however there was one unmistakable aspect in the snowman's vital region. So it was a carrot after all.

"French Republic, you disgust me." growled the Brit.

"As do you, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. By the way, where are your brothers, Angleterre? Will they not be joining us on this wonderful evening? I would very much like to watch them each individually smash there demands of indépendence into your silly little face." taunted Francis.

Arthur merely pointed his index finger at the word 'Fuck' that was on his jumper, and then jabbed it back at him.

"In your dreams, ma chérie" the Frenchman chuckled.

Now that Francis had successfully scared away that grouch Arthur, he turned to find Antonio and Gilbert trying to sneak up on him, probably to yank his trousers down.

"Ah, mes amis – you made it!" he cheered, pacing towards them and casting an arm around each of them.

"We wouldn't miss it for the world, amigo!" assured Antonio.

"Wir are the world, man!" the Prussian chortled.

"You were," corrected Francis.

"Ugh, don't remind me!" Gilbert chastised playfully.

Francis now stepped back to inspect his friends' jumpers. Antonio had a headband with a spring of mistletoe sprouting from it, and a black jumper that said "Kiss Me" in red and white candy cane stripes. Francis nodded to him in approval. Gilbert however, was a mess. His jumper was white with a stocking somehow stitched onto the centre, surrounded by dangling beer cans. One of the cans had a candy cane sitting in it; another had Gilbird peeking out of it.

Francis cringed. "Mon ami, I have no words."

"Kesese… what can I say? I was drunk," Gilbert confessed with a shrug.

"Well, I should have expected worse," said Francis. "You are forgiven."

Gilbert grinned and pulled the three of them back into their hug. "Anyway, we have more pressing matters," he whispered into their ears. "The booze."

"Hmm, that is a problem," Antonio said thoughtfully, stroking his chin.

"Now, now gentlemen, we are guests in this house. If we were to go against Finny's rules I fear we may meet a terrible fate," Francis shushed, then glanced at Gilbert. "Also, I don't think you could survive another hit." The Frenchman said, his voice tinged with concern.

"Ah, don't worry about me, Fran! I am the awesome Prussia, remember?" he assured arrogantly. Antonio and Francis didn't look convinced. "Anyhow, I gotta go take a piss," the Prussian stated, unwrapping his arms from the Frenchman and the Spaniard.

"Would you like me to help you with that?" Francis leered playfully. Gilbert was one of the few people who took Francis' perversion as a joke/compliment.

"You wish!" Gilbert winked and then bounded from the room. He could hear Antonio and Francis cheering "Ayyyyyyyye," at his response. When he entered the hallway however, he did not head towards the bathrooms. Instead, he weaved his way towards the catering room. Finland's justification for having all of the food and drinks in the same room was to minimalize the risk of people making a mess throughout his home. "Smart guy," Gilbert thought to himself. Upon arriving in the room, he made an effort to appear casual as he walked towards the back table – a back table lined with ten different varieties of fruit punch. The sight made Gilbert feel faint. He scanned the table and decided to head towards the first bowl at the far end. Arriving at it, he picked up the ladle and pretended to pour himself a drink, whilst reaching his other hand around to the back of his jeans. From the waistband he removed a small, round bottle of absinthe. He discreetly turned the lid, flicking his eyes about the surrounding area to make sure nobody had seen him. The lid was off, and he now tilted his hand so that the bottle was hovering above the punch bowl. He smiled wickedly. "Kesesesese…"

"What are you doing?" an airy voice whispered from beside the punch bowl. Gilbert screamed.

"Jesus Christ! You scared the Scheiße outta me!" the former nation barked, scanning the table to find who the voice had come from.

"S-sorry…" Canada apologised sheepishly as he slowly faded into view. He was perched on the edge of the table, his legs oscillating gently as he sat between two punch bowls. Kumajiro was sat upon his lap, pawing at the Canadian's knees. He was clad in an off-white sweater with the words 'Toronto Maple Leafs' knitted in red.

"Please don't tell West," appealed the former nation, hand still suspended in the air.

Mathew looked away from him for a moment to rustle in the pocket of his own jeans. He held out his hand. "Don't tell Francis," The Canadian ordered, handing the Prussian a bottle similar to his own. Gilbert read the label and gasped.

"Maple-flavoured Everclear? Man, this is some insane… wait, were you going to drink this?" Gilbert asked in astonishment.

Mathew shrugged. "Maybe."

Gilbert reflected this for a moment. "Whoa, hold up. There was one time at this party – I think it was 1969 – and somebody spiked the punch with something böse, and I got the blame for it, but it wasn't me… was that you?"

