note: In my defense, it's still July 1st where I'm living! So please pretend it's July 1st, 2010, because that's really important for the continuity of the story. D: Also - this somehow turned into a happy-birthday-fic. All your fault, Victoria Wan. JK~

necessary notations: The Benz SLS AMG can hit 200 MPH. The distance from Beijing to Rome is approximately 5000 miles. 25 hours, ish, if you're a total speed demon. Plus - with the time zones and whatnot, it's actually entirely possible - or, can you all just suspend your disbelief for a second, pretty please?


x x x Close Relations x x x


[that blast of a party]


June 31st, approx. 12:00 (noon)

"Ve~?" Feliciano called, "Who i~is it?" he sang, unlocking all fifteen bolts (courtesy of Romano - but of course) before opening said door. "Ludwig!" he joyously exclaimed, throwing his arms around the other nation. "Did you bring me some pasta?" he excitedly asked? "I'm just eating lunch right now! And since Romano's gone, I figured he wouldn't mind if I took a couple of his tomatoes, right?"

"...Sure..." Ludwig mumbled, as the car outside honked. A distinct 'Yo West! I'm not getting any younger over here!' could be heard. Feliciano peeked over Ludwig's shoulder, curious.

"Ludwig, why is Gilbert over here, ve~?"

"Because your older brother isn't here, so he figured he could 'check out' the latest variety of cars your brother has been making," Ludwig flatly responded. Feliciano gave a happy 'oh~' before hugging releasing Ludwig from the three-minute-long hug. "A-Anyways," Ludwig stumbled, "Since you seem to have nothing, well, pressing today, I was wondering if you'd... well, if you had the time, would you mind coming with me - and my brother, of course - to the... well, to the celebration they're throwing at Yao's house?"

"Will there be... Chinese food?" Was all that Feliciano needed to know.

Ludwig actually chuckled, "Yes, of course, it's in Beijing, after all."

"Of course!" Feliciano delightfully replied, throwing his arms around Ludwig once more. "I love the duck there; it goes so~o~o well with the pasta over there! And they have spicy sauces! Spicy sauces!" The italian repeated, grabbing a vase and a bowl "Housewarming gifts, ve~?" he explained, as Ludwig stoically nodded, helping carry the bowl, "I'm so happy~" Feliciano sang, "Ludwig is taking me out to dinner!"

"Woah!" Gilbert exclaimed, as the two of them neared the car. "It that one huge vase, or is that one huge vase?" He grinned, thwacking Feliciano playfully on the back.

Between Gilbert (who was a recklessly fast driver and enjoyed plowing into mobs, down staircases, and through elevators - all while laughing maniacally) and Feliciano (who was just as bad - if not worse - than Gilbert because of his lack of care at the steering wheel, and the fact that all of his steering wheels were more pasta-sauce than actual wheel), Ludwig felt that it was a good idea for him to drive. The problem here was that Ludwig assumed that Gilbert would come to this same conclusion, and thereby let him take the wheel.

Gilbert, of course, did not use the same kind of logic. "Hell, no!" he declared, "Why don't you get all lovey-dovey with Italian in the backseat - I'll drive this time!" And Ludwig would have put up a more... extensive... complaint, had Feliciano not held onto his hand and chanted 'lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey!' in a manner that should have been outlawed in the Italian province era. Seriously.

"Bruder," Ludwig started - cautiously, of course, as Gilbert was currently turning the key and starting up the engine, "Do you know where the airport is?"

"Airport?" Gilbert repeated, as Ludwig watched - with dawning horror - as his dear-and-favorite Benz hit new (and terrifying) zero-to-x records. "Who said anything about going to the airport?" he shouted to the backseats, "We've got twenty-seven hours," now this was definitely figure Gilbert pulled out of the top of his head, "To get to China. We're so hitting the high road, kids!"

The Benz was supposed to have a cap at 197 miles per hour, Ludwig thought, somewhere during the night, when his throat was hoarse from the screaming.


July 1st

It was a relatively chilly day in Moscow, despite the fact that it was warm and sunny in nearly every other country Ivan had been to, and he awoke to the icicle-knockers doing what they did best: knocking icicles from the roofs of the buildings, so that said icicles wouldn't kill people. Ivan merrily hummed one tune or another, as the weather was only 15 degrees centigrade. Hm. Must've been colder in the evening, he thought - a typical occurrence, really.

