Servant girls rushed through the streets of Kyoto. In their arms they carried parcels, papers, and other objects of varying importance. At the end of one of the streets, a long, simple one with people swarming around, even at the hour, stood a teahouse. Its roof was still damp after the rain that afternoon. Now night engulfed the sky, peppered with shining stars, and the air was chill but not cold.

The teahouse prepared to host a party of several foreigners. The mistress tidied the room, checked on the cook who prepared the dinner, and made sure the geisha invited was coming. Her excitement flourished from the peculiarity of the situation. The geisha coming was renown and quite notorious not just in Kyoto but in nearly all of Japan. She's beautiful, they say, and she dances like moonbeams and starlight if they could take human shape.

Finally, as the hour struck nine, the visitors arrived. They were men from various countries, one man from Tokyo, who would act as a translator between the men and the geisha, as the men would be speaking English to each other. The mistress welcomed them as they slid out of their shoes and made way into the room, sitting down before the table and resting.

"The geisha will be here shortly," the mistress told the man from Tokyo.

The man, an attractive fellow with short black hair cut to frame his face, and dark, bottomless eyes, nodded and thanked her. He entered the room and chatter instantly burst among the men. Their voices rose through the entire tea house, loud English sprinkled with laughter. Not a half hour passed before the Geisha finally arrived. She entered at a fashionably late time, so not to seem unpopular, and took off her shoes before sliding the doors open. All at once the men stopped speaking to greet her.

At first, none could speak, except for the man from Tokyo. He told her to sit by him and pour the tea.

"We haven't quite started yet."

She nodded and raised the teapot, still warm, and began to pour it, pulling the kimono from her arms to expose an inch of the soft underside of her arms. She was beautiful, to say the least. Her hair was done up in a complex style, like a flower made of black silk, and away from her face. Her face was coated in white make up, her lower lip heavy with red lipstick, and her eyebrows gentle looking. Her neck was the perfect length, seen in part from the back where her kimono bent down to expose two buttons of her spine. Her kimono was a completely different story. It was of soft pinks and pastel oranges, depicting the trees in autumn. Her obi had the pattern of fallen leaves along it, tied in an impossibly difficult method in the back. The ornaments in her hair, pearly white beads, shifted slightly when she moved. And her eyes, the same color as the man from Tokyo's, bore into everyone who looked at her.

"Her name is Sakura," the man from Tokyo said, in English.

"Wow, Kiku, you've impressed me." One of the men said.

"I knew the geisha were supposed to be beautiful, but I never expected this!" another one said, sitting up and taking the steaming cup of tea.

Sakura giggled and brought her fingers to her lips when the man from Tokyo, Kiku, translated what the man just said. Sakura understood English perfectly, but knew it would seem better, more attractive, if she did not understand. It added a layer of mystery to her quietness.

One of them, the one who first spoke, pulled his legs under him to sit cross-legged. He was of strong build, obviously American from his short and somewhat messy hairstyle and his broad smiles. His jaw was tough. He had the look of the military on him. He brushed his yellow hair back with thick fingers. His clothing, semi-formal with a collared shirt and dress pants, was wrinkled but not unattractive.

"I'm Alfred," he said and gave a polite nod to Sakura.

Kiku translated quietly.

Sakura smiled and said it was a pleasure to meet him.

A silence, not uneasy, fell among them. They quietly sipped their tea until one of them, a man sitting next to Alfred, made a joke that caused them to burst into laughter. The man who said the joke, fair, with a stubble, and with heavily accented English, was a Frenchman by the name of Francis. His English, not only accented, was broken and often hard to understand, but the others were quite used to his speech and had little to no trouble understanding him.

Next to him was a much smaller, but more wiry than any of the others, young man. His hair, mousy in both consistency and color, was tied back. He kept pushing his glasses up his face and appeared to be permanently nervous. Francis looked over at him as he was having a fit of fidgeting with his hair and gently patted his shoulder. His name was Matthew, and he came from Canada, Kiku told Sakura as she questioned him.

"You invite her over and we hardly speak to her," a fourth man said, "Let's entreat her to something."

As he said this the mistress placed several plates on the table, and a bottle of saké.

