42. Averting a Crisis
Date Written: March 27, 2019
Date Posted: February 15, 2020
Characters: Veneziano, Germany
Summary: Veneziano receives a disturbing phone call bearing bad news.
Notes:
Veneziano could feel his phone slip from his sweaty fingers and clatter onto his table. Normally, he would have taken care to set his phone gently, but after the news that had just been relayed to him…
There was a dull ringing in his ears, a throbbing in his head. As his eyes blearily blinked in and out of focus, he fell to his knees. There was a brief moment when he registered pain, but he dully basked in the sensation. A part of him wanted to reorient himself, but instead, he tried to focus all of his energies in trying to stay afloat in a world that had ever so slightly tilted out of balance.
Atop the table, he could hear the startled shouts of the speaker—they had obviously taken the clatter and the subsequent thud of Veneziano hitting the floor to be a bad sign. It was rude to leave the caller without having the courtesy to use the "end call" button, but it was far too late. The Italian had more important things to contemplate than societal propriety.
No, all he could think about was—
"You've been muttering to yourself for the past thirty seconds," Germany observed. He cast an unamused glance down at his whimpering friend before relenting to a dose of curiosity. "What did America talk to you about?"
Venziano flung himself with arms outstretched to embrace the blond's thick legs. "It's so terrible, Germany! I can feel the gaping maws of hell descend upon me!"
Germany decisively breathed in through his nose. Speaking poetically. Acting dramatically. Tears. Everywhere. What America had said must have been pretty terrible. Or, the Italian was just being himself. Regardless, Germany patted the young man's head as awkwardly as possible.
"Did he make a new pizza that could be made combining hamburger meat and other American atrocities?"
A muffled sniffle. "Worse."
"Pasta that has been deep fried and coated with the base essence of ketchup?'
"Worse."
Germany sighed before gesturing to the phone that still lay on the table. One didn't have to pay attention to hear the concerned and muffled speaking of a certain American. The young country was just that loud.
"This will be my final guess, but if I'm wrong, then you will have to tell me." After affirming the deal, Germany guessed. "He kidnapped Romano."
Veneziano looked up from his crying fest to glare weakly at the German.
"That in itself isn't a bad thing."
"... so what happened?"
"America told me that he found out that there was a certain vicious species of parasite that only attacks wheat!"
Confused, Germany gave no answer.
Veneziano glared at his long time neighbor and friend. Just how could Germany not recognize the implications of such a travesty? The Italian pushed himself off the ground and stood straight and firm, like a soldier at attention. For the first time in a decade, the German felt a small lick of fear at his friend's seriousness. What did America tell him?
"That means the prices for flour would increase due to the scarcity of wheat! Increase in prices of flour would impact the food industry! The impact on the food industry would affect the foods being produced in my home! And you know what that affects? That affects how much pasta I can produce! Which means," Veneziano yelled, "no more pasta!"
For a moment, Germany was in a state of shock. If only Veneziano had the presence of mind to make such analyses whenever they had international meetings. As if stood, however, the crying Italian cared far too much about the state of his pasta.
It was time to set things straight.
"It was a joke, Italy."
The crying stilled. "What?"
"Yesterday, America told me about the sausage crisis. After thirty seconds of research, I knew it was a prank. I can assure you that America is having fun at your expense."
At that moment, Italy burst from his seated position and made a grab for his phone.
For the next thirty minutes, all Germany could hear was the sound of Italian yells and swears.