"…maybe."

Gilbert raised his palm in the air. "Up-high," he offered. Mathew returned the high five modestly, a gentle but knowing smile on his sweet face. With a nod, Gilbert poured in the Everclear. Mathew took the Absinthe bottle from the Prussian and tilted that into the punch bowl on the other side of where he sat.

"Major respect, man," Gilbert complimented. "You, me and West have gotta go drinking together sometime. I reckon this old man can still hold his own against a young one like you." he winked.

"Why, aren't you up to it now?" Mathew inclined innocently. He took a wine glass from beside the punch bowl and dipped it into the Everclear-tainted bowl. He took a sniff, and swigged. Mathew's entire body shuddered slightly as the alcohol burned into his system, then turned back to Gilbert, a little starry-eyed.

"I know a challenge when I see one, boy! Just wait until you witness the awesome might of Prussia! West~" Gilbert coaxed to his brother, who was standing with Feliciano and Lovino at the other end of the room.

10pm

"Ah Latvia, I see you wore that sweet outfit I asked you to wear," Ivan complimented on the little nation's 1937 parade outfit, complete with a tall hat and turned up elf shoes.

"N-no problem, Mr Russia," Raivis replied meekly, gently sipping his fruit punch.

"And Estonia, what are those on your jumper?" enquired the Russian.

Eduard's sweater was made entirely out of mochi. Thanks to Ivan kidnapping him, the Estonian hadn't had time to knit his own jumper. America Mochi had suggested that he and the other mochi could morph to create one for him. He said, "O-oh these? These are just some mochi I had at home. They work great as thermals-"

"Oh, look! It's China! Dobro pozhalovat', Yao!" Ivan called to the Chinese man across the room. Yao looked up from his conversation with Hong Kong (who was wearing a jumper that said 'Made in China' on it) and caught sight of the Russian. He excused himself from Leon and walked wearily towards Ivan.

"Why are you wearing a red snuggie my friend?" inquired Ivan.

"I am too old for this nonsense," Yao answered evasively, crossing his arms.

"You did not answer my question," Ivan impelled in a sing-song voice.

Yao glared. "…it is comfortable." he admitted. "That is not important! Why you dress like that?" he demanded, pointing to Ivan's knitted onesie. Ivan looked like he had the body of a nutcracker, as the neck of the soldier lined up with the nation's own. He was also sporting a bushy black moustache and a tall, black kepi hat. "Did you make that all by yourself?" Yao questioned in disbelief.

"It is the Nutcracker, da? Estonia helped me make it!" Ivan radiated.

Yao sighed and rubbed his forehead. "This would be so much easier if I could just drink some Baijiu, but no, not appropriate! Damn white people."

"Why don't you try some punch?" Ivan offered cheerfully. "I will go fetch you some, da?"

Before Yao could decline, the Russian had already dashed from the room.

Ivan wondered over to the catering room and headed straight for the back table, only to get distracted by a group of drunken people at the other end of it – Ludwig, Feliciano, Romano, Mathew and Gilbert. Ludwig sat on the floor with Feliciano on his lap, both sipping fruit punch and giggling to each other. The Italian was wearing a skilfully knitted jumper with Neko-Italy in a Santa hat on it, while the German's had the pun 'Reinbeer' underneath an image of a reindeer holding a pint in its hoof. Lovino stood close by - his jumper exhibited an image of Grumpy Cat, also in a Santa hat, with the slogan 'Dashing through the no' outlined on it. Mathew sat directly opposite Gilbert, separated by a row of shot glasses, most of them empty. Curious to see where they got their alcohol from, the Russian marched towards them.

"…And then that idiota peed on the oven to put the fire out!" Romano roared with laughter, slapping his hand onto Ludwig's back forcefully.

"Oh Feli, you didn't," Ludwig said sympathetically.

"Ah~ Romano, don't *hic*, tell everybod- *hic*" Feliciano whined.

"Hello comrades," Ivan greeted. "May I get to that punch bowl?"

"Oh look, it's Russia," Gilbert stated, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his arm around Mathew's shoulder. Then he passed out.

"Looks like *hic* I win, old man," Mathew noted with a happy grin on his face. Kumajiro was nowhere to be found. He got up unsteadily from his place on the floor, prompting the rest of the intoxicated group to also shuffle aside for the Russian. Ivan got to the bowl and knelt down to sniff it.

"As I thought," Ivan remarked. The contents of the bowl was almost empty, however the Russian's nose could not be fooled.

