Ouvertüre

dente-avvelenato: 

As a farmer, Eiríkur woke up at the crack of dawn. His home and fields were concealed in the depths of the forest, appearing as nothing more than a large mossy rock and an empty clearing to mortal eyes, unless he decided to break the spell on a case by case basis. The Hidden Man had always been a bit of a recluse and other than for his little group of friends, he rarely interacted with the other villagers and saw no reason to enable their interactions with him. His natural-born skills with invisibility and illusions (and curses, though he didn’t like relying on those), no-one had even known that he’d moved to the village for many, many years. That is until a mortal child had encountered him in the forest when he was sick and his grasp on his invisibility had faltered for just a moment.

After tending to his farm and animals, Eiríkur made his way to the café through the forest and the village plaza. With him he carried a basket of fresh eggs - he always paid his upkeep at Romano’s with his produce rather than common or magical favours. As he stepped through the grassy areas and cobblestone, he kept himself unseen, and other than for the slight indents and dewless blades he left in his wake, not a soul could tell where he went. There was also a bell above the door that usually jingled for whoever came in the café but Eiríkur could easily throw a quick spell to muffle its sound. Nevertheless, no-one seemed to pay attention to the door quietly opening on its own, engrossed as they were in conversation around their usual table. It was quite curious indeed. 

Unable to resist the temptation, he made a bit of a show materialising his basket on a table nearby, pulling off the spell hiding it from view as he released it from his fingers. He then stepped quietly as he could over to his friends and took the seat that Gilbert (bless him) had carefully guarded for him, letting the invisibility spell covering him vanish as well. Doing it quickly and making himself ‘pop’ into appearance always got the best reactions from his friends so that’s what he did this time as well. As nonchalantly as he could, he leant back in his seat and grinned. “So, what do we have on the table today?”

@onceuponatroll

All thoughts of what Edelō may be hiding disappeared straight from Romano’s mind the moment Eirikur appeared at the table; causing him to jump and hit his burnt hand on a chair. Romano will deny that he screamed just as much as he denies that he screams every time the Hidden Man does the same thing; it was a pointless thing to do since everyone would’ve been able to hear him, he wasn’t exactly quiet. Cradling his painful hand to his chest he sent them his deadliest glare, “I hate you so much, I hope you know that.”

@onceuponatroll  @removethewallinourhearts, @mr-puffinwhisperer, @potatisgris

Uncomfortable Umbrella

To be entirely honest, Romano’s response to his initial statement about history left the poor German baffled. Is that an insult, or a compliment? he asked himself as they walked on, but quickly decided not to analyze the statement any further than necessary. Not at the moment, at least.

Besides, Romano’s answer shocked him more than he had anticipated. For once, the German saw doors of opportunity opening in regards to a potential friendship between them. What left him shell-shocked, however, was the fact that Romano had just asked him a similar question in response. His cheeks immediately reddened, his words stumbling over themselves in his mind. 

“I enjoy baking,” the blonde man finally choked out, “and gardening. I also enjoy reading, writing, and wood carving. When I can find the time, I play my cello.” His tongue was like wildfire, unstoppable until he quenched the flames with a mental shut up please, Ludwig! This only left him blushing more wildly than before, and he found his gaze locked on the ground in front of his feet, pretending that there were several cobblestones to avoid tripping over. “I’m rambling, sorry. What kind of things do you grow in your garden?”

The other’s slight rambling made Romano chuckle quietly, “That’s a lot of stuff,” He commented, he debated teasing them about the ramble; he decided against it there would be time for that later, “How do you find time for them all?”. The Italian had enough fun trying to find time to do the few things he enjoyed; he couldn’t imagine taking up anymore hobbies and still having time to sleep.

He was surprised that Ludwig was still interested in what he was saying, he was expecting the German to have given up on small talk. The conversation was making the walk pass quicker though and it was distracting him from the fact that he was still stuck under the umbrella. “I grow fruit, veg and occasionally a few herbs, mostly stuff that I can cook with later, fresh ingredients always make the food better.” If they enjoyed baking, he was sure the other would appreciate that thought.

