Title: Conference – the musical

Summary: One conference, one week, seven days, several songs and a bunch of country personifications. More than anything, it resembles a field trip filled with seventh graders. Mainly USUK, sort of FrUk, DenNor and FraNada. Hetalia and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, song lyrics belong to their respectable singers and song writers, and by no means do I plan to make any sort of profit with this.

Song: Loathing from the musical Wicked.

Oh, yes. It was indeed a sight to behold. By some unknown reason the human politicians had suddenly found out that they would save a fair amount of money if they paired two and two nations in double rooms, instead of ordering a single room for each and every one of them. And so fate had it that the names on the list handed out to them, showed «Arthur Kirkland» and «Francis Bonnefoy» in the same slot. It didn't get any better when the trembling, English nation looked up to find France looking back at him. And it certainly did not get any better when Francis gave him a playful -not to mention extremely annoying cocky- wink.

England twirled around. The meeting was over; the humans had left already, leaving the cursed sheet of paper behind in their wake. America looked up from feeding his several folders filled with documents of this and that to his overly stylish computer bag.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," the younger grinned. England clenched his hands into fists.

"There's been some confusion over the rooming here at the conference," he said. America's brows lifted. "But of course," England tried to regain composure, "I'll care for Sealand."

At the other end of the room, Francis was handling it all with a dandy smile. "But of course I'll rise above it," he said smoothly to Prussia. Behind him, across the floor, England clenched his teeth.

"For I know that's how a level-headed nation should respond.» He turned around slowly. "There's been some confusion, for you see my room-mate is;" France met his gaze, a pleased smile playing with his lips as he uttered the following description: "Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe."

England glared, -but then his expression changed into a smirk and he cocked his head up. "French."

France's smile went out in a flash. «"What is this feeling so sudden and new?" England put down the offending piece of paper.

"I felt the moment I laid eyes on you." Spain leaned toward Prussia, mumbling: "I have a feeling England's pointing quite far back in time," smiling.

"My pulse is rushing," France grabbed Canada's hand, flattening it to his chest.

"My head is reeling," England rolled his eyes.

"My face is flushing," France fanned his face dramatically.

"What is this feeling?" they stared intensely at each other "Fervid as a flame, does it have a name?" they started walking toward each other with firm steps "Yee~es!" they stopped inches apart. "-loathing. Unadulterated loathing."

France smirked arrogantly "for your face," he swept his fingers elegantly across England's eyebrows.

"Your voice," England snapped for France's hand. France smoothly brushed around him, suddenly being behind him and slapped England's butt loudly, and when England spun around France sang:

"Your clothing," giving the English's colour a swift, smug tug. "

Two – zero to France," Prussia snickered.

"Let's just say," France flung out with his arms like the grand nation he -believed he- was. "I loathe it all! Every little trait, however small-" the two began circling each other "-makes my very flesh begin to crawl," England shivered.

"With simple," France purred in his ear.

"Utter," England snapped back.

"Loathing! There's such strange exhilaration, in such total detestation."

" It's so pure," France did a dramatic swivel -everything was dramatic with him, what a shock-.

"So strong," and England grabbed the chance to give the annoying bastard a solid kick behind. "Though I do admit it came on fast," France glared, but elegantly brushed it off by making a big deal out of rubbing his bum. "Still I do believe that it can last-" France winked at the staring England "-and I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long!" England frowned, glared, and simultaneously they spun away from each other.

Only now did they notice what had happened about the room while they had been -to put it nicely- completely engulfed with one another. The results made France smirk pleased, cocking his head triumphantly upwards as he glanced across his shoulder at England. What had happened was: every nation had moved to France's 'side' of the room.

"Dear Francis, you are just too good," America grinned widely, swiftly followed up by Spain -who looked like he meant every word he sang 110% - "How do you stand it? I don't think I could." That Armada, that Armada. "He's a terror, he's a tartar, we don't mean to show a bias, but Francis you're a martyr." Now that was some serious backup France had gained.

"We~ell," France dragged it out smugly, his wavy hair being treated with adoration by Poland. "These things are sent to try us."

"Poor Francis, forced to reside, with someone so disgusticified! – every single head turned toward England – "we just want to tell you; we're all on your side!" they started walking toward England in formation with France in the lead -and for once all that military training paid off.

"We share your loathing! " -Spain looked too much into it for his own good, England sending him an annoyed glare-. Circling the room slowly England and France kept facing each other. "What is this feeling, so sudden and new?"

"Unadulterated loathing," the other nations chorused eagerly. France's eyes narrowed, twinkling as he pointed superiorly down on England with his wide group of backups around him: "I felt the moment I laid eyes on you."

The group trapped England in a tight circle. "For his face, his voice, his clothing!" yanking and ruffling at the mentioned items in turn, before making way for France.

"My pulse is rushing," France gripped England by the neck.

- "Let's just say," the other nations chanted around them.

"My head is reeling," England in return took advantage of their standing so close and head-butted him.

-"We loath it all!" half of the nations gasped, and the other half scolded.

"Oh, what is this feeling?" England and France smiled equally sugar sweet, both with each their red forehead.

- "Every little trait, however small," the nations all sang at England.

"Does it have a name," France pondered falsely.

-"Makes our very flesh behind to crawl," the nations shuddered.

"Yes!" England snapped.

"A~AH!" And by now, the gathered volume of all the nations had grown to such strength that any poor human passing by in the corridor outside was bound to hear them through the door -and probably wonder what on earth those country personifications were up to now.

"Loathing," they glared at each other, the rest of nations following suit: "Loathing!"

"There's such strange exhilaration," England wondered whether or not he would profit from another 100-years war.

-"Loathing," the other nations popped in.

"In such total detestation," hm, probably not.

-"Loathing," the nations sang.

"It's so pure, so strong," England clawed at the hand still at his neck, France winking at him.

-"So strong!" the nations roared.

"Though I do admit it came on fast," England's eyes narrowed. "Still I do believe that it can last," France smoothed a hand across the other's cheek. "And I will be loathing for forever," England, refusing to be outdone, took it and while looking up at France the entire time, kissed it in true gentleman fashion.

-"Loathing," the nations hollered.

"Loathing truly, deeply," France smiled sourly.

-"Loathing," the nations offered.

"Loathing you ," they stared hard at each other, noses almost touching.

-"Loathing you!" the other nations responded faithfully.

"My whole life long!" they sent their last glares of utter hate before they twirled away from each other, the rest of the nations filling their lungs for a powerful ending: "Loathing, unadulterated loathing!"

England stood at his end of the room, hands trembling slightly from adrenaline, anger -he wasn't exactly sure what. What he did know was that his papers were making a lot more noise as he gathered them than they normally would and should have. Behind him, at the other end of the room, was France, bowing courteously to his splendid chorus -some of which didn't look so sure as to why they had actually participated, now that the moment was over.

England threw a glance over his shoulder, glaring at the lot. Gathering the last of his effects into his bag, he turned and headed for the door. However, upon a second thought he steered towards Francis, stalking up behind the clueless nation.

"BO!"

"AH!"

The startled jump of the French was more than satisfying, and England whacked his bag in the back of France's head for good measure, before exiting the room with a pleased expression. He had no doubt, his shoulders drooping a bit, that this would be the worst bloody week of his centuries long life.

Ta-daaa! The first chapter :3 Hope y'all liked it, if you did, then you know the drill and if you didn't -do the drill anyway.

Also, I got the idea by reading Backseat Compromises' "Life's like that"; s/6660364/1/