"Oooooh nooooo, looks like we've run outta booze…" Lovino cried melodramatically.

"Ne ayez crainte, le Canada est- ahem, sorry" Mathew composed himself. "Never fear, Canada is here!" he laughed heartily, raising another eight bottles of Everclear in his hands. This earned a respective "Woo!" from his little gang of alcoholics.

Ivan swiped the bottles from the Canadian, which got him a disheartened "aw," from the group. However, he then proceeded to skip from punch bowl to punch bowl, swiftly dispensing equal amounts of the alcohol in each. They cheered again. Now at the other end of the table, Ivan poured himself a glass of punch and dashed a bit of vodka in it from his own flask. He then filled up glasses for Yao, Raivis and Eduard. As he walked from the catering room he bumped into Alfred.

"Russia dude, what're you doing with all those drinks? Save some for the rest of us!" he said, then snatched two of the glasses from Ivan's arms and glugged them down. "Woo-hoo!" he reeled. "This isn't punch! Whatcha' put in there, man?"

Ivan smiled darkly down at the younger nation. "You don't want to know."

11pm

"Gilbert has been gone a long time, don't you think?" Antonio mentioned to Francis. The Frenchman was attending to Monaco (Who wore a pink sweater with hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs knitted in white yarn) and Seychelles (She wore a long flowing skirt, with a baby blue jumper that had a dolphin in a Santa hat on it). He was speaking to the two girls quickly and quietly in French, and Antonio could only catch snatches of their conversation.

"I am also concerned about Mathieu – the girls say they have not seen him, and neither have I. I hope he came at all… the boy doesn't socialise enough as it is," Francis replied, his brow knitted with maternal worry.

"I haven't seen Lovino at all either, or Feliciano for that matter," Antonio pouted.

"Something is not right here…" the Frenchman whirled around thoughtfully, monitoring the atmosphere of the nations around him. Roderich – whose jumper had the sheet music for 'Silent Night' knitted into it - was sipping his punch with a relaxed smile on his face. Belgium and Netherlands (who were wearing matching "Merry Christmas, brother" and "Merry Christmas, Sister" jumpers) were giggling in the corner. Cuba was stumbling down the hallway in his floral jumper.

"Say, Antonio – have you tried the punch yet?" Francis enquired seriously.

"No, I didn't really want any. Why you ask amigo?"

"…these personnes are drunk," he stated flatly.

"How can you be sure? Fin was very clear that no alcohol-"

"Somebody broke the rules," Francis interrupted.

"When he realises who did it… well, I feel sorry for whoever's on Tino's shit-list," Antonio responded, shrinking a little in fear.

Francis stepped away from the conversation. "Wait one moment, I must go speak with Natalya" He ushered his way through the surrounding nations politely and caught Belarus walking towards Hungary and her gang. He tapped her arm gently.

Natalya hissed. "Get away from me, cheese-breath! Ivan is the only man for-"

"This is not a pick-up attempt; I am not suicidal after all," the Frenchman assured her. She was wearing a black jumper similar to Antonio's with the words 'Kiss Me' on it, which took Francis by surprise. Natalya glared at him viciously and then glanced down at his crotch and squinted. Francis suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. "Eh- speaking of Ivan, you haven't seen him around here have you?" he queried in a small voice.

"He is in the catering room. I warn you – if you screw with brother, I will tear your penis off," she snarled, her accent thickening. She turned immediately to walk away, and to the Frenchman's horror she had a remarkably detailed image of Ivan's face knitted onto the back of her sweater.

"Mon Dieu…" Francis whispered fearfully.

There was a sudden scream from another area of the house, followed by frantic yelling and then the smashing of glass. Everyone in the room – including Francis and Natalya – swivelled in alarm towards the direction of whoever was breaching the peace.

Meanwhile

"Your jumper is terrible," Sadik noted to Gupta as he sipped a glass of punch. The Egyptian's sweater had the pun 'Sandy Claus' knitted neatly into it.

Gupta glared at him from the corner of his eye. "Yours isn't that much better," he replied calmly. The Turk had simply stitched 'Noel Baba' onto his.

"At least it doesn't look like a pee-stain like his," Sadik nodded to Cyprus.

"Hey! This is an image of Jesus, what's so wrong with it?" the Cypriot exclaimed indignantly.

"You made him in a block of yellow yarn! Now he looks like a pee stain," Sadik explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Why do I always get this skatá?" Cyprus grumbled.

