Ah, bonjourno! I have returned to the posting part of this site at last after the forced hiatus of having a broken, then no computer at all! I have written enough notebooks to sink a Viking ship, and here's a little something from my vault. Love it, hate it; I'm listing it! Go on ahead, knowing full well that...
ALL THE CHARACTERS AND THEIR PRUSSIA-NESS BELONG TO H.H.!
You go, man! And You, go read!
It was a beautiful day in Italy, filled with bustling shoppers and vendors hawking their wares like any other. The scent of fine cuisine, sweat, and dust filled the summer air, wrapping around the two men like a cozy blanket. Italy slurped his pasta, feeling the bustle of his fair Verona cheer his heart, and he smiled at his long-time ally.
"You must be very proud of this city, Feliciano," Germany said coolly, having finished his own lunch. His usually icy blue eyes swept across the city, taking advantage of their seats and warmly taking in the cheery air of the Italians around him. "Verona is truly a work of art..."
"Grazie, Ludwig~!" Italy chirped, swallowing his mouthful of spaghetti all at once. As soon as the words left his mouth, Italy started to cough vigorously:
"I'll et water!" Germany said quickly, making for the stairs to find a waiter. His frame had just disappeared into the hall when the blockage in Italy's throat cleared. He called weakly for the blond Aryan nation to return, but his hoarse voice was hardly audible over Verona's lively market.
"Ve~, he'll be back soon." Italy murmured, rubbing his sore throat as he turned to admire his people. He watched the citizens of Verona bustle about, fulfilling their desires, until his eye caught on a pair of teens sneaking into the alley nearest him. They kissed once- twice- three times before they stopped and embraced with giddy smiles n their faces. Those smiles made Italy feel warm inside; Italy was the country of lovers, not fighters, and the skinny nation remembered blessing many couples like them.
But those smiles were gone faster than pasta when an aged woman bellowed for a boy to return. A similar old man did the same across the road from her, crying for a girl. The teens parted horrified, and they shared a dozen hurried kisses before they went to their respective callers.
Italy remembered lovers like these as well, and felt his heart pang with grief under his smile. He looked down at the alleyway, opening his eyes to release the flooding tears that had appeared at the memory of those sweet young children.
'So in love... so full of life!' Italy rested his elbows on the wall, and then cradled his head in his hands. 'Why couldn't their families see that?'
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean." Italy heard the heavy footsteps of his companion, but didn't turn around to greet him. The lines of the prologue to his dear friends' life make his body stiff –hard to move- and he found his breath coming shallowly around the stone in his throat. He couldn't forget the looks on their faces, they way they'd looked to one another for their dying glimpse of the love he had given and taken from them. How they'd- no, he needed to continue. Italy slowly managed to speak the rest of the prologue, his usually lilting voice dropping to a pitch befitting his age, and when he did finish he wiped the tears from his face. He looked at Germany over his shoulder: "Bentornato, Germany... I got it out when you went downstairs."
Germany looked anxious, standing by their table with a perspiring wine glass full of water in his big hand, so Italy offered up a smile to try and ease the tension.
"It-" Germany corrected himself; they weren't in a meeting. "Feliciano, don't force that..."
As if on cue, the Italian's smile fractured like glass and Germany discarded the water carelessly to sweep the little man into the circle of his arms. "L-Ludwig, I-" Silencing his little companion, Germany curled him onto his lap and sat down on the stone, whispering in the slender nation's ear.
"Feliciano..." Germany said quietly, squeezing his ally a little. "What is wrong?"
"Ti amo, Ludwig! Ti amo tantissimo!" Italy whimpered, pressing against Germany's chest and breathing fast. "Ti amo tantissimo!" And then he told him about the lovers in the alley, and the lovers in his past, and the lover in his own heart. How scared he was. "I-I don't want to lose you... ti amo troppo..."
"Feliciano 'Veneciano' Vargas, we are Axis." Germany said firmly, holding Italy by the shoulders. "What makes you think we would ever lose each other to anyone?" His blue eyes burned into Italy, alight with the fires of confidence, and suddenly he calmed down. "I have been with you for over seventy-five years, Feliciano..." He said, touching his forehead to Italy's and looking him in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere."
Looking into his partner's eyes, Italy felt the deep love wash through him.
"Promise?" he whispered, biting his tender bottom lip.
"I promise." Then Germany cupped his face with both hands, going to-
"NOW KISS HIM LIKE YOU'RE GONNA DIE IN A WAR!" Someone familiar shouted, and Germany jumped for his already-loaded Walther P38.
THWAK! "Don't encourage him, you bastard! That's my little brother down there!"
"Onhonhon~!" "Kesesesese~!" Hearing familiar laughter and shouting, Italy got up and went to greet the other four nations.
Leaving Germany on the roof.
Ah, the LULZ. Germany gets ditched after that big heart-to-heart! XD I love this so much! What about you, oh magical reader? Wanna tell me? Wanna send me aggressive comments because I was gone for s long? Go ahead! I, the King of Scandinavia (Yes, I stole Denmark's title.) eagerly await your wrath!