Italy's P.O.V.

Germany walked through the door of his house. He seemed upset for some reason. Maybe I should make him some pasta.

"Hey Germany! You seem upset ~ Ve!" I chimed.

He groaned and for some reason, frowned at me. "Italy the meeting with the Allies is over but next time …. DON'T GET CAPTURED!"

I shrieked at his creepy outburst and I ran to the corner. "Ahhh! Please don't hurt me! It wasn't my fault! They ambushed me and-blah blah blah blah blah blah blah-!"

"It was your fault!" He shot back. I looked back at the now sighing Germany. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. But seriously, be more careful."

Knowing Germany didn't mean any harm I decided to forgive him. I'm such a great friend! "Hey, Germany! Can we eat something? I'm starving!"

Germany than started to …. Chuckle?! Oh, no Germany was chuckling! The world was about to end! But then again, it's a great thing so …. Yay, Pasta!"

"I swear, you and America both," he then groaned.

"America?"

"Oh, well you see, during the meeting I was trying to decide a truce but suddenly that dumkoff America stared shouting and saying he was hungry."

"Miss Hungary?"

"I said hungry you idiot!" Germany shouted. He quickly calmed down and went on. "After that it took him two minutes to call a maid, ten minuted for the maid to go back to the kitchen to go find and warm up the hamburger and then bring it back. I took America a minute to finish it but then he got a phone call which lasted about thirty minutes. Then he got another phone call and well … you get it …"

"Get what?" I asked.

"Listen you idiot!"

"I'm sorry!" I squealed. "But can we eat now? I want pasta so badly!"
"Stop changing the subject!" He demanded. "And alright, Pasta it is."

"PASTA!"

America's P.O.V.

What Germany had said at the meeting was really biting me. I was nothing like that pasta loving freak, Italy.

Italy was an idiot! He was nowhere near as awesome as me! I'm America, duh!

I spotted Britain walk through the door finishing his conversation with a maid about who knows what. Once the maid left I shuffled over to him.

"Hey Britain, dude!" I shouted, making him jump.

"America! I'm right next to you! There's no need to shout!" he scolded.

I ignored him and kept on talking. "What's up?"

"None of your beeswax! I am a little late for another meeting I have to attend though."

"Really? Dude, why didn't you get there faster?"

"It's your fault I'm late!" he shouted.

"When? How?"

"During the meeting …" Britain growled.

"How? All I did was talk and eat and talk."

"That's the point!" Britain took in a deep breath and then he calmed down. Wait-Why am I stating that he took a deep breath anyway? What's going on? Why am U doing this? It's weird.

"You're narrating the damn thing, dumby!" A random American screamed.

"Where did that come from?" A confused Britain asked.

"I don't know." That was pretty creepy. Did that mean I had to keep saying the little details?! I guess I'll keep doing it. Man! Stupid aithor making me narrate!

"Anyway," Britain began again. "I swear your elevator doesn't reach the top floor."

That comment reminded me of the time when Italy and I had that conversation. We both had heard that phrase but neither of us knew what it meant.

"Hey Britain, what does that mean?"

"It means your dumb," he stated bluntly.

Then it hit me! It was true! I was like Italy! How? "We are both dumb!"

"What are you talking about?"