Peter abandoned his spoon in an empty pot of ice-cream. He'd been going at the tub for an hour or so and he'd finally managed to empty it, collecting a total of five instances of brain-freeze. He was proud. It was nearing three o'clock. Time had flown by since the group had started reading in the later morning, and by now he figured that they'd have to keep reading the day after. They were barely a fifth of the way through!

He told Gilbert he was going to take a quick break to stretch his young legs, and Prussia had obliged, saying he'd continue to focus on the entire group. So, he put the tub down on his desk and decided to venture outside to breathe in the fresh salted air of the ocean, and to listen as seagulls soared and squawked overhead noisily. He was where he belonged. His soon-to-be-a-country sea fort wasn't like his second home with Finland and Sweden, but nothing could ever beat the original.

Peter smiled out across the water, in the direction of London. He knew that if people found out that the journal was the idea of himself and Prussia, he'd be in for more than just an earful from England. But he also knew that Gilbert - like the idiot he was - would protect him and take all of the blame. He didn't want that.

After about five minutes of contemplation, wishful thinking and deep breaths, Peter returned to his room and placed his headphones back on so he could hear Gilbert.

"Anything interesting happen?" he questioned.

"No, not really." Gilbert replied sternly. Peter noted how he still sounded a bit tense, so he asked what more had been read to continue conversation. "Just those short things about the Canada's first settlers and the Cold War..."

"Alright." Peter replied quietly, knowing that his friend would prefer to not talk about the latter of those two things. "Are you going to tell me why you were in a flap earlier on? We're in this together, you know."

"Alfred." Prussia responded sharply. "He's being a dummkopf and needs a kick up the bum. That and a hug."

"So why did Russia leave?"

"Because I told him to go and look for him, and I told him to hurry the heck up." he answered, looking at the left-most computer screen. Unfortunately, he couldn't see what was going on outside in the maze. He was tempted to leave his post and head over there to to sort it out himself, but he knew he couldn't.

"Oh... But why Russia and not England or Canada?"

Gilbert didn't reply. He was aware that Peter should already know the answer to that, and waited for it to click inside the young boy's mind.

"Ohhh, I see..." Sealand eventually said. "It must be urgent then..."

"Yep." Gilbert stated simply. "Extremely."

A few miles away from the Prussian, Francis was in possession of the journal still, and was ready to begin reading out the third entry. It was fairly long. Feliciano had popped back out to the kitchen to get more drinks for everyone, and had told them to continue in the meantime.

"Alright, I'll read one more and then someone else can have it." he announced. "Volunteers?"

"I'll take it." Arthur said across Matthew. Francis nodded in response and proceeded to read the personal entry.

"Spain. April 27th, 1937. I'm sorry if my writing is scrawled and if I don't make sense. My head is still pounding after yesterday's bombing and I've had to step away from the front lines for a bit. Franco has apologised, but I told him there was no need. I agreed to it after all. I just feel terrible. Emotionally, I mean. I basically sentenced my citizens to death in Guernica..."

Oh dear..." Francis paused momentarily, casting a glance towards his friend.

"Keep going, it's fine." Antonio said, to which Francis meekly nodded.

"It hurt me too, of course. I felt each impact, but I can't really say it compares to the rest of the pain from the rest of the war. I can't differentiate it. Almost everything feels numb, which is why General Franco sent me away from the fighting for a bit. He obviously doesn't understand how I work. It doesn't matter where I am; I still feel it all."

'Actually, I think I have a couple scars on my back from that day..." Antonio mused to himself. "How interesting...'

"I hope that the German brothers are at least happy with what their results are, even if I'm hesitant. I wouldn't want it to be a waste of human life... I had the 'privilege', as Franco calls it, of meeting Hitler a couple of days back when the agreement was formed. I don't have an opinion. He just seems like the rest of the world's politicians. Only his moustache actually makes him different. I wish both Germany and Prussia luck with that one."

"I guess it wasn't enough luck..." Spain remarked aloud, this time, and turned to Germany. "Perhaps if I hadn't been neutral it would've been a bit different..."

"Chances are that your boss would've had you side with us, though," Ludwig responded, "so I'm glad you stayed out of it in the end."

At that moment, Feliciano walked into the room carrying a tray of drinks, ranging from beer to water, tea to vodka. That included drinks for nations who were temporarily absent, of course. Everyone passed the glasses to their designated owners and Feliciano took a seat by Ludwig once more. He smiled brightly when he saw how Germany gave a little smile too and hugged him. For Ludwig's sake, however, he made it quick. Still smiling, Feliciano asked for Francis to continue, but the Frenchman said that there was nothing more to be read in that entry.

"Really?" Antonio said. "I was sure I wrote more than that..."

"Maybe it was too long, mon ami. Do you remember what it said?"

