[Fanfic] Conversation
I was a bit behind with posting fics, but my connection while in Venice is abysmally bad, and now that I'm back home I'll be trying to update everything up to par. Please enjoy?
Title: Conversation
Warnings: a bit of fluff?
Rating: K+
Character: N.Italy.
Summary: A citizen makes Italy's bad day turn into something better.
Conversation
Ogni cosa ha un suo prezzo
Ma nessuno saprà
Quanto costa la mia libertà…
Edoardo Bennato, Venderò
…-…-…-…
“I mean it, if you think about it, we're not even getting a whiff of what our splendid Vice-Premier,” fingers making quotation marks, "is really doing, not to mention the whole world is making fun of us nowadays!"
Italy hadn't really meant to eavesdrop, but the girl speaking wasn't really trying to keep her voice low.
If he were to concentrate on her more than on her words, he'd surely know who she was, and every detail of her life, but he really wasn't up to that; he was feeling tired and restless, and not even visiting Germany earlier in the morning had helped.
His economics were doing fine, all things considered, though the discontent with a few things, especially the rising price of oil, was making people antsy; his politics, well, those could be better, but Italy tried not to let that spoil his mood, yet…
Yet, Italy had reached the end of a bad day, and every small thing piled up to the total, making him cranky -something he rarely was.
He’d visited his boss, who had woken him up early in the morning, but the air around the Campidoglio had been rather cold and tense, and it didn’t help that he could feel what most of those politicians felt.
The hatred, the distress… he didn’t like it.
Then, his international problems -it was true that all around the world, people kept commenting of his Vice-Premier and his actions, laughing at him and at Italian people, wondering why they didn’t do anything to change things, wondering why were they so stupid as to vote for him every single time…
Not that the other side was that much better, and Italy knew it. One side didn’t help, the other didn’t act, and all in all, it only made him hate politics even more.
He was an artist, a literate, and (something very few knew) he liked his economy and dedicated a lot of attention to it, but… all of this was too much. The hypocrisy, the dislike…
After a long, boring, tense meeting, Italy had fled to Germany’s house, hoping to rest and relax with him for a bit, but his friend had denied him the comfort, too busy working ahead of schedule to notice Italy’s need for a hug, and with a few curt words he’d sent him home.
Wandering around for the remaining of his afternoon, his back aching for a derailment and stressed enough that he hadn’t even been able to take a siesta, Italy had ended up taking a stroll through Venice, staring in distaste at the trash his people left littering around.
Why couldn’t they keep that beautiful city clean? What strain could it be to throw the trash away where it belonged, and keep the small, narrow calli free of waste and foul smell?
“I know, I know!” a second girl admitted, letting out a soft sigh, and Italy, sitting on the steps of a church, mimicked her.
Why couldn’t he just stand up and leave already? He didn’t want to hear things he knew already. He wanted to go home and maybe eat some pasta, and go to sleep at his brother’s side, and forget everything for a bit…
Yet, he was too tired to even move, and he simply pressed his forehead against the cold stone of the church’s wall, watching a pigeon peck around, a few feet away. He didn’t look at the two girls talking.
“Just think about it, in Egypt they even made a song against that person, and now foreigners think that Italy is just spaghetti, mandolino, mafia and our splendid vice-premier!” the first continued, raising her voice even more, taking on a snobbish tone, once again making quoting marks with her fingers at the word ‘splendid’.
Her next tirade was lost to Italy’s ears, as he thankfully managed to concentrate on the pigeon instead.
The little thing was flapping its wings around, pecking at crumbles of bread…
“I know what you mean,” the second girl nodded, shuffling her foot around. “I feel like it’s all going down to hell, and I don’t like it. That stupid law might pass the next time it’s presented to senato, and what then?”.
“I wish I could leave Italy and go live somewhere else!”
With a wince, Italy bit down on his lower lip. It wasn’t the first person saying that. They all wanted to leave, thinking they’d be better off somewhere else.
“Where to?” the second girl’s voice was vaguely mocking now, but not enough to make Italy curious.
“Russia, maybe… oh, or Japan! Once we get our master degree, we can both leave and go live in Japan!”