"What shall I do today?" he asked aloud, after he had dressed and eaten breakfast (borscht - which, unlike what Katya had said - could and should be eaten as - and for - every single meal!) and was now aimlessly wandering the hallways. He passed by the mailman, who nearly choked on himself, most likely because he had almost stepped on Ivan's toes.

"Ah!" Ivan said with a bright smile, "Perhaps I can watch more of the Minister's videos," he turned to look at said mailman, "You do honor and serve our Prime Minister, da?" The mailman nodded, vehemently, as his eyes refused to move off the bloodstains of Ivan's pipe. Ivan laughed, patting the man on the back, "Good man, good man!" he said, patting a bit too roughly, "You do your nation proud!"

"Y-y-yes...!" the mailman stuttered out, though this was most certainly not because of the cold (Ivan had, after all, helped carry in bucket after bucket of coal and wood for the furnaces). "A-And..." the mailman fished through his bag, "This is a letter for you!" with trembling hands, he passed a red-papered letter, embossed in gold, to the nation. Ivan's eyes widened - could it be? - before taking the letter, thanking the mailman before hurrying off to his own quarters. It was still rare for him to get letters, particularly those from speed-delivery!


"Kiku! Kiku!" Im-Yong Soo joyously cried - through the halls of the building at five AM, "Kiku, did you get your letter from Yao-hyung? Did you, didyou, didyou?" with a cheerful grin and an all-too-capable hand, he (forcefully) unlocked the door and turned on the lights in the room.

"Wha? Letter?" Kiku managed to mumble out, before Im-Yong Soo grabbed the sheets on the bed, forcefully causing the other to roll out. "Im-Yong Soo..." Kiku muttered, still feeling sleepy from having editted some hundred and fifty pictures of Yao in various cosplaying conditions. They ranged from Miku to Rin to Sakura to Victorian Lolita to Alice. And they were all splayed across the floor, much to Kiku's horror, namely because he had forgotten - in lieu of his fevent editting - to actually place the pictures back in their designated container.

"Woah! Kiku!" Im-Yong Soo whistled, grabbing a handful of pictures and gazing over them. "Why don't you share these pictures with us on New Year's Eve, da-ze~?" And here, he held up a geisha-made-up Yao that could very well have been five years old. "No fair!" Im-Yong Soo rightfully compalined, "How is it that you manage to get Yao into these dresses and positions and I don't?"

"Having the entire Sanrio franchise at your personal disposal is a pretty good way to start," Kiku dryly replied, picking up and off various pictures on the floor, and hoping that Im-Yong Soo wouldn't leak such information to Yao. No need in telling Yao that he was dead-set on photoshopping each and every picture, after all.

"Definitely unfair!" Im-Yong Soo whined. And then he grinned, holding a picture - the most recent one, of Yao as Miku, actually - in his hand, "I'll make you a deal, Kiku-nim~" Im-Yong Soo cheerily said, and Kiku just knew by the tone that he would be parting with a couple of his lovelies. "If you give me copies, da-ze~ - all portrait sized - of about... twenty... of these pictures, I won't tell Yao-hyung!"

"Deal," Kiku reluctantly replied.

"Yay!" Im-Yong Soo cheered. "Oh! And I came here because..." he fished out the red-and-gold letter, "Yao-hyung sent me a letter, and I was wondering if he sent you a letter too!" Kiku's eyes widened, before he hastily pulled on his 'normal' (read: formal) attire and then made a rather mad dash for the nearby mailbox. "Did you get a letter?" Im-Yong Soo asked again, as Kiku scrambled tounlock said mailbox.

"...Yes..." The 'letter' was at the very bottom of the massive stack of letters, all of which Kiku would peruse through. On a later day, of course.

"Darn!" Im-Yong Soo grumbled. "And here, I thought that I was the only one who got a letter, da-ze~" And then he grinned, michievously, of course, "Well, if we're both going, then you can let me ride on one of your planes, right?"


"Mister Wang Yao hereby requests your attendance for the annual celebration of the Communist Party of China, to be held in the fifth building of the Presidential Quarters, in the Seventh District of Beijing. The celebration is expected to last for approximately four hours, from 8PM to 12PM (Chinese time) on the date of July 1, 2010, with drinks and entertainment provided. Please bring a present for the midnight gift exchange, feel free to bring along a friend!" Arthur read aloud, while sipping his morning tea.