A Forgotten Friend

It went without saying that the Norwegian was surprised to hear his native country, the one he represented, mentioned with the association of a “big place.” Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride sneak into his heart at hearing Romano’s words, hoping that the reputation his nation had earned had far more positive associations than “big.” “I live in Sogn og Fjordane,” he answered, not certain whether his companion would know where that was in the country, but it was as specific as he wanted to let on for now.

Sigurd almost sighed with relief as his companion requested coffee, glad to have an excuse to make not only one but two cups of coffee. “I see,” he commented as he turned to the counter in his room and began brewing a pot. Alas, he also had a “small” farm that consisted of sheep, a horse, a rather moderately-sized strawberry patch, and an apple orchard that consisted of at least ten trees. “I wish you a plentiful harvest then. If you’d like privacy to change, feel free to use the restroom,” Sigurd continued, though in all reality he didn’t care where Romano changed, but could understand if he felt uncomfortable taking off his clothes in the presence of a stranger.

“Do you have any plans for this evening?”

As he searched for a decent shirt Romano listened to the Norwegian talk. He was sure that their hometown sounded familiar, but he couldn’t reason why; it wasn’t like he actually knew any places in Norway, he had no reason to. But at the same time, he was sure he had heard the name before. “Never heard of it.” He shrugged. If only his head would stop hurting so much, he might be able to think about things a bit more clearly.

The wish for a plentiful harvest made him pause slightly; that was something he hadn’t heard in a while. “I hope you have a good harvest as well, I suppose.” He muttered, finally finding a shirt that looked like it might fit him and would look decent. Wondering if the suggestion that he use the bathroom was as much for Sigurd’s benefit as Romano’s he decided to take them up on the offer; even though it was only a shirt, he wasn’t sure how comfortable they would be with him changing in the same room. “No, I don’t have any plans. What about you?” He told them as he shut the door behind himself. He didn’t often have evening plans unless a friend was visiting, and today he felt like just going home and trying to sleep off this headache that was getting near blinding, but they had asked first so he might as well be polite.

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No matter how debonair, charming, or stoic they may seem - your Muse must have walked into a wall or door at least once in their life.

A Dark Inn-counter

“Makes sense,” Sigurd commented, watching the other struggle to light the match. Of course, today was the day his runes ran away from him. Finally finding Kaunaz, he began chanting the name of the tune under his breath, carefully tracing it onto one of the candles. A bringer of fire, the rune should have brought light to the tip of the candle. Something had gone seriously wrong in the village, that was for sure. Sigurd swore as he put the rune back into the bag, tucking it away again hastily. 

“Do you have anyone who helps you?” The elf asked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought of how much work this fae put himself through daily. Midgard was a truly strange place but this village might have been the strangest place he had ever been. Was that really what humans did? Slave away every day over kitchens? Gilbert has told him once that when a life was limited it made the search to do the things they loved dutiful to the point of almost disregarding their health. When one did not have centuries to master one skill on top of another, it was easier to find one thing that gave joy above all and stick with it, Sigurd supposed. There wasn’t a chance to get tired of one thing and have to find something else to fill the time. To an extent, I envy them for that, Sigurd thought as he began moving around, looking for another potential source of light.

Romano watched Sigurd trace the rune on the side of the candle; he wasn’t sure exactly what they were doing but he guessed it was something to try and light it. So, he was more than a little surprised when it stayed dark. Listening to the other swear, he threw the matchbox onto the table in annoyance, clearly there was something else keeping them in the dark and if Gilbert really was the cause he would find his visits to the café to be unpleasant for a while.

He shrugged at their question, “It’s only really ever been me since I took over the place.” He’d never even thought about getting anyone to help, the Italian had learnt and gotten used to just doing everything himself pretty much since he arrived at the village and now he had been doing it so long he sort of enjoyed having this one small purpose in the village. “Besides, if I had help I would have to teach them how to do everything and keep an eye on them whilst they were working, it’s just easier to do it myself?”

Another 5 Random Italy Facts

* The famous children’s story “Pinocchio” about the lying boy with the growing nose was written by an Italian. Carlo Collodi published “The Adventures of Pinocchio” in 1883.

