Dear Sister, you irritate me sometimes and I'm sure I irritate you a lot. For now, we shall continue our war. Blast the FM radio all you want and I shall passive-aggressively return in kind with my opera and folk music! May the best geek win.


Tante Monique

Killian drove her truck smoothly along the dusty country roads, which seemed to be in need of some repair. Noisily she slurped the soda her brother had bought her and viciously chomped down a fistful of chips, or fries, whatever they were called. Arthur sat in the passenger seat looking out the window pensively. Alfred was likewise noisily eating in the back seat, a little upset that his aunt had not only forbid him to drive her truck, she had also forbid him from riding in the truck bed.

Arthur quietly sipped his iced tea, since the weather was becoming far too warm for the hot stuff. He looked at his independent sister and sighed. Some countries changed with time but Killian seemed to remain the same. She looked exactly like she had in the nineteen twenties, except for…

"Kili, why are you wearing Liam's clothes?" asked Arthur.

"We're playing a game. If you don't mind, start calling me Liam when we get back," said Killian plainly, "And could you stop calling me that? You make me feel like a minor character from The Hobbit…"

"I've already told all of you only New Zealand and I can make those jokes," grumbled England.

"A short character from the hobbit?" sniggered Alfred.

"Alfred Jones, you are going the right way for a smacked bottom," warned the red haired nation.

"Hey Aunty Kili? Do you have any music that would be good for an awesome chase scene? Because we should totally have chase music playing when we rescue the sheep!" exclaimed America.

"Great, now you've got him saying it," grumbled Killian. She reached for a CD case and handed it back to Alfred, who looked through it carefully. Arthur returned to his tea and avoided eye contact with his sister. Killian fixed her eyes on the road, keeping one arm on the stereo and one arm leaning in the open window.

"Kili, I really am glad you came," said Arthur quietly, "At first I honestly thought you sent Liam instead and…you still…hated…"

"Arthur, I don't want to talk about it," said Killian sharply.

"So we'll just leave the giant elephant in the room right where it is…" mumbled Arthur, gazing out the window over the English countryside. He hated this, he wanted some form of closure. He wanted for them to talk about everything, every last atrocity, get everything off their chests and start fresh. Killian was not like that though. It was getting to the point for Arthur where it hurt to see his sister. Every time he saw her he was reminded of everything that she would never speak to him about or forgive him for. It reminded him of a side of himself he hated.

"You listen to…Jedward! Oh my gosh you're a Jedward fangirl! That's totally hilarious!" yelled America, effectively ruining the mood.

"Hey! At least I don't have the Jonas Brothers OR Hannah Montana!" snapped Killian, "Now either you can shut up and listen to Jedward, or you can get out of my truck."

"You don't have to be so mean…" mumbled America, climbing over the seat and sliding a disk into the player, "Besides…the Jo Bros aren't that bad…"

"Right, and Dustin the Turkey will win the next election," chuckled Ireland before humming along to 'Lipstick.'

"Killian…if you don't mind…" began Arthur awkwardly.

"Arthur, please, not now. Maybe when this thing with Matthew is over, but not now," said Killian.

"N-no I was going to ask…" said Arthur, looking for a convenient excuse, "If you would…turn up the music. I like this song."

"Now that I can handle," sighed Killian with relief, turning up the music.

"B-best twenty three out of forty five…?"


Monique looked Gilbert over with her best death glare as Canada trembled in the corner. Gilbert had been in the room for under an hour with the woman and he was already terrifying him. Not only was she completely mopping the floor with him when it came to pool, she had to be the queen of passive-aggressiveness. Gilbert groaned, this really should not have surprised him. He got his invisibility from Wales, alcohol tolerance from one or both Irelands, kissing skills from France and Scotland, so his passive aggressiveness had to come from somewhere.

"If you want," said Monique curtly, "You could use the practice."

Gilbert winced as he almost felt her voice flay his skin and rearranged the ceramic balls on the billiard table. He positioned the white ball and moved to break.

"So, you live in your brother's basement? I suppose that will make Mathieu the bread winner?" asked Monaco.

Gilbert nodded slowly as he broke, scattering the brightly coloured balls across the green table. Monaco stalked her way around the table, analysing the different angles. "I'm really starting to wonder what you think you are bringing into this relationship."

"What do you mean by that, lady?" asked Prussia slowly.

"When two countries merge, or when two people get married, they both bring properties into the union," observed Monique, "Though in this case, materially speaking, you aren't bringing anything into the union."

"I'm bringing…my awesome?" offered Gilbert, looking to Matthew for help.

"I am just saying," said Monique smoothly, lining up her next shot, "That how much of a stretch of the imagination would it be, for someone to marry someone else to get out of a basement and get a steady source of income?"

"H-Hey!" exclaimed Gilbert, "I'll admit I've done some bad things, but I'm not with Mattie for anything like that!"