He raised an eyebrow, muttering something along the lines of "I didn't even know they had an annual celebration." And then he shrugged, because he had nothing in particular planned - it was a Thursday, after all - and the Summer Festivals had yet to begin. Although... the date of July 1st... a quick glance at his calendar, a small indistinguishable scribble was there. He squinted, attempting to make out his less-than-readable handwriting.

"A celebration?" A certain, familiar, frog-like voice piped up, throwing open the door in an overly-obtrusive manner. Arthur rolled his eyes, because really, "Où?" The Frenchman asked, eyes wide and sparkling blue. Arthur winced, before replying.

"Beijing. It's apparently for the Communist Party of China's birthday, I suppose?"

"Hmm..." Francis murmured, thinking it over, "Je ne savais rien, mais! I have nothing to do today... although as for the night..." he grinned - lasciviously - and Arthur wondered how it was possible that such a frog could outdrink him five days to two, "Well anyways!" Francis continued, "Seeing as how I've nothing better to do, you can take me as your 'friend'!" And then he laughed, as if he had something particularly hilarious, "That is why I put the friend in quotations, non?"

"Bugger off..." Arthur grumbled, feeling the antioxidants (and their soothing qualities) washing away.

"Non, non, non!" Francis tutted in reply, "After all, it was I who won last night's drinking game, n'est-ce pas?" He had that godforsaken smirk on again, and Arthur rolled his eyes. Again. But it was true, and the damn frog had won.


Alfred, on the other hand, knew that there was no such thing as an annual celebration for the birth of the Communist Party of China. Or at least, he was pretty certain, as he - being their biggest trading partner - had never been invited to one, so perhaps it was a new thing or something. And then he laughed, because really? A new thing? China didn't do new things, heck, communism was pretty old.

It was this sort of selective memory that allowed him to forget the ages of his very own political parties, of course.

"Oh yeah, that totally makes sense!" he said suddenly, snapping his fingers and smiling. "Of course China would want to celebrate Independence Day three days before me - and probably take all the American spirit out of it too!"

And with that mystery resolved, he quickly snatched up his cellphone, which had previously been laying in hamburger wrappers, dialling a couple numbers. Sure, the phone was coated in grease, but at least it still worked! "Hey, Jones!" Alfred cheerily said, "I know it's a bit early - well not really actually - but I was wondering if you had a couple fireworks for your most favorite customer of them all!" He grinned, while the other side pittered away. "Yeah, yeah, just list it off as 'White House Expenses' - my card's lost somewhere. Again."

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the line.

"What? No it is important! These are international relations! These are foreign policy doctrines! These are life-and-death and import-and-export situations!" Alfred gesticulated wildly here. "Yes, yes, I get what you're saying. Anyways, how soon do you think I'm going to be able to pick up the fireworks?" A muffled response. "...Three days? You've got to be kidding me! I need them in, like, five hours! Yes - in red, white and blue! I'm the USA, for crying out loud!"

Eventually - as per usual - the customer, aided by sheer volume and tenacity, won out. Alfred smiled, satisfied, before reclining in his chair and lazily slurping another smoothie. "Yao is definitely going to be surprised this Independence Day!" Alfred declared, before heading out to purchase the 'present' (luckily, he had read "The Worst-Case Survival Guide for Men" and deduced that 'present' really meant: more explosives).

"Man!" he said, to no one in particular, while striding down the streets of New York, "This Independence Day Celebration is going to be the bomb!"


"Xiang..." Taiwan tried, reaching out to a hand. Her fellow island batted it aside. Not in a rude manner, simply in a disappointed manner. She sighed. "Xiang," she started again, "I know this is the first time Gege forgot, but you have to be less depressed about it! I mean... I mean..." she tried to think up some excuse that would still make both of them happy. She just couldn't.

"Are you going?" she asked instead. "Because if you aren't going, then I won't go either."

"I'm going," the other confirmed.

"You... you don't have to be like this," Taiwan tried. "It's absolutely alright for you to make a fuss, throw a tantrum. Things don't... you don't... you do not need to be so formal," she completed, lamely.

"It's alright," Hong Kong replied, even though it was clearly not alright. "I mean..." he started, looking at his fingers, "It's not like we ever do much, right? We just... have a cake, and a couple candles..." he scoffed, "It's really more of a Western celebration anyways." He looked away. Taiwan choked back a sob - for the sake of her brother, because being forgotten was a common occurrence in an international community - so many people to meet and greet and sights to see.

