100 words.


Austria and Hungary.

Bad Cooking

Austria said good bye to England and shut the door with a sigh before turning to Hungary. "That is the last time we let him cook in our home." He grumped, moving towards his piano room.

"What?" Hungary turned, hands on her hips. "England didn't cook dinner." She snapped, eyes narrowing.

Austria froze hand on the door handle. "Err… didn't he? It tasted just as bad as the last time he cooked." The moment the words were out he realized he had said something wrong. "Err. I mean." He turned, looking worried, as Hungary advanced on him, frying pan raised.