Holland figured it out at about four in the morning. He swore for a while, and then picked up the phone.

There was simply no helping it. He never should have let her move out. Drastic measures would need to be taken. He toyed with the idea of invading her country and wheedling down her economy until she shrank back to an eight year old. It was one of his better ideas.

Belgium's phone went on ringing. Holland cursed, let the phone dangle by its cord, and threw open the window. Across the way, Begium did exactly the same thing. She seemed less than pleased. Holland retreated to the phone.

"Are you trying to fuck your way into making an empire?" he asked, and squinted through the gloom, watching her face carefully. Belgium didn't reply for a very long while.

"Yes," she said at last, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. And when I've conquered all of Europe with my considerable arsenal," she stopped to heft one of her breasts as clarification, "I shall smite you down like the hand of God."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Belgium said. He watched her prop a shoulder against the window, hand coming up to cover her yawn. "Got a problem?"

"I'm declaring war."

"Bite me," she was already shutting the window, and yanking the curtains shut as she did so. "I'm going to bed. Hang up."

"I won't."

"Well, thanks," her shadow retreated, and then he could see nothing of her at all. He imagined she still sat on the corner of her bed, knees resting on either side of the frame. "Because this conversation is stimulating, really."

"Why do you want me to hang up?" Holland asked, now suspicious, "Are you calling someone? Is it Spain?"

Belgium hung up on him. He redialed. She ignored it. Holland opened the window. Belgium picked up the phone, "What?"

"Before I declare war, make me some waffles."

"Yeah, well, I can't. I think I'm going to have breakfast with Spain."

"FUCK."