They were probably first year of Japanese university, Italy leisurely thought while glancing at them for the first time, standing up to leave. They both wore glasses, and one had long, dyed red hair, while the other had long, black hair. By how the red-haired girl was standing, glancing at her friend from above, a bright smile on her face, she was the one who wanted to leave.
To go to Japan.
Japan was going to be happy to receive more Italian girls, he thought with a bit of vengeance, feeling guilty a moment later.
“I like Japan, but…” the second girl fidgeted for a moment, glancing at the nearby trash pile with distaste. “But you know, I wouldn’t want to leave”.
“Eh? Why not? Italy sucks! Even your uncle told you it’s better to leave while you still can!”
“But… but I like being there!”
At the pointed glare from her friend, still standing, the black haired girl winced and then shrugged. “You know, I agree with you that things around here aren’t going well. Slowly, we have our laws turned against us, and politicians try every day to take away money from us and keep it to themselves, and prices are going up, and all that shit and probably more, but…”
Looking up, the girl shrugged at her friend.
“But I love Italy. It’s a splendid place, with a lot of history and art and poetry. We have immortal writers that loved this Nation to death. We have painters that made some of the most beautiful paintings existing, and we have towns such as Venezia, and Firenze, and…”
“But come on, isn’t you the one always commenting on how much you hate Venezia?” the first girl opened her arms wide, pointing at the trash, the dirty water, the pigeon still flapping its wings and the ruined buildings.
“I still understand its beauty, despite all those things,” the other replied defensively. “Besides, I’m really happy to be an Italian! I like being here. I like the feeling of belonging to this Nation, even if there are problems and stupid people! That doesn’t make Italy bad, it doesn’t make its raw beauty vanish, right? The beautiful sight of the seashore, or a city at night, Piazza San Marco here, or a forest in the north… It’s just people you gotta hate, not the place”.
Her friend didn’t seem convinced about it, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a movement from above them made them both turn around.
Italy slowly descended the steps, stumbling and smiling, and stopped at their side. The two stared at him, a bit scared when they realised there were tears rolling down his cheeks.
He was happy. He couldn’t believe he’d been sad just minutes before, but now… now, if he prodded his senses to the girl, he could feel warmth and love radiating from her, like a blanket enveloping him, reassuring and comforting.
She believed in what she said, and it meant the world to Italy.
It was something simple -just one person, one single girl- but her words managed to lift Italy’s mood, making his sadness vanish with the last few rays of sun.
“Uh… c-can we help you?” the red haired girl asked, taking a slow step back as she tried to pull her friend on her feet.
He shook his head, a trembling smile appearing on his lips. “Ve~ no,” he replied, but he wasn’t even looking at her. His attention was on the dark haired girl; he lunged forwards, first enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug, then holding her left hand into his own and pressing a small kiss on her skin. “Thank you, bella ragazza~”
She snatched her hand back shocked and embarrassed, feeling something twist in her chest at that strange person she’d never seen before, yet that felt so familiar to her, and took a step back as her friend protectively stood in front of her.
“Go away, freak!” the red haired girl yelled, waving her fist around.
Without speaking, Italy hummed softly and turned around, walking away and ignoring the two.
The sweet girl was standing there, completely shocked, and still feeling a strange warmth inside. “He hugged me!” she couldn’t really believe it. What was all that about?
“I know! Whoa, what a crazy person! Are you ok?”
“Uh… yes… but…”
“Don’t think about it, I tell you, he must have been drunk!”
“… maybe yes, but… at least he was a cutie~”
“E-Elena! Don’t say that!”
Meanwhile, Italy was whistling softly, wiping his tears away and already thinking about his dinner with pasta.
…-…-…-…-…-…-…
short and silly. I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time, readers! ^^;;
Ogni cosa ha un suo prezzo, ma nessuno saprà quanto costa la mia libertà - “Everything has its price, but nobody will know what’s the price of my freedom”. It’s the last line of a beautiful, strange song.
That man - Berlusconi. Enough said.
Calli - the alleys and streets of Venezia.
mandolino - mandolin.
