75. Handwritten By God

Date Written: July 12, 2019

Date Posted: November 22, 2020

Characters: Veneziano, Seborga, Wy, Kugelmugel

Summary: Veneziano practices his calligraphy. Wy has complaints.

Notes:


Veneziano looked down at his signature. It was of average height, tight—almost cramped. Small curlicues were added as an afterthought. His letters were slanted a bit to the left, but the letters themselves were rounded and had accentuated loops. When looked at as a whole, his name read the Republic of Italy.

He smiled. It was his true name.

It was a name that brought respect to those who could see past his innocent features.

Veneziano learned how to write so long ago, millennia had passed since then and his memories, sadly, have been slowly gathering dust. However, he can remember the solemnity of wise old men trying to spread the Word of the Lord. Their words were destined to live through centuries. The air was always permeated with the scent of ink and parchment—a scent that modern society had long since forgotten.

It may have been a trivial thing, but Veneziano was oddly proud about his writing and name.

As he fiddled with the paper, he heard a small sound to his left. Much to his surprise and amusement, he found that there were a group of what appeared to be young children approaching from another side of the room nearest to the door. They were a curious assortment of young adolescents with the eldest being in his late teens.

The late teen in question was Seborga and he was busy trying to corral Sealand and his merry band of Micronations onto one of the abandoned meeting tables. Apparently, if Veneziano deigned to eavesdrop instead of finishing his quarterly reports concerning finances, Sealand was trying to merge his band together into some sort of task force. Why a task force? Veneziano had no idea other than the fact that it seemed interesting.

Dutifully returning to his work, Veneziano uncapped one of his brush pens as he began to doodle on a spare sketchbook that Hungary had gifted him for a late birthday present. The Micronations' conversation, while interesting at first glance, had boiled down into some sort of revenge strategy against Sealand's original minder: England. While Veneziano privately agreed with Sealand (England definitely needed to be knocked down a few pegs on principle), he didn't want to be too caught up in what appeared to be events that were going to have negative consequences on anyone involved. As much as Veneziano had a mischievous streak like that of a child, he didn't feel like implicating himself so early in the afternoon.

Eventually, Veneziano was interrupted by the sound of what appeared to be arguing. He glanced up and found that both his younger brother and two other Micronations were standing up against Sealand. For some odd reason, they were talking about…

Well, they must have noticed that Veneziano was actually in the room with them (amongst other trailing Nations who thought it was time to finish their paperwork instead of going about their host Nation's most famous city spots) because their voices were hushed. Or rather, they tried to remain as quiet as possible, but Veneziano could hear a few snippets of words. Not enough words, mind you, to know the context of everything, but just enough to note that one of the female Micronations was quite angry with Sealand. Finally, after what seemed to be like an impasse, Seborga and two other Micronations left the table in a huff.

Intrigued, Venezinao waved his brother over. With a slight smile, but one overshadowed by the tight look of irritation in his eyes, Seborga jogged over towards his table. Meanwhile, Veneziano noticed that the two other Micronations—one of them with bushy eyebrows and a side ponytail while the other Micronation sported twin braided pigtails and a far off expression on their face—decided to trail after his brother. They were a few steps behind, but definitely still with Seborga.

"Hey, did you need something?" Seborga leaned against one of the chairs, his light brown eyes grazing over Veneziano's paperwork and assortment of doodles and signatures. "Please don't tell me you want me to compliment you again for not doing your work?"

Although exasperated, Seborga did take Veneziano's sketchbook, his expression both intrigued and fond as he saw that his older brother had drawn a gondola with a gondolier and fair lady seated within. It was a happy, fond picture. It was probably one that had come from Veneziano's fond memories of when his waters weren't as murky or his city so close to drowning.

"I actually didn't call you here for that, but I wouldn't mind!" Veneziano teased.

