Oh yeah, this is kinda short...


"Why oh why did you bring this galumphing oaf into my room?" she asked acidly.

"Ratified Female Nation Agreement of '94." Taiwan rattled off. "'Upon the circumstance that a fellow girl needs help, since there are so few of us, the nearest female is to give her shelter for at least half a day, or however long the threat persists."

"Yes, I know, but why me, for God's sake?" Monaco harrumphed. Adjusting her glasses, she sat on her bed, thoroughly peeved. "You do know that China will take this as me being offensive?"

"Oi, the hero's got problems too, you know!" piped up America. He swiveled awkwardly until he was lying flat on his back. "My boss is going to kill me!"

Taiwan kicked him and Monaco rolled her eyes. "Idiot." They muttered simultaneously.

"So how are you going to get us out of this mess, hero?" asked Monaco, sarcasm dripping from her every word.

America opened his mouth, and Taiwan shot him a glare. He closed it. He opened it again, managed a vowel, then snapped it shut and looked thoughtful. "That's a good question."

Taiwan smacked her head against the wall. "Why"-thunk-"did"-thunk-"England"-thunk-"choose"-thunk-"him? Hundreds-hundreds of Nations, and I get the dumbest one out of the lot?"

America patted Monaco's hand consolingly. "Don't worry, I'm sure she doesn't mean it."

Monaco removed her glasses and smacked her hand against her face. "Does he always do this?"

"Yes. My head is starting to feel sore."

America looked from one to the other until comprehension dawned on his face. "You can't stand how amazing I am?" he asked excitedly.




Monaco had locked the door, and the three sat on the floor. Taiwan rubbed at her wrist unconsciously.

"Well, what can we do?" sighed Monaco. She massaged the bridge of her nose, a headache building. "The handcuffs won't come off no matter what you do?"

The two nodded.

"No trick openings, no little catches, nothing?" she said, looking at the chain skeptically. "It looks pretty flimsy."

America took the chain and attempted to twist it, or maybe break it. Nothing. Not a single link warped or twisted or did anything else interesting.

"Right then…you could break your thumb." suggested the pitiless Monaco.

"No, it wouldn't work." Taiwan demonstrated, her small hand looking like it could be drawn out of the chain. When she drew it forwards, the circle of metal slowly tightened until she could barely get her wristbone through. Then she drew it backwards, the circle widened until she could wear it on her shoulder. (America had to move his hand to accommodate this.)

"So they are magic!" exclaimed America. Then he frowned. "Why is it that when I make a movement, it hurts? Why doesn't it just slide up and down?"

"It probably only works when you do it slowly." Monaco tried to jerk it around, and true to form, it stayed stubbornly on her wrist. She sat on the bed and watched the two experiment.

"So, what did England say again, to get this thing off?" Taiwan asked.

"Something about not doing anything stupid and if we won't destroy anything, he'll take 'em off." America frowned. He fiddled with the handcuff.

So, wait, she thought. I am handcuffed to the biggest idiot in the world and in order to get out of this we have to not be stupid. Taiwan groaned and started to mentally compose her will, and hope that they managed to get the cuffs off her corpse. Then, Monaco said something that almost literally made Taiwan and America freeze in horror.

"It's getting to be late. I guess you guys are sleeping here."

Trains of thought crashed, burned, and left none of the passengers inside alive, razing nearby villages, laying waste to fields of thought. It was so spectacular that for years afterwards the mind-dwellers of those two nations named it "The Great Mechanical Kablooie of Spectacular Proportions, Leaving No One Alive." Or the GMKoSPLNOK. That's pronounced Gimik-o-Splinok.

It was rated slightly more damaging as reading Twilight.

"W-where are we going to be sleeping?" stammered out Taiwan, dreading her response.

Monaco blinked owlishly at her. "You're handcuffed together. The bed's much too small, so I'm afraid you'll both have the floor. I can spare you some sheets, though. The couch is extendable."

It must be noted here that America's face at this point turned a fairly fetching shade of green. If, you know, it was painted on your walls in pinstripes or worn as an evening gown. Not so much when it is plastered on a human face.

"B-but heroes don't do that sort of thing!" he finally exclaimed. "Can't we just, y'know, stay up all night-"

"No. Here are the sheets. I'm going to bed." The ever pitiless Monaco was asleep in minutes. The same could not be said for the other two.

Taiwan dragged out the couch and extended it into a spare bed, spread the sheets on it and lay down. That's the straightforward way to phrase how Taiwan and America managed to make a working bed. In reality, America lifted the entire thing, dropped it accidentally, and the extendable part shot out like toast from a toaster that'd had fifty cups of coffee three seconds before you'd loaded it, making an impressive dent in the wall. The sheets were tangled up from the confused hodgepodge of directions the two had given each other and in the end they'd discarded the things and flopped upon a plain mattress.

In the end, feeling uncomfortable, they stared off into two different directions opposite to their bed-partner.


"Hey, Taiwan?" whispered America, a few minutes later. The girl didn't budge.

"Taiwa~an-Taiwan? Hey, Ilha Formosa? Erm…Mei? Wanwan? Come o~on." America threw all cautions to the winds and delicately poked her shoulder. Slowly, rotating her head, Taiwan's eyes met his and they looked like the flames of hell were burning in them.

"What." She said. It wasn't a question. It was more of a statement that was resigned to exist only to provoke sentences of complete and utter drivel. America could not comprehend this, since he was an amazingly dense man, and instead went on with his question.

"Y-You know, for the Taiwan Relations Act…Does it help you?" he asked softly, once again small and fragile. Taiwan blinked rapidly. Why was he going into this?

"O-of course." She patted his hand, at a bit of a loss. "Go to sleep now, okay?"

"Be quiet, you two. I can't sleep." grumbled Monaco.


It was a few hours later, and Taiwan found out something mildly horrifying.

No. Scratch that. It was sickeningly, disgustingly terrifyingly wrong.

America had burger breath.

When he's awake, this is barely noticed because a continuous stream of absolute idiocy is being poured through one ear, filtered through your brains and goes out the other ear to dribble miserably onto the floor, much like alien goop. One does not notice breath, or even sometimes, one's surroundings; all you are focused on doing is making absolutely sure that America-logic is not boring a crater roughly the size of the Pacific Ocean into the delicate grey matter that is your brain.

However, when he's sleeping, one is made brutally aware of this because, of course, there is no idiocy.

Taiwan tried to get away. She squirmed. She twisted in unholy gymnastic forms to attempt to face away from the stench. She would've turned over but that would've required her giving up any lasting connection to her hand and a good quarter of her wrist.

So, she sat there, stared up at the ceiling and smelled the past residue of approximately fifteen Big Macs waft next to her right ear.


...Anyone who gives me a satisfactory reason why there are fifteen Big Macs will earn an internet cookie. Satisfactory does not mean logical or coherent.