* Though there is some debate regarding the official national animal of Italy, the golden eagle and Italian wolf have both been deemed Italy’s national animals by different sources. Although these animals are not officially recognized, unofficially they are regarded by certain sects as Italian symbols. The Italian wolf is considered a subspecies of the gray wolf. It’s also known as the Apennine Wolf, as it is found throughout the Apennine Mountains.

* With 48.6 million tourists a year, Italy is the world’s 5th-most visited country in international tourist arrivals - behind France, USA, Spain, and China.

* The average Italian consumes 98 liters of wine a year.

* The average Italian consumes 25 kilos of pasta a year.

A Vespa in Puglia

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Sassi di Matera, Italy by Alessio Rugiati

Sicily, Italy

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“Sign language is useful to the deaf but vital to the Italians.”

-Paul Carvel

Italian map of Italians.

The elf couldn’t help but scoff at the assumption, nodding his head in agreement. “I don’t know what else it could be,” he murmured as he made his way through the shadowy space, prodding his way slowly through the familiar space. Though he hadn’t been in the village for very long, he had found a home of sorts in the café and had grown similarly fond of the fae who ran it. As his elven eyes quickly began to adjust to the poor lighting he glanced around, trying his best to find his way to Romano.

Somehow Sigurd miraculously made his way to the service counter without toppling over, resting his elbows on the surface. “Why are you awake at this hour?” the elf inquired, trying to think of a reason that Romano might give while waiting for a response. To him, the reason for himself being awake was obvious, but the reason that Romano would be awake was more uncertain. Was it bad dreams? Was he worried about something? Did he require a human’s amount of sleep, or did he run on a stamina that only required a fraction of the resting time? His interest already piqued, he leaned in a bit closer and studied the surface, wondering if he would be able to identify his runes in the darkness. Pulling out his bag, he extracted three of the runes and set them down on the counter, and carefully running his fingers over them before determining that they weren’t the ones he was looking for and sliding out a handful more.

 “It’s usually a safe bet, if something like this happens, that the Snow Potato is involved somehow.” Romano chuckled, it was good to know that in their short time in the village Sigurd had already learnt how chaotic the witch’s magic could be. Finally, his fingers brushed up against the matches on the counter; taking hold of them he continued gently running his hand along until it came into contact with a lamp he could light.

In the low light of the room he could just about make out the other leaning against the counter. “I’m still here late most days,” He shrugged, “I’m getting what I can ready for tomorrow, so I don’t have to do it in the morning.” He couldn’t imagine trying to get everything prepared before he opened, it was much easier to have somethings done before he went home. Deciding suddenly lighting the match might not be good for the other’s eyes the Italian turned slightly from the counter, so it wouldn’t be so bright; only to find they wouldn’t light. “Merda.” He muttered, trying the next one with the same result.

A Forgotten Friend

At the inquiry, Sigurd felt progress in his mission. With a fair amount of pride, he provided his answer in the curt and straight-forward form of “Norway.” Sure, he could elaborate, but he figured it was unnecessary. Besides, if Romano wanted to hear more then Sigurd knew that Romano would ask any questions he wanted answers to.

Inserting the key and opening the door to his hotel room, he held it open for his guest and let it fall shut behind the Italian. Luckily for Romano, Sigurd was rather neat and the room still looked presentable. “Oh, gardening? I have a large garden at home. I also do some farming,” he added, looking around the room for his suitcase. “You know, I’m sure I could get that stain out. In the meantime you can choose one of my shirts to wear. Would you like something to drink? I can prepare something while you’re changing.”

Romano was surprised at how short their response was; normally if he asked where someone was from, he got more than a one-word answer. “Norway’s a big place,” He pointed out, “Whereabouts?” he felt like he should know more than that about the country, but that blasted headache was distracting him again.

He was pleased to see that Sigurd had kept the hotel room tidy, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to stay long if it was too messy. At least in this room he could see there were places he could sit down if he wanted to. “I used to do some farming,” He added, “But I was too busy to keep it up, so I just grow things in my garden now.” He decided not to mention that his garden was over an acre of land and nearly a small farm on its own. “A coffee would be good if you’ve got some.” He answered, going over to their suitcase to look for something he could wear for a little while.