Meanwhile

"Ah Peter, you finally made it!" Seborga greeted in the main room.

"Yeah, Swe finally let me off coat-duty," the boy explained. He then read the Italian man's jumper – 'When I see you I touch my elf', it said. "I didn't know you had an elf, Seb?" Peter inquired naively.

"O-oh, I, err, yes, of course…"answered Seborga vaguely. "A-anyway, why don't you say hi to everybody else, si?" he pointed to the assembly of micro nations in the centre of the room.

Peter zealously ran towards them, waving goodbye to Seborgia for now (the Italian was on a mission to chat up some pretty ladies). The boy spotted Wy immediately thanks to her bright red jumper, and as he approached her he saw that it had Santa riding a sleigh skilfully woven into it. Only, it wasn't reindeer that pulled him, but white kangaroos. Ladonia was jabbering into her ear about something ("probably talking about Pokémon", Peter reckoned), and his sweater had '90's Kid' stitched onto in bold red and green. KugelMugel stood quietly beside them, doodling something onto his hand with a biro. The jumper he wore was violet, and unsurprisingly it said 'Christmas is ART'. Being the older members of the group, Hutt River – who wore an extravagant purple cape that was decorated in tinsel -and Molossia – his white blazer hung across his shoulders, obscuring the view of his sweater – were passing the time with idle chatter.

"You all made it!" Peter cried with joy, his mouth pulled into a wide grin.

"What took you so long?" Wy huffed, hands on hips.

"Sorry!" he faltered. "Hey Lado, hey Kugel. Hey Hutt, hey Molly."

"Don't call me that you little shit!" Molossia raged at him.

"What's on your jumper?" Peter asked before swiping the blazer from his shoulders. The jumper revealed to be a lovely shade of grass green, with little flower patterns knitted across it in rows.

Molossia's face burst into a fiery shade of red. "You little bastard!"

"You made that, Molly? But it's so cute!" Peter teased.

Hutt River intercepted the argument before Molossia could shoot anyone in the face. "I think we will be going now," he chuckled nervously, tugging Molossia's green sleeve. "Let's go, yes?"

Molossia jabbed his finger at Peter, then drew it slowly across his own neck.

"See ya later, Molly!" Peter waved, ignoring the obvious threat. He then turned back to the others. "I bumped into Netherlands on the way over here. He gave me this bag," Peter presented a small packet from his trouser pocket.

Ladonia peered at it. "What's that brown stuff?" Peter shrugged.

KugelMugel stepped forward and tugged the little bag from Peter's hand, sniffing it.

"What is it, Kugel?" Ladonia asked.

"… Austria sometimes cooks Frischkäse brownies with brown stuff," he theorized quietly, fingering the bag.

Peter's eyes sparkled. "That's a great idea, Kugel! We'll go make cake!"

Wy raised an eyebrow with scepticism. "Why would Ned give you ingredients for chocolate cake?"

"Maybe he got it from Belgium and didn't know what to do with it?" Ladonia suggested.

Wy grunted, unconvinced. "Whatever."

"Alright then – to the kitchen!" Peter was about to lead his friends out of the room when a piercing cry filled the entirety of the house.

Meanwhile

"Lili, what on Earth are you wearing?" Hungary squawked with her arms in the air. The microstate was in a short, sleeveless, black wool dress that had a white fluffy trim. Random white pompoms dotted its surface, and she wore a silver tinsel boa around her neck. On her feet were knee-high black leather boots.

Lili looked up at her with round, innocent eyes. "What's wrong with it? I thought it was classy…"

"No, Lili - That's kinky!" Elizabeta informed. "I can't believe Vash let you come here in that."

The little girl blushed. "I didn't come here like this, I… got changed in the bathroom just now," she admitted shamefully.

"Hoho, you're turning into a rebellious teenager!" Katyusha laughed heartily. On the Ukrainian's sweater were two snowmen, their faces on her breasts. They had real carrots as their noses, which protruded from Katyusha's bosom.

Lili tried to appeal to them. "But you have candy canes on your breasticles! And Miss Katyusha looks like she has carrots as her nip-"

"That's enough, Lili," Vash interrupted from behind her. Lili suddenly went rigid with fear at the sound of her brother's voice.

"B-big Brother, I-I…"

"There's no need to keep secrets from me, Lili. You're your own person and I have to respect that, even though I don't agree with what you're wearing…" – he acknowledged, looking her up and down awkwardly – "… at least it's an improvement from copying me all of the time."

Elizabeta crossed her arms. "That's all well and good Vash, but why are you wearing that pink frilly jumper?" she smirked.

