Ludwig removed his briefcase from the table, standing up, surveying the room. "A great hall for countries to commune in peace." had been etched into the wooden paneling by China. It was etched there on the first Summit meeting, commemorating the moment in history with elegant cursive.

The German chuckled to himself, below the artful inscription from china was a sloppy carving of a man cramming a burger down his throat. The drawing was only half finished, Ludwig recalled that before America could complete his "artwork", England caught wind of the reckless country's activity, and dragged him away by his ear. He could even recall America protesting "Stop! A hero must leave his mark!" and England smacking him in the head, bellowing "Oh, I'LL leave a MARK!"

Ludwig left the building, proceeding to his dorm slowly, fatigue always slowed him down one way or another. As soon as the key turned the bolt, the door swung open, and a sauce-covered man tackled him to the floor, hysterically wailing, all the while the auburn curl bouncing among his saucy locks.

"D-D-DOITSUUUUUUU!!!" Italia shrieked, clinging to the blonde's now sullied military wear. "AAIIIEEEE!!!" he cried, tears running down his face, scrunched into a despaired expression.

"Shhh…" Ludwig consoled the Italian softly, enveloping him in a warm hug, patting his back. He winced slightly, the pain from the quick impact left the blonde with a headache. "Now, calmly please, tell me what happened."

The young man sniffled, his eyes still glistening with tears. "Ne..ne..Prussia-san..tried to ..cook me…" he quivered into a loud sob, clinging to the German tightly.

Ludwig sat up, rubbing his newly bruised shoulder gingerly, collecting his scattered papers from the impact with the crying man. "Italien, I've warned you about lying. What purpose would Gilbert have had for cooking you?" he shook his head at the tomato sauce covered man, his lies got more absurd every day.

"W..well..Prussia-san said he was in the mood for Italian, so..s-so I went to cook him some pasta, but h-he pushed me against the sink, ripped off my shirt, and poured sauce all over me." The small Italian sniffled, whimpering in fear. "T-then, he s-said he'd r-rather eat an authentic Italian…" the man wailed.

Ludwig's face flushed beet red at his brother's apparent intentions, which thankfully went over the Italian's head. He stood up abruptly, the Italian fell back to the floor.

"D…D.."

"Stay here, Veneciano." The blonde responded darkly, his face almost redder than the sauce drenched Italian.

He nodded at Ludwig, sitting quietly outside the room as the door slammed shut loudly behind the German. Italy sat obediently, not making any noise or causing any trouble to disturb Germany. Italia may have been naïve at most times, but he knew Ludwig had a fearsome temper when provoked, at least, almost as fearsome as…

Italia gulped nervously, as if on cue, his body felt a chill as he uttered the name of his most frightening adversary.

Ivan Braginsky.

Ludwig stomped into the dorm, out for blood. His brother had gone far enough embarrassing the name of "Germany" infront of his (mostly) prestigious colleagues. But abusing Veneciano sexually was the very last straw.

He roamed around the corridors within the huge dorm room, growling like a savage, he would kill that albino bastard on sight.

"Bruder…" Ludwig hissed, eyeing a tuft of white hair poking from behind the couch. His cowardly sibling held both hands up, absolutely trembling from his brother's wrath. Prussia's ruby eyes didn't even meet Germany's intimidating gaze, he couldn't.

"Stay there." Ludwig snapped, the Prussian frightened to hysterics, as he obeyed his older brother, not moving an inch from where he stood.

The blonde walked outside, allowing the messy Italian into the dorm room, gesturing both the Italian and Prussia to take a seat on the couch. "Tonight, I expect the both of you to be on your best behavior, since I will be at a…separate engagement tonight. I do not want to arrive back home to a melee of chaos like today, is this clear?" Ludwig eyed Prussia bitterly. His brother gulped, nodding quickly in response.

"Where are you off to, Doitsuu?" Italy asked, licking tomato sauce off his fingers messily. Ludwig winced, watching his priceless sofa antique delve into tomato-based ruin.

"Mr Braginsky's quarters." Ludwig sighed, watching his inferiors shudder at the name. "He has diplomatic business to discuss with me."

"Diplomatic, my awesome ass!" Prussia snorted, reclining back on the sofa lazily. "Bruder, both you and I are well awarethat what Braginsky wants from you is anythingbut diplomatic. And you won't last 10 minutes in there, you're not nearly as awesome as I, you'll fall for that frozen frenchman's mind games for sure." He smirked at Italy in a dark, intimidating and oddly familiar fashion, who whimpered in fear, recoiling from Prussia. Veneciano had experienced Russia's wrath before, the slight reminder left him in constant fear.

"Just stay quiet, Gilbert, I'll return by 10:00pm tonight, you and Veneciano had better be on good terms when I return." Ludwig barked, grabbing a fresh military coat, and left out the door.

"Haha…" Prussia chuckled, murmuring to Italy, "trust me, I know Russia better than most. That bastard has got something for Bruder, and knowing Ivan, I'll bet Bruder won't return til morning at least, if he's compliant."

Italy whimpered, starting to cry, fearing for Doitsu-san's safety.