Seborga poised his arm as if he were about to lob the sketchbook at his brother's head, which only rewarded him with a look of utter mischief and satisfaction. When Seborga realized that his cowardly brother wasn't willing to back down, he sighed before placing the sketchbook down on the table as if it were some sort of ancient relic. Given how Veneziano had been saving his sketchbooks in a hidden library along with his various paintings and art projects (kind of like Prussia was doing with his diaries), it could feasibly become withered and old due to time and preservation.

"As always, your art knows no iniquities."

"Aww, how sweet!"

Seborga rolled his eyes before pointing at his fellow Micronation friends. "Can I go now? Wy and Kugelmugel want to visit some art museums nearby."

Veneziano wanted to coo at how sweet and wonderful their names sounded, but found himself interrupted by a scornful, young girl. The first thing Veneziano noticed was that she wore a pink cardigan over a white crop top while cargo shorts adorned her legs. Atop her head, a side ponytail swung almost coyly as she stomped over towards Seborga, anger raining in her eyes—eyes that were scrunched underneath a pair of very familiar eyebrows.

British eyebrows.

Her accent, however, was Australian.

"Hey, aren't you that one artsy one that always gets distracted during meetings?" Well, even if the young girl wasn't immediately identified as one of England's kin, her attitude was a dead ringer. Her eyes furrowed as she caught sight of his tattered sketchbook that was splattered with stray spots of paint to his government documents that were either highlighted with varying colors with great precision or was messily underlined with equally sketchy doodles of cats and other cute animals dangling in the margins.

Even though she was surly and probably a pain to deal with (kind of like Sealand and a few choice Nations that Veneziano didn't care to name right now), he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and indulge her. After all, she was still just a child and deserving of respect despite her age and relative rudeness.

"Yes," he affirmed softly. "I just can't help it! Sometimes, all I want to do is go outside and stretch, but Germany and the other members of the G8 won't let me go!" He shrugged in sadness. "So, I have to make do with what I have. You like?"

Her eyes perused his documents and found one of his papers that he had decorated with his signature. She walked over and examined it further, much to his bemusement. Meanwhile, the other Micronation (Kugelmugel was it? He certainly did look like he took after Austria) stared blankly at the table before stroking one of his doodles of a statue that he dimly remembered Romano sculpting back in the days of old. Calmed by his serenity, Veneziano leaned back in his chair before once again letting his gaze drift towards the young girl.

Wy had taken his document with his signatures, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"Why is it so loopy and curly? I can barely understand it!"

Veneziano's eyes twitched. "Well, cara, that's called calligraphy and—" Before he could continue, the young girl scoffed a laugh before letting the paper drift back onto the table.

"I know what calligraphy is, Mr. Italy." She placed her dainty hands over her hips as she stared him down. "What I'm trying to say is that it looks so outdated! Why would you learn how to do that?"

To that, Veneziano could only hold his tongue lest he lash out at her. He had been young when the priests and the holy men had taken him under their wing and began to teach him how to transcribe the holy teachings of God. They had taught him how to hold quill to ink before letting the instrument glide over parchment. It had taken so much time before he learned how to not let his writing bleed or blot out his work. even longer before he mastered how to spell and correctly illustrate his name at the time.

Nowadays, calligraphy was an art form that only few would choose to do with the fervor and patience of the monks of long ago. Veneziano stared hard at the young girl and noticed that there were streaks of paint across the knuckles of her fingers, and a few splatters on her pink cardigan.

How charming.

"Perhaps you should join me for a lesson in calligraphy." He held up a hand in warning when Wy made as if to interrupt him—Seborga, on the other hand, tried hiding his laughter behind a closed fist. He knew when Veneziano meant business. "It would teach you a great many things; appreciation for the old being one of them."

Wy scowled, but nodded brusquely.

"Fine."

Seborga let out a sigh before gently grasping Wy's shoulder.

"Okay then, say goodbye!"

All three of the Micronations waved their goodbyes in various manners before leaving.

Veneziano glanced at his documents and sighed.

He was definitely going to have to practice calligraphy more if a young child saw fit to criticize his style.