Inside the rotunda room, stood a collection of rounded wood table pieces fitted together into one large piece. Around it sat a conglomerate of intermingled countries, some laughing, some arguing, some shaking in fear of the one that sat beside them, but each and everyone seemed distracted by something or another. They were a motley crew, the crew gathered in that room, and every one of them was a painful headache to the blonde haired Swiss man.
Standing before the wide double doors, Vash massaged his temples with one hand while the other rested on the seam between the doors. There wasn't much preparing that could be done before a world conference, nothing eased the annoyance of some idiots, like France who obsessed over his paintings, or Italy who spent more time making pasta or white flags than conversing in worldly matters. Sometimes it seemed as though the only country who had a head for business like Vash was Germany, and even then such a thing could be a far cry for a man who related himself so deeply in root to the crazy Italian. Yet, for some stupid reason, he continued to attend, insanely wishing for the situation to change. Then again, was that not the definition of insanity in the first place? He'd rather not consider it.
Sucking in a long and nervous breath, the blonde young man entered the boisterous room and took his seat, avoiding a scene while the others progressed into madness. For the moment, America was trying to convince them all that the best way to stop an impending meteor shower was to build a giant robot. Sounded about like America, and of course, when England killed that idea he moved on to a giant hamburger to act as a cushion for all the meteors, and then he continued to announce that his Roswell division would scout for aliens. Like that was the least bit realistic, but it was about the best idea being offered up lately. Germany suggested launching missiles at it, which was then countered with the argument that they could miss and hit someone else. Of course, China fronted that counter argument. Italy was voting for the hamburger idea, but offered up the option of a giant pasta bowl instead, which only made the more serious countries grunt and groan, including Switzerland.
Across the table from Vash sat Austria, with his wiry hair and a typically nasty looking Hungary standing behind him. She was always a bit creepy, the way she kept kitchen utensils available at all times to throw at them, and it didn't help that she had an obvious crush on the man she stood behind. There were many countries that wouldn't let that fly; most of them were not in support of any of Hungary's ideas at all. The greatest opposition was from Prussia, but of course he no longer bothered with world conferences since his brother started making frequent appearances in his place. There were days when Vash would kill to have that albino boy in the room; it would get that touchy little brat off of his least favorite Austrian.
"Is there something wrong Vash?" Elizavetta asked from behind Austria. She looked unusually smug over there, but perhaps that was just the fact that she had a frying pan in hand and was dressed abnormally in her war clothes instead of her normal long skirt and top. For once she looked more like a country instead of Austria's maid, but no doubt she did that just to bother him. No, that wasn't the reason, the only reason anyone cared to bother Vash was for money, and there was no money between them.
"I'm fine." The Blonde grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair slightly. He tried to get comfortable like that, like settling in for a storm, but he sat upright again quickly, realizing he must have looked extremely uncivilized, unlike Austria, which just wouldn't do. He had to beat Roderich at everything, proper impressions included. Not that he couldn't beat Austria at just about everything, Roderich was just a pansy who sat around playing his instruments all day; he clearly wasn't a very skilled country in the art of war.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vash could already see the Hungarian girl fuming about such a comment. No doubt she'd been expecting more of a response from the melancholy country, even if it was extensive and depressing, she probably hadn't expected him to just sit back and pout silently. She should have expected it, that was typical of Vash after all, but apparently the girl who fought wars with kitchen utensils had little in the way of common sense.
"You don't have anything else to say? You couldn't at least ask me in return?" she responded, gritting her teeth as if she struggled against her motherly instincts to teach proper manners verses just smacking him upside the head. Clearly she felt the need to be motherly and teach, but she was suppressing an apparent urge to just pull out the cook ware.
"If I asked anything in return, that would give the impression that I cared, and frankly, that would be a lie." Vash muttered in response once more before turning his gaze away from her and to the chalk board that Russia had produced in hopes of arguing his own point on the current meteor shower discussion. Drawn on it were a conglomerate of circles of varying sizes, all with wide tails and little smiley faces drawn on them. Vash forced himself to the assumption that these were poorly drawn meteors, but to his dismay his thought was disproved by the sight of a burgundy haired Italian writing the words 'spaghetti and meatballs' as a caption beneath it. Oh the idiocy that surrounded him.
Across from him, Elizavetta only grew angrier, till she finally launched herself across the table, frying pan in hand. It wasn't particularly odd, but it was dangerous, and Vash immediately took action. As soon as she moved, he pushed his chair straight back till he hit the wall before he jumped up and took off toward the chalk board. Normally he wouldn't bring so much attention to himself at a world meeting, but he had two reasons. One, Hungary was a crazy woman when she had a frying pan, and two, getting the others involved would cause enough of a distraction for him to leave. World meeting over, that was decided when the best defense strategy became a bowl of pasta against a horde of meatballs (with spaghetti tails, couldn't forget that).
While the others handled Hungary, Vash rounded the chalk board and moved to the doors. He burst through the double doors rapidly, walking at a hasty pace to remove himself from the building. More than once he passed up a young country with pleading blue eyes, dressed in a white little school uniform. If he'd ever cared to acknowledge the little country, he might have bothered to know it was Sealand, but as was, he didn't give a care in the least. All he wanted at the moment was to get home to Lilli and away from the madness of an increasingly stupid world.