"She can play the shamisen very well." Kiku said at length. "Why don't you?" He turned to Sakura and asked her to play. She agreed and stood, finding the stringed instrument in one corner, and gingerly picking it up. She kneeled down and placed her fingers expertly on the strings.

Sakura considered playing a sad, moving peace about snow and sorrow, but then considered that her guests were foreigners. She chose a quick, lilting piece without much meaning. She played it, her fingers a blur and her others vibrating. The guests watched, engrossed completely, and blinked in awe. When she finished, they applauded her and she gave a bow before returning to sit beside Kiku.

Kiku smiled at her, as if to say good thing you did well.

Sakura smiled back, though she felt suddenly very uncomfortable and even threatened.

The fourth man, who suggested she do something, thanked her. He was thin and scrawny, hunched over at the shoulders, and stunningly albino. His hair was the color of dove feathers and his eyes the color of rubies, or blood. His skin was papery in some spots and patchy in others.

"I'm Gilbert, by the way," he said and held out a hand. She gently, keeping her hand limp, touched his hand. He wanted to shake it but instead bent down to kiss her soft skin, before retreating and blushing awkwardly.

That was the company: a Canadian, a Prussian, an American, a Frenchman, and a man from Tokyo.

"Let's play Big Liar," Sakura said once they finished their meal.

Kiku translated this and explained the rules. Each person would tell two quick stories. One of these stories would be true and the other one false. The group would have to guess which one was the truth. Anyone who guessed incorrectly would have to take a shot of saké.

"Oh, I'll go first!" Alfred said, loudly.

All eyes fastened on him.

"Let's see… Okay, here's my first story. Once, when I was a kid, I stole my teacher's car and crashed it into a fence. There were pigs on the opposite side of the fence, since it was a farm, and they all escaped. My second story is that I accidentally ran into a cheerleader while playing football and her skirt fell off. Her panties were blue."

"The first one," was the general consensus.

"That's right," Alfred said.

Gilbert and Sakura, who guessed the second one, took a shot.

The group burst into laughter. Even Sakura's trilling giggles made it through.

"How'd you do that?" Matthew piped up. "I never heard that story."

Sakura had expected his voice to sound as mousy as his appearance. She was surprised. His voice was surprisingly deep and even.

"You were at the prom, remember?" Alfred said. "And I was stag so I just ditched, found one of our teachers had left his car open, it was the dumbass Jacobson, and I took a joy ride. I didn't see the pig sty so I accidentally crashed."

Sakura looked at Kiku, asking if they were friends.

"No, they're brothers," he explained in Japanese.

"How is it that one is Canadian and the other American?"

Kiku shrugged.

"Francis, you're next." Alfred said, picking a dried fish up with his chopsticks and sticking it in his mouth with a hearty crunch.

Francis hummed in thought, picking at the hair on his chin. "Ah, let me see. Well, the first story is that I used to sing in the metro. The other is that I stole my friend's underwear."

They all, except for Kiku, guessed the second one.

"No," Francis laughed, "I never stole anyone's underwear. But I used to sing down in the metro as a child."

Kiku watched everyone around him take a shot, huffing as they did so.

"What about you, Sakura?" Francis looked over at her.

She thought about it, and then, translated by Kiku, she said "My first story is this: I was born in the mountains. The second is this: I lost my mizuage to a woman."

"What's a mizuage?" Gilbert asked.

"It's her virginity," Alfred said.

"How do you know?" Matthew said, feeling that there were too many secrets between them.

"I know because I did a research project on geisha once."

Matthew turned away from Alfred, feeling oddly more betrayed.

"I say the first is true," all of them, including Kiku, said.

"No." Sakura said. They all took a shot.

"How is that even allowed? Does that even count?" Francis said, fingering his cup of sake.

"She dressed as a man. She was also very rich and I am in great debt of her." Sakura explained. "But my danna, my 'husband' is a man."

"Who would that be?" Alfred asked, looking at Kiku.

Kiku then blushed faintly as he explained, without asking Sakura, that it was him.

"You must be filthy rich, then." Gilbert gaped.

"You should go next," Sakura said quietly, wishing she hadn't brought up the subject.

