DC: "Hm? What the heck is this...?"

America: "Hey~! Dudette, why you spacing out like that on me?! I was totally calling you but you were just....huh? What's that?"

The Washington District of Colombia, commonly called DC, in this case, had slipped out of her paperwork buried office and into the balcony outside. She didn't notice her country, the United States of America, called America for short, enter her office and followed her out the balcony. On the edge of the white railing was a card that was smooth and smelled nostalgic but they couldn't place what the smell was. Tied to the card by a ribbon was America's flower; a rose.

America: "Wow...man, we should make a candle outta this...but at the same time, I don't think we should..."

DC: "I know, right? What does this remind me of...?"

America: "Nags you, right? Well, read it, what does it...hey, this ain't...English..."

The American's voice trails away as his and DC's brows furrow down at the elegant script written in a shimmering pearl ink, soothing against the darker hues of midnight and purple flushed across the paper. Indeed, the wording on the card wasn't English, but both America and DC were multilingual. But...this was a language that they haven't seen in ages.

DC: "Oh my gosh...this...this can't be...?"

America: "...It's...it's been too long, DC! It's open! IT'S OPEN! Yes!"

Nies rus aiswenhol goten bri tiamos for a tagen~?

'Where does everyone go to be friends for a day~?'

DC/America: "The World Summit is open!"