A Price to Pay

Wonderment

"Bruder! At this rate, we're going to be late and I'm going to throw you off of the meeting building!" an angry German yelled into the small apartment.

"I'm coming West! Calm your tits or I'll calm them for you,"  Prussia yelled back, appearing in the front foyer and shrugging on a jacket. Gilbert winked at his little brother suggestively, making the younger nation roll his eyes.

"We are going now, Gilbert."

"Aw, what's with the formal tone? We aren't at the meeting yet!"  he said, following his brother out of the room and into the hallway, shutting and locking the door behind them.

" I don't even know why you insist on coming to these meetings with me. You don't find them interesting, I don't find them interesting, and neither of us really want to be there. So why do you come?"

"Because I want to grace you all with my awesome presence!"

The duo walked into the lobby where both Vargas brothers were already waiting.

"Hey Ludwig!"  the bubbly Italian called, skipping up to them happily. "Hi Gil!"

Prussia ruffled up Feliciano's hair playfully. Romano sighed and started grumbling in hushed Italian, coming up and fixing his hair again, settling his curl off to the side, just like it was every day.

"We need to get going, bastards. We're late already. I don't want to be the last one's there behind that American," he complained, already walking to the door at a brisk pace.

After the death of the queen, and the rising suspicion that it was caused by a certain superpower, pressure drove the European Union to hold a meeting involving any and all of the most influential countries of the world. This included, but was not limited to, Netherlands (who was also standing in for Belgium), Denmark, the Baltics, the Nordics, France, the UK, Germany and Prussia (who were also representing the rest of the Germanics), Greece, the Italy's, Poland, Romania, and Spain, with Russia, China, Japan, Canada, and America coming to represent their respective regions.

Germany followed closely behind. "Yes, I hate to agree with the Italian, but he's right; we need to be on our way." A skipping Veneziano and almost bouncing Prussia flanked him on either side, which was rather commonplace now.

The small congregation walked out to the waiting Italian car. It's warm metal glinted dark blue in the midday sun; Italy ran an appreciative hand across the hood before hopping into the driver's seat. Contrary to popular belief, Italy was probably one of the best drivers out of all of southern Europe. He just liked to go fast sometimes.

A relatively short drive later and they were walking through the doors of the building, having handed the keys to the valet at the door.

"Alright, so where's the meeting this time? The suicide floor or the catacombs?" Gilbert inquired, glancing around the lobby for any familiar faces.

"Bruder, just because it's possible to kill yourself on the top floor doesn't mean that that's what it's for."

"Besides, aren't the Catacombs in France's country?"

"Of course they are, stupid. You'd think we'd know if they were here, having literally lived here for Italy's entire existence," Romano snapped. Then, idly, "And the meeting is on the third floor, at the far south of the building. Very secluded, so when a chair or stray bullet flies through the wall we don't have to explain anything to anyone. Probably."

"Great! I can throw chairs through walls!"

"That was not an invitation!"

"Aw, West. Ruining all the fun like usual!" The white-haired Prussian laughed. Germany scowled when Italy laughed in agreement.

Romano led them up a back flight of stairs "Because it's faster, damn it!" and got to the meeting room about two minutes late; which wasn't bad, if you considered the fact that getting there on time was just getting there before America, who was almost always last.

But, when they walked in, all four of them fell completely and utterly silent.

America had a gun. And it was pointed right at England.