"Not really. Probably just me lamenting more, complaining about the ringing in my ear, the usual." Antonio muttered quietly with a sigh. "You know, I've only gone back to Guernica twice since the bombing."

"What happened?" Feliciano asked.

He didn't know much of the Spanish Civil War. Romano had been the one sent off to help both Spain and Franco in the last year or two, and Feliciano had to stay and deal with Mussolini back in Italy. He hated it. When the older brother eventually returned, he chose not to tell Feliciano anything of what happened, other than Franco's victory. From then, it had simply gone with the wind.

Spain gave a disinterested shrug. "Hitler wanted to test out some weaponry back before World War Two. Franco, the man I was fighting for, brought it to my attention and I eventually met with Germany and Prussia and agreed to let them attack the republicans in Guernica." he said.

Feliciano looked to Ludwig. "You bombed Spain?" he asked with wide eyes.

"It was my own decision, Feli." Antonio responded, in case the Italian got the wrong end of the stick. "I knew the consequences when I signed the papers and as Prussia said planes would be in the skies within three days. I signed the death warrants of my people, at the end of the day..."

"You were in the middle of a Civil War." Ludwig said almost apologetically. "You were suffering as it was... I'm just sorry that my brother and I ever went to meet you that year and ask such a thing of you..."

"It is part of my history." Antonio responded with a faint smile. "I can't change, nor would I if I had the choice. Besides, Picasso got to make quite the piece of art based on the event."

"Always looking at the positives." Francis smiled warmly.

"Always."

General conversation erupted around the room. It made a welcome change to the dreariness and depression that had been looking over the space for the last couple of hours, but of course, they couldn't let it last for too long. There was still a massive chunk of pages to get through. After about five minutes, Ludwig called the room to silence and decided that it was time to continue reading. Francis passed the book to Arthur. He began to read aloud.

"France. He gives out roses to a lot of people and appreciates the thanks. However, there's nothing he'd probably appreciate more than receiving one in return. He's selfless, at the end of the day."

"That's a thought. Where do you get all of those roses from, France?" China enquired. "You seem to have an abundance."

"Ah, well," France replied, "I know a certain someone who likes to grow them all year round in rather large amounts."

"Well, so long as people like them, I don't see an issue." Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. "Roses are beautiful things. They just need someone to appreciate that beauty while it lasts, before the petals fall away and the flower is lost forever."

Francis glanced at Arthur and smiled to himself. 'If only he knew,' he dreamed to himself, 'that roses aren't the only things like that in this world of ours... That they aren't the only beautiful things that need to be cherished before time is up...'

"Anyway," Arthur pressed onwards, "if we're all happy that Francis is now going to send us a ridiculously large bouquet of roses each by the end of the week, perhaps I should read the next one."

"After this one, I think we should take a break." Japan inserted before England began. "I will be happy to sort any dinner preparations later this evening. Perhaps you would like to help me, England?"

"If you're happy to let me, it'd be a pleasure." England responded earnestly, nodding and smiling at his Japanese friend.

"Of course." Kiku said.

"Alright, this one is about Germany." Arthur said as he began. "Germany. He's extremely competitive when it comes to sports, especially football. He and England have held matches against each other ever since the end of WW1 (excluding WW2)."

"Speaking of, we need to arrange our next game." Ludwig remarked with a small smirk. "If I recall, I am still one point ahead."

"Yes, yes, that's all very well," Arthur responded with a smirk of his own, "but I have a formidable line-up this time. I guarantee your loss."

"Hey, why don't we have a world game?" Spain interjected suddenly, a brilliant idea for mig in his mind as he spoke.

When asked to elaborate, Antonio obliged and began to talk of a game played between two teams of personifications, each team headed by either England or Germany. He said they could make it an annual thing, if needs be, and host it around the world as if it were like a FIFA tournament, but a private one for only personifications to see and participate in. Around the room, nods and smiles appeared, and enthusiasm sparked in everyone.

"That's not a bad shout." Arthur agreed. "I'd be up for that."

"So would I." Ludwig nodded.

"So, while we're on the subject—"

"Shotgun having Antonio on our team!" Feliciano declared, a surprisingly determined and fierce look on his face.

Arthur hummed. "Fine, but I get to choose all the others who'll be on my team first." he cast a smile to Spain. "It's only fair."

"Ohhh, he's putting France on his team! And Russia, I bet you!" Antonio responded, smiling as brightly as ever. "But never fear, for they are no match for me and my swift steps and immense kicks, amigos! They're going to have to have to knock me out if they want to win!"

"That can be arranged."

The door to the meeting room crept open and a new face stood in the doorway. Silence reigned again.

<><><>

Still no news on America and Russia... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°)
*slapped by Prussian*

On a side note, I've had a falling out with 'Split'. I have ideas n stuff, but it's trying to fill the gaps in between to build a credible story line. I'll update it, but I just don't know when. I'm waiting for inpsiration :l

- S