"Maybe... maybe he's just pretending to forget...!" Taiwan piped up. And then smiled. "I mean, that's got to be it, this is Gege we're talking about, after all!" She looked to Hong Kong for confirmation, but the other simply continued looking out the window, twiddling his fingers. "Look, even if there isn't any celebration, I'm sure he'll come wish you good greetings. And isn't that all anyone really wants?"

"I know!" she grins, hoping - in any way - to cheer the other up, "Since today, I have no plans and you have no plans, let's go troll the streets and markets of New York; I'll buy you anything and everything you could possible want!"

Her sibling still doesn't reply, and she knows, even if the invitation is sitting on a table five feet away - having been excitedly torn open in morning - that he's still thinking about the invitation. To the celebration. For the Communist Party of China.

"Jiejie," Hong Kong starts, still refusing to look away from that one spot on the windowpane. Taiwan stiffens, because he hasn't used that name for her in years - 'older sister,' which, technically, she was. "It's alright," he repeats again, and if she hadn't known him for, well, forever, she would have said something along the lines of 'you're not fooling anyone with that line.' But she's a good sister - tries to be, at least - so she keeps quiet.

"Please don't get my hopes up like that," Hong Kong says, and the whole thing just breaks her heart.


It was - Yao had thought - a pretty brilliant idea, if he had to say so himself.

After renting out the appropriate movies - all with English!subtitles, so the larger portion of them could understand the whole movie in all its glory, and beautifically decorating the place, it was the only one-story building in this section of the Presidential quarters after all, he had bought a feast-load of food, and thirteen cakes (he had yet to think of a suitable explanation for this number). Naturally, he thought, this was sure to be the best celebration yet!

But of course, like the best of plans (or really, most plans in general), everything had the probability - and a rather large probability at that - to go wrong.

Murphy's Law, Alfred had called it. Yao had scoffed it off then. But that was then, and this is... this was...

"A complete disaster, aru!" he wailed, as all the balloons he had bought decided that twenty-four hours was simply too long to stay inflated. "I'll never pay so little for so many balloons," he muttered, pragmatically puncturing all of the balloons with a pencil-point, before tossing them out in the trash. A quick glance at the clock - 6:30 PM. He had told them seven, but he was absolutely certain that certain people would have a knack for arriving early.

"YaoYao~" Right on time, Yao dryly supplied, running to the door. "I brought a present for you~" the other nation giggled, handing Yao a neatly-wrapped bottle. "It's the best of the best, da?" Ivan grinned, leaning down to peck a kiss. Yao smiled, albeit a bit gamely, tilting his head and allowing Ivan's lips to graze his right cheek - much to the other's disappointment.

"China!" Alfred called, about five seconds later, arriving with what seemed to be enough artillery to keep an army at bay. "Sweet~" he whistled, observing the various decorations and lights and cakes. "Woah! Russia?" he raised an eyebrow, after having noticed the other (who was eagerly sampling all the rice wine Yao had put out on the table so far), "How did you manage to beat me hear? I purposely arrived half an hour early to set up!"

"Great minds think alike, don't they, aru?" Yao quickly put in, hoping that the situation wouldn't escalate to a fight.

"Yao~ Yao~!" Francis' voice called, swinging open the door in his typical flamboyant fashion, "Such a lovely fête, now isn't it? Here's the housewarming present," he handed the other nation an exquisite replica of Marianne (Yao winced), "And here is the cadeau sécret~" he winked at Yao, handing the other a present that was wrapped in a terribly suspicious manner. "Arthur did the wrapping, you see," Francis explained, flicking off a wad of tape.

"Oh please," the island nation grumbled, coming up from behind, and dropping two equally-questionable packages on the table which Yao had placed the various offerings. "You're worse with a tape and a pair of scissors that I am." And before Francis could retort anything, Arthur grabbed Yao by the wrist, "Can I speak to you - privately?" he hissed, dragging the other to a corner.

"What about - ?" Yao wanted to ask, as he quickly glanced towards the about-to-arrive guests. Then he paused. "Do you hear that, aru?" he asked Arthur.

"No... what?"

"Hm," Yao furrowed his brow. "Must've been my imagination, I suppose. Anyways," he crossed his arms, as Arthur stopped walking, deeming this distance to be far away - and private - enough. "What is this all about, aru? There are guests that I need to welcome!"

