77. Unmovable Blocks

Date Written: July 13, 2019

Date Posted: November 24, 2020

Characters: Veneziano, Canada

Summary: Uncharacteristically, Veneziano is feeling a little irritated and down. He takes it out on Canada (unfortunately).

Notes: Not particularly proud of this one, but I had writer's block, ironically.


The sound of pencil tapping across paper was the only sound that could be heard. It was a dull, monotonous rhythm that would increase in speed ever so often, but go back to the slow pace after a number of beats. As the young man holding the pencil continued his fruitless tapping, there was a knock at his door.

"Come in!" He forced a grin on his face as he casually laid his pencil to rest. He noticed that there were faint marks upon the pristine paper—a result of his thoughtless tapping.

"Working already?" It was the Nation of Canada who had come to call. Canada's bright gaze made the fake smile Veneziano was currently wearing to morph into a more genuine grin. "I would have taken you as a person to procrastinate."

Laughter.

"Oh, I'm not working right now. Procrastination is always on the Italian agenda. Come—" North Italy gestured towards a chair. "—take a seat with me."

Veneziano honestly didn't expect that the North American would actually take him up on his offer. When Canada made his way towards the seat that he had offered, Veneziano felt the already thin threads of his patience begin to fray and snap.

It could be worse, Veneziano thought to himself. It could have been the American who came to call.

After situating himself next to the Mediterranean Nation, Canada asked, "What are you doing anyway? I thought something happened from the way America kept begging me to go visit Romano." The blond sighed in that bothered, but fond exasperation kind of way.

Veneziano gave a small nod, but he found that he couldn't keep up with the Canadian's speech. Of course, he heard Canada, but he was too preoccupied with other matters to truly listen. Normally, this sort of response would be shrugged off as laziness, yet Canada knew otherwise. They may not share the same friendship as their older brothers, but Canada was more empathetic than most.

Canada knew.

In the gentlest tone that he could muster, Canada leaned ever so slightly and—

"I know that you consider yourself to be America's brother, but I'd rather you not play the hero."

Canada flinched upon the curt tone the Italian had used. Not to mention the fact that not only was North Italy keeping his head downcast, he also pulled at his auburn hair in what appeared to be frustration. Unused to dealing with moody Italians, the blond Canadian kept his distance physically.

He was trying to get to Veneziano verbally, though.

"That was rude." Canada kept his tone even. Politeness had garnered him independence and a reputation for being one of the kindest Nations on the planet. Such tactics were not lost on the much older Nation. Italy was somewhat mollified, but frankly, it was irritating just the same. Especially since he had specifically asked the blond not to be the hero. "At the very least, tell me why you're so irritated."

At that, the older Nation felt the grip on his pencil tighten. The color in his eyes must have gone out—a flame from a flickering candle snuffed out to nothing more than a flickering ember. Very few Nations knew, but Italy only became irritated rarely, but if you were to push hard enough…

The Italian looked at the trespasser, all pretense of friendly formality all but forgotten.

"I have artist's block and I don't know how to get out of it." Was that good enough for Canada? "Now, kindly leave me alone."

An incredulous stare was all Italy received before Canada burst out into stunned laughter.

"I know you're two millenia old or something, but it's frankly embarrassing that you're acting so childishly." Canada really looked at Veneziano. "Unless… that's not the whole reason why you're upset."

Italy glanced up, his eyes were hard, as if sculpted from marble.

"Are you trying to belittle me? It may not seem like much, but art is one of the core aspects of my personality." He had abandoned English all together, his Italian smoothly flowing out of his mouth. "If the Nation of Italy can no longer create are, then what good am I?"

There was a melancholy sort of flavor to his tone. Canada could feel just how badly he wanted to create. For the chance to let free of his imagination.

If a Nation lost that one crucial part of their personality, then were they the same being underneath it all?