Kiku nodded, touching her hand very briefly, before turning to the group.

"First: I've never slept with a woman. Second: I've never been to the beach."

"Well, considering that you're Sakura's danna then I'd say the second one." Alfred said. The rest of the men agreed. Sakura said the first was the truth.

Everyone but Sakura took a shot.

"I became Sakura's danna only yesterday." Kiku said in humble explanation.

"You sly dog, you," Alfred said.

"You next, Matthew," Kiku looked at the Canadian.

The Canadian smiled, with one look at Alfred, and then began; "I lost my virginity on the night of the prom. My second story is that I once ran over a rabbit with my bike."

"Easy," Alfred scoffed, "the second one is true."

Seeing that Alfred was Matthew's brother, the others agreed.

"Take a shot, fellows, and Lady." Matthew leaned back.

"Wait what? What was all that hubbub about you crying all night because you killed a rabbit?" Alfred said, holding his cup indigently.

Sakura flicked her eyes from one to the other, tension rose like a tidal wave between them, building speed. The mistress walked in before Matthew answered to clear the plates. She noticed that most of them, even Sakura, were becoming slightly tipsy from the drinking game, but nowhere near drunk.

"I ran over a squirrel, or have you already forgotten?" Matthew said.

"Hey, hey let's not fight," Gilbert broke in. "I'll go, since I'm the last one."

"You lost your—is it to her?" Alfred whispered, paying no heed to Gilbert.

Matthew nodded.

Gilbert cleared his throat and their eyes met with his. "Alright, my first story is that I have HIVs, second story is that my brother kicked me out of his house."

Sakura, Kiku, and Francis guessed the second. Alfred and Matthew guessed the first. Alfred and Matthew didn't take a shot.

"How did that happen?" Francis asked, suddenly concerned. He approached Gilbert, sitting beside him now.

Gilbert blushed, his flushed face becoming even more flushed. "Drinking this much has caused me to forget to keep some things secret, I see," his voice was slightly slurred, "and it happened a very long time ago."

Francis hugged him briefly and rubbed his shoulder.

"They love each other like brothers," Kiku put in to inform Sakura. "They've been friends for a very, very long time. There is a third member of their group, but unfortunately he had other plans this night."

"I see," Sakura muttered.

Kiku gazed at her for some time, watching her pin her eyes to the floor and her fingers, like delicate twigs, shift in her lap. He then turned to the men again.

"Are we too drunk to talk about business, then?"

"Hey, you invited that geisha so we don't have to! Let's have her dance," Francis said, leaning back on his elbows.

Sakura, at Kiku's word, plucked a fan from her obi and went to the rectangular clearing at the front of the room. She stood there. Kiku took up the shamisen and placed it across his laps. He checked that it was tuned. Sakura watched him, getting into her first position, and then he began to play. He chose, much to her surprise, a morose piece. She allowed the sadness and heaviness of her body to sink into her arms as she moved them. Her fan with a gently clatter opened, she took it across her to indicate the flow of water.

Their drunkenness seemed to subside. They sat up straighter, watching each of her sad moves. As she continued in the dance, her spins slow and meaningful, they felt the sorrow seeping into their bones. She lowered her eyes, stepping forwards with another wave of her fan as the story advanced. Alfred felt tears spring into his eyes, for a reason he could not fathom, and had to pull them back in to appear stern. Matthew pulled his knees to his chest, watching her dance.

Her dance went on for hardly five minutes, but it felt like nearly an hour had gone by since she stood up. Finally, as the final notes rung through the teahouse, she returned to her seat. The group applauded her.

Kiku set the shamisen away, and returned to sit by Sakura. Francis stood, saying he needed to use the restroom. As by tradition, Sakura accompanied him to show him the way to the restroom. He walked outside the room, pulling on his shoes, and she led him outside. Even though night had now set in more fully, so that the moon overhead hung low like a blind eye.

Sakura led him to the bathroom and waited outside of it. When he returned, he took one glance at her and said; "You know English, don't you?"

"I'm afraid you've caught me," Sakura said, in English, with a small giggle, like a school girl caught in a white lie.

