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Warning: Profanity is used

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"We're going live in five…four…three...two…"

The camera pans over the room and stops at Germany leaning against the cream colored wall next to the still broken window, frowning down at, what one may assume, Russia beaming an "innocent" smile at him. Germany snarls at the banned country in annoyance before turning on his heel to face the camera. "Hello again everyone, and welcome to the second Group of Eight meeting. Hopefully, unlike yesterday, we will actually get some work done."

The words are harsher than he intended, but with a group of idiots like this, being a "softie" wasn't going to cut it. Germany catches Italy rustling with a fork, trying to hide it under the table but unsuccessful because of Japan's staring, and walks up to the man.

"Italy…"

The younger nation flinches at Germany's voice, not moving to face him. "Ve, I was just, um, I found a pl-plate of pasta and I couldn't let it go to waste," Italy replies hastily. He wasn't going to question Italy about it at first, but such nervousness and pasta?

Germany claps his hands on Italy's shoulder to keep him still. "Italy, is the pasta perhaps…Russian?" He asks calmly which earns him a small "eep" from Italy. "Ugh, I thought I told you-"

"VODKAAAAAAAAAA!"

The voice is followed by a very loud thud and a crack, debris sputtering out from the deformed table with a man-sized hole in the middle of it. Germany had grabbed Italy to pull him away right as Russia slammed into the table, more fortunate to have been a few feet away from the table compared to the other, disgruntled countries.

"What the flying fuck, Russia?" America shouts. "Dude that was awesome! Hahaha!" He easily evades England's swat at his face and growl for him to "shut his trap" because "crashing through the bloody ceiling is not awesome in the slightest." What did England know anyway?

"Seriously though, how. did. you. do. that? I could have sworn Germany was glaring at you just a few minutes ago."

Beside him, France groans in pain. "Mon ami, I know how much you love to top me but, S'il vous plait, get off of me." England looks down in annoyance until he finds that France was sprawled on his stomach, glaring up at him, and trying to buck up to knock the Brit off of his back. The enflamed red on England's cheeks and quick scuffle is enough to make America burst into a fit of heroic laughter.

Crawling up from his position behind a toppled chair, Japan peers over the lifted edge of the conference table just enough to see inside. "Mr. Russia, are you alright?" he asks.

In reply, Japan is given a short chuckle and a smile. "I assure you that I am fine, da."

Germany leans over the edge beside Japan, with Italy following, and holds out a hand to help Russia up –which, of course, is rejected. Once the Russian is standing and brushing off his coat and scarf, Germany straightens himself out. What kind of Dummkopf…? "Russia…Was that really necessary?"

Placing a finger on his chin, he looks at the gaping hole he created in the ceiling, "Da. I believe so. You guys wouldn't have let me in otherwise."

America's voice booms through the room. "That was so epic!" Scrambling up from the floor littered with open files, documents, and spilled coffee mugs, America hops over the broken ledge and slides to stand beside Russia. "For how much I don't like your Commie ass, I do have to give you some props."

Russia holds out his palm to stop America's approaching fist bump. "Nyet, I do not want to touch your hand," he says with a bigger smile. He ignores the pout America gives him and turns back to Germany. "Well, now that I am here, how about the topic for today?"

"You just destroyed the table!"

"So? We are talking, yes? A table is not essential for conversation." Which Germany couldn't argue with but still…the principle of having a table at a meeting. He inhales deeply, a technique frequently used when dealing with Italy, and slowly, almost reluctantly, opens his eyes to take in the damage.

Italy is at the table staring depressingly at his spilled pasta, occasionally glancing at the Japanese nation desperately trying to clean the mess with a blank sheet of paper and water from his mug, using a few other sheets at towels. Beside him is Canada – wait where did he come from? – also trying to pick up stray papers in the area. Across the room England and France are bickering over France's comment about England liking to top him, with America laughing hysterically at their argument. And Russia…Russia was too happy with the disorder he caused.

Another exasperated sigh and Germany wonders how, and why, he deals with these buffoons.

"Alright, everyone," he tries to say over the noise. England yells louder to be heard over America's crackles. "Hey! Everyone!" No attention is put on him. Growing more irritated by the second, he growls and slams his hands on the broken table, sending the opposite upwards and breaking off. "HEY! EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

It takes a minute for the room to bubble into a whisper and then silence. "Finally," he sighs in relief, "I think we should call this meeting to a close, especially with a shattered window and useless table," almost on command the left half of the table falls to the ground with a thud. "We will resume in a couple days, and I swear to Gott if we do not begin our discussion by the next meeting I will personally see to it that your tongue is ripped out of your throat. Got it?"

The other nations groan in response as they get up to brush off their suits and grab whatever belonged to them that wasn't completely crumpled or lost in a heap. Germany waits for England, France, America, and Canada to clear out before grabbing Russia's arm to make sure he stayed for longer.

Glancing over his shoulder to see who grabbed him, Russia furrows his brows. "Do you need something?" he asks.

"Russia," Germany begins, "you are not invited to the next meeting, and if you show up I will be forced to uphold my promise."

Not so surprisingly, Russia answers him with a chuckle. He yanks his arm away from the German and takes a large step out from the center of the table, a dark aura forming around him as he walks towards the door. Holding it open for himself, Russia spins so that he can look Germany directly in the eye. "I would like to see you try, Comrade. Until then, I bid you farewell," he says softly, closing the door behind him.

The camera moves from the closed door to show Germany's distraught expression and then cuts off.

AN: Well then, Russia...thanks for not being creepy *shivers*

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