Sjette januar:
Iceland:
On every other day, Emil would pretend that he didn't see the many magical creatures floating around his brother Lukas, or his friends Arthur and Irina. On every other day of the year, he was desperate to not be viewed as "the boy who sees things".
But today, as he stood around the Huldufólk bonfire with his people, he would wave towards the elves he saw dancing around the non-suspecting humans.
Even by the light of the bonfires and fireworks, no one was none the wiser about their existence, or that he, the Personification of the Nation of Iceland, could see them.
Ireland:
-Seamus, you shouldn't to do this.
-Madame Higgins, Seamus Kirkland, the Personification of the Nation of Ireland (and occasionally Northern Ireland, when he would use the name Samuel), said to her, I know that this is more traditionally done in Cork and Ferry, and not here in Dublin.
-That's not what I meant. I meant that you didn't have to clean and such; you're after all our country.
-And you're my boss's wife, and since your husband is far too busy with his important job, which concerns my people, and therefore is an acceptable excuse to not be here, I'll take on the role of this important tradition. As it's not only part of my history, but also a proud tradition that honors women, I'm proud to be doing this.
-You do realize that women doing the housecleaning isn't part of the norm anymore, she asked half-jokingly. We can have careers.
-I know, he said evenly. And I'm proud of how far we've come; but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to go through with this tradition. Think about it as my way of saluting the women of Ireland; past and present. And future.
There was a pause as Seamus dusted the top shelves. Then she said slowly,
-You don't think this is beneath you?
-No, I never have. Grinning down at her, he continued. It's not my first-time doing household chores. Not when I'd to live with my brothers.
North Italy:
In the dead of the night, or four a.m. as some people like to call it, a figure snuck quietly down the stairs of Feliciano Vargas, North Italy's home. With the same stealth, this figure crept towards the fireplace and, with only a slight pause and a look of disgust on his face, he bent down and covered himself in the soot from the fireplace, and got to work.
After having hang up a Christmas sock and filled it with candies and gifts, which he pulled from the only place in the house he knew that Feli wouldn't look in; the broom cupboard, and ended this stint with sweeping the floor. When he'd done that, he couldn't help himself and cleaned the rest of the house.
When Feli finally came down, rubbing his eyes sleepily, not bothering to really open them up; he knew every step of the house. He finally opened them when he stood in the corridor leading towards the kitchen. And had to rub and rub them all over again.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing! The house was spotless! There was one possibility for this, but as he looked at one of the many calendars hanging around, each of the calendars were a masterpiece, so he'd chosen them all, he noticed the date; January 6. Befana Day.
He didn't waste time going into the kitchen, and instead ran straight for the fireplace.
There, on the mantel, hung a sock which was filled with something. Standing on his tiptoes he could see that it was filled with the traditional Befana Day treats. Could Befana have been here? He looked towards the table where he'd put the wine and food for her; it was wiped clean. All that was left was an empty wine glass and an empty plate. Crouching down, he could see that the soot in the fireplace had been disturbed.
-What are you doing? A voice from behind said, startling Feli. Turning around, he saw that it was his boyfriend, Ludwig Beilschmidt, Germany, holding two cups of coffee.
-Look Doitsu! Feli said, ignoring the question. Befana has been here with gifts. I told you she would.
-That's nice, Feli. Ludwig commented, while his eyes swept over the everything. Good, he thought. He had gotten every speck of soot.
South Italy:
-What are you doing bastardo?
A tall man immediately shot up, bumping his head towards the mantel at the fireplace of which he'd been busy gathering up soot.
-Lovi! Cried Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Spain, as he rubbed at the back of his head where he'd hit himself.
-I asked you a question bastardo. When Antonio hesitated, he pressed on. Don't make me go mafioso on you.
-I was trying to make a Befana Day for you.
-You were going to do it dressed as Befana?
-Si.
-Asshole, Lovino said, but not without a smile on his face. You can just give me the candy and I'll get the wine and make you food.
-I bought presents too.
Author's note:
It's too early to say if I got the hang of this, but, knock on wood, it does seem like it, doesn't it?
Hidekaz Himuraya owns APH, and all disclaimers go to him