Egypt really did a song against Berlusconi.
Bella ragazza - beautiful girl.
Title: Conversation
Warnings: a bit of fluff?
Rating: K+
Character: N.Italy.
Summary: A citizen makes Italy's bad day turn into something better.
Conversation
Ogni cosa ha un suo prezzo
Ma nessuno saprà
Quanto costa la mia libertà…
Edoardo Bennato, Venderò
…-…-…-…
“I mean it, if you think about it, we're not even getting a whiff of what our splendid Vice-Premier,” fingers making quotation marks, "is really doing, not to mention the whole world is making fun of us nowadays!"
Italy hadn't really meant to eavesdrop, but the girl speaking wasn't really trying to keep her voice low.
If he were to concentrate on her more than on her words, he'd surely know who she was, and every detail of her life, but he really wasn't up to that; he was feeling tired and restless, and not even visiting Germany earlier in the morning had helped.
His economics were doing fine, all things considered, though the discontent with a few things, especially the rising price of oil, was making people antsy; his politics, well, those could be better, but Italy tried not to let that spoil his mood, yet…
Yet, Italy had reached the end of a bad day, and every small thing piled up to the total, making him cranky -something he rarely was.
He’d visited his boss, who had woken him up early in the morning, but the air around the Campidoglio had been rather cold and tense, and it didn’t help that he could feel what most of those politicians felt.
The hatred, the distress… he didn’t like it.
Then, his international problems -it was true that all around the world, people kept commenting of his Vice-Premier and his actions, laughing at him and at Italian people, wondering why they didn’t do anything to change things, wondering why were they so stupid as to vote for him every single time…
Not that the other side was that much better, and Italy knew it. One side didn’t help, the other didn’t act, and all in all, it only made him hate politics even more.
He was an artist, a literate, and (something very few knew) he liked his economy and dedicated a lot of attention to it, but… all of this was too much. The hypocrisy, the dislike…
After a long, boring, tense meeting, Italy had fled to Germany’s house, hoping to rest and relax with him for a bit, but his friend had denied him the comfort, too busy working ahead of schedule to notice Italy’s need for a hug, and with a few curt words he’d sent him home.
Wandering around for the remaining of his afternoon, his back aching for a derailment and stressed enough that he hadn’t even been able to take a siesta, Italy had ended up taking a stroll through Venice, staring in distaste at the trash his people left littering around.
Why couldn’t they keep that beautiful city clean? What strain could it be to throw the trash away where it belonged, and keep the small, narrow calli free of waste and foul smell?
“I know, I know!” a second girl admitted, letting out a soft sigh, and Italy, sitting on the steps of a church, mimicked her.
Why couldn’t he just stand up and leave already? He didn’t want to hear things he knew already. He wanted to go home and maybe eat some pasta, and go to sleep at his brother’s side, and forget everything for a bit…
Yet, he was too tired to even move, and he simply pressed his forehead against the cold stone of the church’s wall, watching a pigeon peck around, a few feet away. He didn’t look at the two girls talking.
“Just think about it, in Egypt they even made a song against that person, and now foreigners think that Italy is just spaghetti, mandolino, mafia and our splendid vice-premier!” the first continued, raising her voice even more, taking on a snobbish tone, once again making quoting marks with her fingers at the word ‘splendid’.
Her next tirade was lost to Italy’s ears, as he thankfully managed to concentrate on the pigeon instead.
The little thing was flapping its wings around, pecking at crumbles of bread…
“I know what you mean,” the second girl nodded, shuffling her foot around. “I feel like it’s all going down to hell, and I don’t like it. That stupid law might pass the next time it’s presented to senato, and what then?”.
“I wish I could leave Italy and go live somewhere else!”
With a wince, Italy bit down on his lower lip. It wasn’t the first person saying that. They all wanted to leave, thinking they’d be better off somewhere else.
“Where to?” the second girl’s voice was vaguely mocking now, but not enough to make Italy curious.
“Russia, maybe… oh, or Japan! Once we get our master degree, we can both leave and go live in Japan!”
