20. The Floating City
Date Written: February 8, 2019
Date Posted: July 20, 2019
Characters: Veneziano, Romano
Summary: Veneziano goes through a midlife crisis. Romano isn't taking any of that shit.
Notes:
"Hey, you're going to get yourself sick if you continue to lie there."
Veneziano grunted in reply. He felt so peaceful just floating on the surface of his native waters. The feeling of calm, uninterrupted coolness gently caressed his skin through his clothing and ruffled his hair… Honestly, why couldn't heaven be found on earth?
"Stupid!" Romano threw a small rock that narrowly missed Veneziano by mere centimeters. As the Venetian grumbled about the splash, his older brother barked out, "Get out before I take your car and drive it into the ocean!"
Even Romano's deep gravelly voice when angry could do little to dispel the younger Italian from his lazing about. Further threats concerning his clothing and his position of political and national power were made, but Veneziano refused to pay any attention. The call of the Adriatic was strong—Veneziano would be hard pressed to even think about returning to land..
However, if Veneziano could be described as stubborn and willful, Romano had an iron will and steely resolve. Stubbornness born from the same metal of the fabled swords of old could be seen as Romano swiftly kicked off his shoes, folded his pants as high as it would go, and then began towing his brother back to land.
For all his talk about surrendering and using peaceful—if ridiculous—means of ending conflict, the Southern Italian found himself battling his brother within the water. Years of tending to the fields down south had honed his upper body strength, a feat to which he used to his advantage.
On the other hand, Veneziano, for all of his quick maneuvers and cunning tactics, found himself barely keeping himself afloat, much less trying to subdue or evade Romano. Years of industry and sedentary living had slightly weakened his body; he lacked the muscles necessary to counteract his brother. After much useless splashing and accidental swallows of salt water, Veneziano finally relented.
Gasping, he managed to string a coherent sentence.
"Fratello! Why can't you—"
"Shut up, you inconsiderate asshole! I'm not going to let you get a cold when we have a meeting in two days!" At that, Romano maliciously dunked his brother's head back into the murky depths of the water.
For a moment, there was an exorbitant amount of splashing before Veneziano had the genius idea of driving his fist right into Romano's stomach.
"Stronzo!"
"You know," Veneziano murmured, "I should be the one saying that since you're the one who attacked me unprovoked."
"Actually," Romano hit Veneziano upside the head, "you're provoking me! If you get sick and I have to be the one to shoulder the burden of that damn presentation shit, I will do more than drown you in your favorite sea."
"But, fratello, we're both wet now, so why not make the best of it?"
"Are you trying to say that you want to further ruin our clothes—THAT WE'RE STILL WEARING! We would probably get sick and die just to—"
"To have fun! Dio mio, it's not like I'm asking you to drown me!"
"Drown?" Romano may have sneered at that, but he felt like something was amiss with the way Veneziano was looking too eerily at peace with himself. Did he swallow too much water? Perhaps Romano should just haul his own ass home. The meeting only warranted at least one representative from each Nation. But… it was such a hassle if it was all up to him! "Get up you lazy polentino before you drown for real!"
"Okay then."
For a moment, Romano was too flabbergasted to speak. Just as quickly, his shock made way for a dangerous concoction of worry, annoyance, and anger.
"The hell you think you're doing? Floating away for God knows how long and talking about drowning and not caring the next!" Romano grasped for something to say like he was fumbling with a bar of soap. "Weren't you excited to see your damn potato friends? What the hell happened to that?"
Veneziano cracked one eye open.
A slow, sly smile barely lifted the edges of his face as he casually remarked, "I thought you didn't like Germany."
Romano almost had an aneurysm by how stupid Veneziano looked and acted. Of course he didn't like that blond ruffian from the north. He was too much like his forefather, that one. Despite that, Romano loved his little brother and that meant he had to be okay with Veneziano's weird choice of friends. Not that Romano could do better—he happened to be close with America and Spain.
"And since when do you care how I feel about your friend, huh? I-I mean," the older brother frantically moved his hands in gestures quite familiar to those who were Italian, "let's get back to the point!"
"Which is?"
"Come off it, Veneziano!" Romano's furious expression startled the younger Italian so badly he moved too abruptly and sank. Once righted, Romano began to verbally box his ears. "You didn't come out here to just randomly waltz into the water! You came here for a reason so tell me before I personally do drown you and drag your ungrateful ass to the morgue!"
"I'm tired."
For a moment, both brothers could do nothing more than stare at each other: one pursed his lips; the other breathed gently. Romano studied his brother's dark brown eyes; they were born from a time no human could ever think about living through. They were kind and gentle, like a young child discovering the world for the first time. Now… now Romano could see that the clarity, transparency in his brother's eyes had become clouded and became murky.
Sad and not so sad at the same time.
Romano scoffed, trying to relieve the tension.
"You didn't seem all too tired when you punched me."
"For once you're being humorous while I'm trying to be serious." Veneziano straightened until he stood at his full height. Although neither of the two would ever admit it, Veneziano was indeed taller than Romano. He had never lorded it over Romano, but… "I'm tired and… I'm—no—Venice will not be for much longer."
"No."
Veneziano's eyes looked down at his older brother with something bordering on remorse.
"Venice will be consumed by the Adriatic. You know this, Romano, and when that happens…" His voice, although it rang with authority few would ever have the honor of witnessing, had drifted off into a lazy, if melancholic murmur.
Romano stood, tall and proud, like his mighty predecessor before him. His eyes flashed, a murky hue ever shifting between the gradients of brown and green before settling on a gleaming emerald. Even though he was the shorter brother, he moved closer, his presence alone reining his sibling into submission.
"No," he declared. And then he pushed his brother in the chest. Hard. "No," he said with more conviction. This time, the force of shoving Veneziano caused the younger Italian to stumble. "Fuck that shit. And fuck you."
The younger brother tried to speak, but Romano relieved him the courtesy.
"You're not going anywhere, Veneziano. You want to know why? Because you are not Venezia. A long time ago you were, but now you are also Milano, Toscana, Firenze. Or have you forgotten that you won half our birthright from the cold hands of our fallen siblings?" Romano paused, checking to make sure that Veneziano was still listening. "Once upon a time you were Venezia, but one upon a time I was Napoli. We are greater than the sum of our parts, Veneziano. But you are not just Venezia anymore. No, you are North Italy and I expect you to represent all of your birthright with pride. You got that?"
"But—"
"I expect you to live not just for yourself, but also for me and our children. Capisci?"
For a moment, Veneziano looked at his older brother with awe. It wasn't often that the elder had decided to be nice. Heck, the last time he had done so was almost a decade ago!
"F-fra—"
"You start crying and I'll leave you to drown."
It was an understandable threat.
Yet, it was a threat that went unheeded as the younger Nation began to sob profusely into his brother's shirt.
And if Romano, once Napoli, once a village, once an idea, felt his own eyes burn in response, he didn't try to show it.