Vash scowled. "That's none of your-"

"I made for big brother to wear today!" interjected Lili. Vash face-palmed.

"Hey, where did sister go?" Katyusha wondered.

"I think she went to find your brother," replied Elizabeta as she scanned the room. Her eyes suddenly locked with Moldova's, who looked small and out of place in the grand space. "Be right back!" the Hungarian announced before advancing towards the small boy.

"Are you lost, little one?" Elizabeta asked, kneeling down to be at eye-level with him.

"I can't find my brother!" Moldova replied sadly. He was in a baggy, patch-work jumper that had the words "Merry Crãciun!" stitched sloppily on the front.

Elizabeta looked down sympathetically at the boy. "I'll help you find him, but on one condition – you swap jumpers with me, ok?" she proposed.

"But… why would you want this?" Moldova asked confusedly, pinching the jumper. "Yours looks so expensive and pretty!"

It was true – Roderich had supplied Elizabeta with the finest wools, as a gift to her. "No reason," she smiled.

"Whatever you say, lady," shrugged the boy as he pulled the raggedy sweater over his head. Elizabeta followed suit. Once they had successfully transferred jumpers, the Hungarian stood up and took Moldova's hand.

"Wow, this is the softest thing I've ever worn!" Moldova exclaimed with glee, stroking his sleeves affectionately. Elizabeta supressed the need to itch her entire upper body as the old scratchy material began to irritate her skin. Once again she examined the room, before finally finding Romania and Bulgaria in the far corner. However, an unexpected screech suddenly tore through the air from outside, followed by a group of people hollering and then the sound of shattering of glass. Everyone began filing out of the room to investigate the commotion, and Elizabeta looked down at Moldova with a concerned expression on her face.

"What're we waiting for?" the boy grinned back up at her, exposing his sharp canines. "Let's go see!"

A little before 11pm

Alfred felt good. He was here, with his friends, in this awesome sweater and he felt higher than a kite. He wondered if it had anything to do with whatever he had just drunk out of the two glasses that Ivan had been carrying. He decided to explore the Nordic's lodgings, coming across a room that housed many of the South East Asian countries. Before entering, he doubled back to the catering room and filled up seven glasses of punch onto a tray: he was going to do an experiment.

"…thank you for the gift." Alfred overheard Vietnam say as he eavesdropped from just outside of the room. He braced himself before entering, weary of the feelings she held against him. Surely she couldn't hate him in this incredible jumper?

He nonchalantly wondered into the room."Wassup peeps? Got a little bored in those other rooms, thought I'd take a look around, ya' know?" he explained by way of a greeting.

Alfred saw that Vietnam was wearing a pale yellow sweater that had a smiley face on it. Thailand was also there, displaying his elephant and snowflake patterned jumper. Korea's face lit up when he noticed America – unsurprisingly his jumper had the slogan 'I invented Christmas' on it. Taiwan had a pink Hello Kitty Christmas sweater, and Japan's had a beautifully crafted mix of pink cherry blossoms and snowflakes. Macau's was black and white with a knitted suit and tie. Greece was also there beside Japan, wearing his own 'Meowly Christmas' jumper.

"Greetings America-san. I see you have found our little corner," Kiku welcomed politely.

"Haha, yeah. And I got yo' guys some drinks!" Alfred passed around the glasses to each of them and waited eagerly for the effects to kick in. However, they weren't drinking fast enough for Alfred.

"Kiku, it offends me how slow you are drinking that punch. Is it not good enough for you?" the American demanded intimidatingly.

Poor Kiku nearly choked on his sip. "N-No, I did not mean to offend! Please, I am sorry America-san" Kiku stammered hysterically, beginning to force large gulps down his throat.

"Mansea! You go Japan!" Yong Soo encouraged, downing his own glass. The remaining company in the room shrugged and followed suit. Now Alfred waited.

Meanwhile

Eduard had fled his spot in the main party room as soon as Ivan had left to get drinks. He left Yao and dragged Raivis with him over to where Toris and Feliks chatted idly. Toris's deep-green jumper was very sweet, with rows of wheat and snowflake patterns in red and yellow. Feliks was in a hot pink sweater with a reindeer in a bow on it, and of course a skirt.

"Woah girl, what is up with your jumper?" Feliks grimaced when Eduard arrived. The Estonian hadn't noticed that his white jumper was rippling and bubbling about his torso.

"Oh no…" Eduard whimpered fearfully, stepping away from his friends.

The mochi had awoken.