"Auntie, that's…that's going too far," said Matthew, adopting the same chilly tone as his aunt, "I'm not going to let you talk about Gilbert like that."

"So, he can't even fight his own battles?" asked Monique, "You have to step in? Some husband…"

"What exactly made you think I was the wife?" asked Matthew dangerously, "And what made you think I would be dumb enough to get into a relationship with a gold digger?"

"I'm not a gold digger…" mumbled Prussia as Matthew and Monique filled the room with frigid passive aggression.

"I said nothing of the sort, I simply don't want you taken advantage of," replied Monique in a frosty voice.

"I can handle myself Aunty, and Gilbert too. In fact, I can handle a lot more than most people think I can," said Matthew crisply with an icy smile.

"It's okay Birdie, I can defend my-" began Gilbert.

"Stay out of this Gilbert," snapped the two passive aggressive Francophones.

"I'll go…um…do…productive…things then…." mumbled Gilbert as the two blonds stared each other down the most polite duel the Prussian had ever seen.

"Aunty, I think you should take back what you said," suggested Canada threateningly.

"And I think you should reconsider the last month of your life," replied Monique sweetly.

Prussia dove behind a couch as the tension in the room built to astronomical levels. Canada had a scary side to him. Not some kind of psychotic, crazy, run around swearing and bashing people's brains in scary. The cute little blond would actually get quieter, politer, an iciness would creep into his voice and he would glare in a way that would make grown men wet themselves in fear. Then he would polietely request what he wanted, and his enemies would fall over themselves to do it, lest they invoke Canada's wrath.

"Well," said Monique, "You pass."

"Pass?" asked Canada, still on the defensive.

"Yes, it's not right that only Gilbert gets singled out. You're both in this together and should defend each other. You pass," said Monique.

"Wait…you're all testing me?" asked Gilbert, "That's so not cool!"

"No, just me, the others are just…how do you say it in English…Ah, yes, they're morons," said Monique frankly, "The Welshman is psychotic, the Englishman is obsessive, the Irish girl is full of emotional baggage, the Scotsman smells terrible, the Irish boy is going through an angsty phase and France is a perverted, arrogant, sickeningly-"

"Holy crap, I guess you learned how to make bitchy rants from her…" whispered Prussia to Canada, earning an embarrassed nod.

"Um, anyways Aunty, I think we're going to go for a walk and just have some time to ourselves," said Canada, "You're all sort of making me nervous."

"Oh, I don't blame you," said the blond woman, adjusting her glasses and putting the ceramic balls away, "I'm avoiding them myself. I might do the same thing later."


"Ecosse…I didn't realize you missed me so much…" panted Francis.

"I always miss you…" sighed Scotland against France's marked, smooth skin.

Earnan Carnegie had done more than kiss Francis' little injury better. He had kissed the bruising leg, then Francis had informed him that he had a little ache in his wrist, which Earnan just had to kiss better as well. Then Francis had bit his lip during the second round of kisses, so of course the Scotsman kissed the pink bleeding lips as well. Then, one thing just sort of led to another and they started to make out on the stairs.

"Mm…I've thought of something else that kind of hurts…" said the blond nation slyly, tugging at the end of the Scotsman's kilt.

"And where would that be?" said the scruffy, sooty man with a grin.

Francis gingerly removed Earnan's goggles and laced his fingers around the leather strap, "Hm, are you sure you want to know?"

"Francis Bonnefoy am I going to have to force that information from you?" asked Scotland.

"I would like to see you try," challenged the Frenchman.

This of course led to another round of heated kisses, just as Gilbert and Matthew emerged from the billiard room.

"Oh my god!" yelled Gilbert, covering Matthew's eyes, "Whatever happened to decency!"

"Oh please, you've done much worse than this," huffed Francis, buttoning up his shirt a little.

"Birdie! Avert thine eyes and hurry!" yelled the Prussian, rushing the Canadian out of the house.

Scotland blinked and looked down at France, "I hope Mattie's okay, but what do you suppose that was all about?"

France pouted, "It's you not kissing me anymore. And you had better fix that toute de suite Monsieur Inventeur!"


"My god, they're crazy…" said Gilbert, breathing in the sweet farm air.

"Sorry…should have warned you…they get kind of…frisky…" mumbled Canada with a blush, "And I'm sorry about my Aunt, she really does mean well."

"I know, thanks for sticking up for me back there," smiled Gilbert, elbowing Matthew's arm playfully, "I'll be sure I live up to your expectations and be as awesome as you think I am."

"Gil, how could you not be awesome," said Matthew smiling back.

That was when they were jumped by a crazy Irish person in blue paint, Danny Boy blaring triumphantly behind 'her' as 'she' held a broadsword aloft, swinging a shillelagh in 'her' free hand. Matthew stared completely stunned as Gilbert's jaw dropped for the umpteenth time.

"Um…Aunty Killian?" asked the Canadian.

"I can't take this anymore!" screeched 'Killian', "Come on me boyos! We're taking over England once and for all!"