"Kiku told me that Im-Yong Soo told him that Taiwan said that Hong Kong thinks that you've forgotten entirely about his birthday!" Arthur hissed out, glaring at Yao and pulling out a marginally more-neatly wrapped present. "I can't believe you," he growled, frowning, "What kind of parent-figure are you? I mean, I never forget Alfred's birthday -"

"Mainly because it's three days apart from Xiang Gang's," Yao retorts, before rolling his eyes, "And how can you possibly think - even for a moment - that I've forgotten about his birthday? This whole party is just a cover-up for the celebration, aru!"

"...What?" Arthur asked - eyes wide in disbelief.

"Yes," Yao huffed, "I didn't want to reveal it so early, but this whole party was made - there is no secret present exchange, you see? - to celebrate his birthday! I just didn't want to tell anyone because I was scared it wouldn't be a surprise, aru!"

"...Oh." Boy, did he feel foolish now. "W-well," Arthur stammered out, "Good job then! I'm sure Hong Kong will be happy to hear that."

"Then will you help me?" Yao asked, grinning cheekily, "You tell Alfred, Francis, and Ivan - I'll tell Kiku and Im-Yong Soo. When Xiang Gang gets here, I want all of us to yell out 'Happy Birthday!'."

"In English," Arthur added - snidely.

"In English," Yao acquiesced, rolling his eyes, adding, "Though I wouldn't put it past Im-Yong Soo to shout something in Korean..."


Taiwan did not know what to expect when she and Hong Kong arrived at the party. Kiku and Im-Yong Soo had both been invited, further increasing the chances (and her hopes) that this would - indeed - be a birthday party for his brother. However, as they neared the fifth building in the seventh district - part of the Presidential quarters, of course, she saw not only Kiku and Im-Yong Soo, but Alfred, Arthur, Ivan, and even... Francis...?

"Xiang," she whispered - because could this really only be a political gathering to honor the anniversary of the founding of the CPC? The other island gave no response, simply walked forward, neither slow nor hurried, towards the meeting place.

"Thank you," he said to her - right before opening the door. It might've been a smile, if it hadn't looked so pained.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY XIANG GANG!" the various nations assembled in the room called out. Although it was a bit less smooth, particularly because Yao had not been expecting Arthur to give halfway and actually use the Chinese name for Hong Kong. Embarrassing as it was, it was the Asians who used 'Hong Kong' in the greeting. Taiwan gasped, before clapping her hands, hugging her sibling and positively beaming.

"You see? You see?" she delighted, "I told you Gege would never forget! I told you!" And then she grabbed the other by the hand, dragging him to the center of the festivities. Im-Yong Soo and Kiku were the first to greet him, hugging and shaking hands respectively - though both wish him well. Francis pecked him on the cheek, or attempted to, until both Arthur and Yao kick-and-shoved the other aside. Ivan, of course presented Hong Kong with a bottle of vodka. And a truly terrifying smile. Yao and Arthur laughed and argued, muttering congratulations and condolences and the so-such.

"Happy?" Taiwan said, cocking her head and smiling - winsomely.

"Were you in on this?" he asked, flatly. She laughed, sheepishly, giving neither affirmation nor denial.

"Did you hear that?" Yao starts up again.

"Hear what?" Arthur asks.

"I heard it too, da-ze~ While Kiku and I were coming up to the building!" Im-Yong Soo replies. "We didn't know what it was and Kiku said it was probably a parade or something inside the city gates."

"But... but there are no parades today," Yao stated. And then there was a pause, as everyone took that piece of information in, straining to hear the sound. All the while, the sound increased in volume - going from a dull buzz to a louder roar, until a distinct - and all too excited - voice could be made out from the background revving and vrooming of... an engine, perhaps?


Several things happened - simultaneously. Ivan looked up - and saw the Benz SLS AMG coming at unprecedented speeds - and then proceeded to run straight out the door. Alfred, thinking the whole thing was a wild game, gave a whoop and chased after. Taiwan was shoved out by Im-Yong Soo, who managed to drag a disoriented Kiku in his wake. Francis, taking the same route as Alfred, gave an 'allons-y!' before running out.

"I have to save the cakes, aru!" Yao insisted, even while the car was soaring. Up - above overhead - and Kiku could clearly head Ludwig. Screaming.

"Yao!" Seven different voices called - all with varying degrees of horror.

"Bloody bugger...!" Arthur swore, running towards the soon-to-be-demolished building. However, someone else managed to arrive there beforehand.