They were probably first year of Japanese university, Italy leisurely thought while glancing at them for the first time, standing up to leave. They both wore glasses, and one had long, dyed red hair, while the other had long, black hair. By how the red-haired girl was standing, glancing at her friend from above, a bright smile on her face, she was the one who wanted to leave.
To go to Japan.
Japan was going to be happy to receive more Italian girls, he thought with a bit of vengeance, feeling guilty a moment later.
“I like Japan, but…” the second girl fidgeted for a moment, glancing at the nearby trash pile with distaste. “But you know, I wouldn’t want to leave”.
“Eh? Why not? Italy sucks! Even your uncle told you it’s better to leave while you still can!”
“But… but I like being there!”
At the pointed glare from her friend, still standing, the black haired girl winced and then shrugged. “You know, I agree with you that things around here aren’t going well. Slowly, we have our laws turned against us, and politicians try every day to take away money from us and keep it to themselves, and prices are going up, and all that shit and probably more, but…”
Looking up, the girl shrugged at her friend.
“But I love Italy. It’s a splendid place, with a lot of history and art and poetry. We have immortal writers that loved this Nation to death. We have painters that made some of the most beautiful paintings existing, and we have towns such as Venezia, and Firenze, and…”
“But come on, isn’t you the one always commenting on how much you hate Venezia?” the first girl opened her arms wide, pointing at the trash, the dirty water, the pigeon still flapping its wings and the ruined buildings.
“I still understand its beauty, despite all those things,” the other replied defensively. “Besides, I’m really happy to be an Italian! I like being here. I like the feeling of belonging to this Nation, even if there are problems and stupid people! That doesn’t make Italy bad, it doesn’t make its raw beauty vanish, right? The beautiful sight of the seashore, or a city at night, Piazza San Marco here, or a forest in the north… It’s just people you gotta hate, not the place”.
Her friend didn’t seem convinced about it, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a movement from above them made them both turn around.
Italy slowly descended the steps, stumbling and smiling, and stopped at their side. The two stared at him, a bit scared when they realised there were tears rolling down his cheeks.
He was happy. He couldn’t believe he’d been sad just minutes before, but now… now, if he prodded his senses to the girl, he could feel warmth and love radiating from her, like a blanket enveloping him, reassuring and comforting.
She believed in what she said, and it meant the world to Italy.
It was something simple -just one person, one single girl- but her words managed to lift Italy’s mood, making his sadness vanish with the last few rays of sun.
“Uh… c-can we help you?” the red haired girl asked, taking a slow step back as she tried to pull her friend on her feet.
He shook his head, a trembling smile appearing on his lips. “Ve~ no,” he replied, but he wasn’t even looking at her. His attention was on the dark haired girl; he lunged forwards, first enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug, then holding her left hand into his own and pressing a small kiss on her skin. “Thank you, bella ragazza~”
She snatched her hand back shocked and embarrassed, feeling something twist in her chest at that strange person she’d never seen before, yet that felt so familiar to her, and took a step back as her friend protectively stood in front of her.
“Go away, freak!” the red haired girl yelled, waving her fist around.
Without speaking, Italy hummed softly and turned around, walking away and ignoring the two.
The sweet girl was standing there, completely shocked, and still feeling a strange warmth inside. “He hugged me!” she couldn’t really believe it. What was all that about?
“I know! Whoa, what a crazy person! Are you ok?”
“Uh… yes… but…”
“Don’t think about it, I tell you, he must have been drunk!”
“… maybe yes, but… at least he was a cutie~”
“E-Elena! Don’t say that!”
Meanwhile, Italy was whistling softly, wiping his tears away and already thinking about his dinner with pasta.
…-…-…-…-…-…-…
short and silly. I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time, readers! ^^;;
Ogni cosa ha un suo prezzo, ma nessuno saprà quanto costa la mia libertà - “Everything has its price, but nobody will know what’s the price of my freedom”. It’s the last line of a beautiful, strange song.
That man - Berlusconi. Enough said.
Calli - the alleys and streets of Venezia.
mandolino - mandolin.
Egypt really did a song against Berlusconi.
Bella ragazza - beautiful girl.