"If Gil asks to go the restroom, be careful." Francis turned to him, digging his hands into his pockets. "He really is a good man, believe me, but when he's drunk he gets out of hand. He then gets even drunker off his own tears."

"I will be careful, as Mr. Francis tells me."

Francis nodded and they returned.

They sat back down and talked some business matters for some time. Gilbert didn't pay attention. He lit a cigarette and smoked it, lying down. Bluish smoke curled around his cheeks, rising to the ceiling. Sakura slid open the doors, allowing the smoke to filter out. She was afraid something would catch on fire, but she didn't speak up.

The conversation, unsuccessful, quickly died out like a final ember in a fireplace. Alfred turned to Francis, scratching his neck. "Say, how's Arthur by the way?"

"Still sick," Francis said. "He can't seem to get over that cold."

"Is it really just a cold? If it's keeping him this long it's probably something much worse," Matthew said, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to cool down. The room had steadily grown hot. Sakura had considered leaving several times, so as not to seem as she had nothing else to do, but for some strange reason the company kept dragging her back in.

"What about Antonio?" Kiku asked, hoping he could get some information about the clandestine workings out of their tipsy state.

Gilbert shifted to get a better view of Kiku. "I… Oh, I gotta go. Where's the restroom?"

He stood and Sakura, remembering Francis's warning, bade him to follow her.

Francis, as Sakura left, said to Kiku; "We don't really know."

Sakura walked side by side with Gilbert, into the now moistening air.

"Seems like it might rain again," Gilbert said with a hiccup.

Sakura pretended she didn't understand, but watched him put out her hand and said "Ame?"

"Ame? Is that rain?" Gilbert, wiggling his fingers, mimicked rain falling down.

"Hai, ame desu." Sakura chuckled, making that same motion.

"What's snow then?" Gilbert said, making a gesture of something falling, and then wrapping his arms around himself as though cold.

"Yuki?" Sakura mimed the movement as well.

"Huh, yuki is it? In German snow, yuki is Schnee."

"Schnee?" Sakura said. They had stopped next to the restroom.

"Yes, and rain, ame, is Regen."

"Regen?"

"Ja."

Sakura waited outside of the wooden door while he used the restroom. When he returned, buttoning up his pants, he stopped behind Sakura. Sakura's heart raced inside her chest. She kept her hands and eyes before her. She could feel cold fingers on her neck, just below where her make-up ended, and a chill rushed down her spine.

"I heard something interesting." Gilbert whispered close to her ear. His voice smelled of alcohol. "Here, in Japan, touching a woman's neck is like for us Westerner's touching a woman's legs."

His cold fingers, in the dark night and away from any prying eyes, slowly slid down her neck and then, over her shoulder, to her collarbone. He gently traced it, pushing a finger in beneath her kimono and to her soft breast. She stiffened at once. He did nothing more and moved away. He said nothing of it for the rest of the night.

Back in the stifling room, the mistress was setting a fan to cool it down. When she walked in to offer more saké, she nearly suffocated with the heat. The men were thankful.

Sakura sat by Kiku.

The party returned to a normal conversation about this and that in their lives, spending the minutes of the night like plucking petals from a flower, letting them flutter away forgotten.

"How did you lose your virginity, Matt?" Alfred asked suddenly. The question had been burning in him the entire night.

"I was eighteen. It was our senior prom, remember? Well my steady girlfriend for the entire high school career and I just managed to get in our car and do it." Matthew said simply.

"How boring," Alfred said.

"At least I didn't lose it to my college roommate," Matthew said.

"Hey, we just happened to do it." Alfred said, his face becoming quite red.

Francis decided to take Gilbert back to the hotel. He thanked Kiku for the invitation and Sakura for treating them to such a special night. The two departed and Alfred and Matthew, both feeling like children after a long day, were ready to drop off to sleep. The brother left, leaving Kiku and Sakura in the teahouse.

Kiku shifted to face her. The room was silent, save for the dim murmuring of the fan as it spun around, dislodging the heat.

"You have such interesting friends, Kiku," Sakura said, to break the silence. His eyes continued to bore into her.

"Yes, they are, aren't they?"

I do not own Hetalia.

Pardon me if my information is incorrect.

Sakura is fem!Japan.