Our Little Secret. [NO MORE UPDATES SORRY]

Chapter 7.

For some damn reason there was a world ass meeting today.

Everyone was invited. Even colonies and others like that.

Soviet walked into the big hall. It was REALLY big.

This tall motherfucker was no match for the tall hall he stood in. He went to try and find his name on one of the desks. Good luck with that bro. Shit dawg his name was nowhere to be found. BUT THEN THERE WAS SOME OBSCURE SHIT LIKE HALF ASSED SPELLINGS OF FRENCH COLONIES. MEAN.

So Soviet did what any newly formed dictatorship does and went up to a useless prat man called League of Nations. Or LON for short.

"Hey ummm LON?"

"Ah. Mr. USSR. Great to meet you,"

"Yes. You too. Where do I sit?"

LON looked around for a minute. Then he looked back at Soviet.

"Just sit where it says Russian Empire in the European section,"

"Ok,"

So off our boi went. To sit. Quite the adventure. Shame none of you will be able to see it.

"Attention all you people. The meeting will be starting now. Get in your seats,"

Everyone else sat down and shit.

"Alright now we can begin. Our first speaker is..... Whatever the UK is calling himself nowadays,"

A few people looked over to where Britain's chair is. But shocker! It was empty. Oh no!

LON looked a bit mad and cleared his throat.

"Well since he's clearly not here we can move o-"

"Hi Lonnie! Am I late?"

LON was probably about to kill someone at this rate.

Soviet looked up to this podium thing where people take turns to speak about stuff to see Britain. This short ass motherfucker either appeared out of nowhere or was hiding somewhere.

"Yes you are late. AND DON'T CALL ME LONNIE!"

Britain wiped something off of his hand and ignored LON. As you do.

"Please just say what you need to say,"

"Oh alright. Ok everyone so I would like to say that we all have someone new to say hi too. She was granted semi independence awhile ago but we were just finalising some details,"

The doors opened and a girl with freckles and a long braid walked in.

"This is Ireland. And if you fuckers try to do anything to her I will act as an overprotective sibling even though we aren't related,"

That threat caught a few people off guard. Not gonna lie.

"Ok. That was the UK and now our second speaker is whoever wants to talk about  world issues,"

"Yeah I would like to talk about world issues alright,"

Oh god it was Weimar.

"Go ahead,"

"Can we all just agree that Britain should never be the first to present? He's always late,"

Britain, who had sat down crossed legged in his chair, nodded his head in major agreement. How the fuck does this child do this shit?

"Next problem I have, I'm broke and y'all are tryna take more money? I can't handle it,"

The room was deadly silent. Is that a sentence? Dunno.

"Oh and one more thing before I'm done,"

Weimar walks up to where America sits and backhands him across the face.

"Stop leaving your damn keys in my house and then breaking my windows. That stuff costs y'know,"

"Hehe I deserve that,"

"This concludes my monologue,"

LON has a bad habit of clearing his throat but it gets people's attention. He's gonna not be able to speak if he keeps going on like this.

"Thank you Weimar. Now please leave because I need to drink a gallon of coffee,"

And with that, everyone rushed to the door like school children when the lunch bell rings. Well not everyone.

A few countries were smart enough to not get trampled on. Only a few though.

Soviet began walking out towards the door after the crowd had disappeared.

He walked down some hallways and heard a few conversations.

"Hey wanna go and eat?"

"Sure I know this really good place that serves great curry,"

"So you don't like my curry?"

Or another one like:

"How can you sit on a chair lie that? Are you mental?"

The questions weren't given an answer using speech but these extra words are great filler.

Soviet walked out of the building finally and just sat down on a nearby bench.

He began dozing off. Did he sleep alot last night?

No of course not. He was too busy figuring out what to do and say at the meeting.

I ain't gonna say it all fancy like. The tall bloke fell asleep not 'drifted from consciousness' or whatever shit is hip with Oxford or whoever runs my creative writing exams.

When you write it like that it sounds like he fucking died.