"Always so overdone," Hong Kong muttered, grabbing the other by the hand, while tossing one of the cakes - the green one, Yao dimly thought - to Arthur, who caught it, albeit with some more English swears in the mix. Somehow or another, they managed to crash through the window, as the distance from the cake table to the door was too far. Just as Yao was recovering from the realization that said window was open - which was the main reason why neither of them were embedded with glass - the car landed.

About twenty feet before the house - which made those who had dragged everyone to the fourty-foot clearance seem a lot smarter.

And then the car kept going.

"WHEE~!" Feliciano whooped. Whooped, as the car crashed into the house. Ludwig screamed, then shut up, and then hauled both Gilbert and Feliciano bodily out of the car. Which was good news, because, as Ivan had the instincts to point out -

"The vodka!"

- It was only a matter of time before the oil from the engine met up with said jug of alcohol. Particularly if said Benz SLS AMG was already slightly on fire. Hong Kong stared, Yao gaped, and Arthur swore some more, as the meeting room - celebration place, really - comically went up in flame.

"No fair!" Alfred cried foul as Ludwig heaved, panted, and then threw the two mischief-makers on the ground.

"We... are... never... driving... again...!" Ludwig gasped out, before collapsing on the concrete.

"C'mon West!" Gilbert was, evidently, in a good enough condition to retort, "We managed to make it here within a day!"

"I don't even want to know, aru," Yao disclaimed, walking towards the rest of the, ahem, survivors. Miraculously, it was only the center of the building that had exploded, and as such, the flames were relatively easy to put out. Even more surprising was the fact that the three crazy drivers (well, one driver, two passengers) suffered only minor bruises and no actual burns. Although, on Ludwig's side, some healthy dose of psychological trauma was evident.


All in all, it had been a successful party, Yao thought, sitting back - sipping juice (scavenged from the trunk of the car) - and watching the fireworks explode. Outside.

Sure, Alfred had managed to write the characters for Hong Kong... completely wrong... and no, actually, China's national colors were not red, white, and blue, but all the same, the display had been a pleasure to view - and Hong Kong seemed to enjoy it greatly. Arthur, of course, muttered something about 'bloody Americans,' whereas Francis had simply laughed aloud behind his hand. Feliciano clapped wildly, and Gilbert had hooted. Ludwig was probably still busy 'recuperating'.

"Happy Birthday, Xiang Gang!" Yao exclaimed with a smile as he approached the boy-come-man of the hour, "I heard from Kiku and Im-Yong Soo that you thought that I had forgot, aru!" He knelt down, pressing a kiss to the other's forehead and laughing as the island flushed deeply. "I'm so sorry it seemed that way," he said with a grin, "And I am absolutely not mad that you and Taiwan showed me that... that video." This time, it was Yao's turn to blush, thinking back to the... more vivid moments. Hong Kong and Taiwan both dropped their jaws - in unison.

Yao cleared his throat, continuing with, "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Hong Kong replied, with a slow smile - one was illuminated perfectly by the huge "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" that lit up the eastern sky. Yao, of course, was smiling - with just as much enthusiasm and joy. "Yes, I am." The island whispered, before adding, "Thank you, Yao-ge."

"A-hem!" Gilbert cleared his throat, as the first sparks of the grand finale made their way into the night, "I would - on behalf of my little brother, West, who is a total pansy and cannot stand 200 miles for 24 hours - like to start a toast, to the birthday boy!" He lifted his bottle, filled with the finest - in fact, only - imported Krombacher that money could buy. Driven straight from the source, actually, much to Ludwig's horror. "To many more wild nights and happy days..." he recited, before pausing, "You know what, fuck that; have a good birthday! Go wild!"

"And make sure to eat lots and lots of spicy pasta!" Feliciano chimed in.

"Cheers~aru!" Yao declared, raising his own Krombacher bottle into the air.


The clinking from the various bottles and glasses were effectively drowned out by the red, white, and blue (all of which - suspiciously - grandly exploded into a huge American flag, sans fifty stars) which cascaded over the whole of the harbor, dimming and falling to look like shooting stars.

"Quickly! Make a wish!" Taiwan reminded her sibling.

And maturity and logic and rationality be damned - Hong Kong closed his eyes, and pretended to blow out the whole army of stars.


finally! It's over~ I actually really liked the character choices I made for this fic, turned out to be Axis, Allies, and Asians! Thank you all for being so sweet and supportive (and, hell, falling off your chair laughing is pretty supportive, I would think~) all the way through! I hope you enjoyed this really cracky take at international relations, and happy birthday - to the CPC and Hong Kong! *shot*