30 DAY LETTERS CHALLENGE [MOBIVERSE STYLE]
Day Twenty Six: To the Person Who Last Made a Pinky Promise with Cuccagna
If a person is to make an oath using a part of their body, should they not use their blood as we used to do? Perhaps even a variant with their arms or even just their index fingers. Why use the weakest link plausible to bind each other to their word? Modern humans make no sense to me.
The last promise we made had been a blood promise. Remember? Under the light of the full moon, we met between our borders and sliced our palms open for each other. You promised to protect me, and I promised to look after you.
I didn’t do such a good job. I’m sorry, Nordemann. Mengyao told me what happened and I… I just… I’m sorry.
In watching Italy, the one thing that I can say about us is that we both love food. Other than that…
Nordemann, was I this weak?
Did I always come to you for everything, forcing you to help me? Did I whine because the food you presented me with was unsatisfactory? How did you keep up with all of my ridiculous habits? After all, at least Italy can usually keep up his part of the bargain with Germany. Germany protects him and Italy protects Germany (Sort of. Germany doesn’t know it, but, I can see it in his face. Just like you, Nordemann, he has skeletons in his closet. And just like me, Italy drew them out.)
I hope that I was a good lover to you. Watching Germany makes me realize just how stressful it must have been to watch over me all the time, even though I know that you would deny it (Yes, even now). I promise I’ll be stronger for you, Nordemann. Next time you see me, I won’t need any help. In fact, I’ll be so strong I’ll even be able to help you! We’ll stand side by side and take on the world together.
Until then, I’ll keep watching over Italy. Over Germany. Over both of us. I know it isn’t normally in my nature, but I don’t want this new me to grow up with nothing to be proud of. Gods forbid something terrible happen to this newly formed world, I want him and his brother to be prepared.
So you promise me something, okay? Watch over me while I prepare them. Make sure Italy doesn’t hurt himself because you know I don’t know anything about first aid. And I promise you that by the time the next war rolls around, Italy and I will need to rely on no one. We will be fighters. We will be champions of his people. We will make you proud, Pilatusstadt.
Pinky Index Blood Promise.
Italy blinked at his letter and smiled. He ought to show this to Germany; it was proof that he was ready to stand on his own two feet without the other man’s help. Proof that all of Germany’s work had not been in vain after all.
“Germany! Germany! Look at this!”
“Mm?” Mumbled the bigger man, far too used to indulging Feliciano by now.
A piece of paper was shoved in his face, which he scanned disinterestedly until a name caught his attention.
“Feliciano…” Ludwig glanced up at him, choosing his words carefully. “Where did you learn this word?”
“I didn’t.” Grinned the younger man, “I was hoping you would explain to me what it was.”
“Are you sure you didn’t go through my books again?”
“No! I swear I didn’t. I’ve never seen the name. Never even heard it.”
The blonde licked his lips and set the paper down, studying its characters for a long while. Finally, he expounded, “Pilatusstadt is… Er, was… A legendary city built by Pontius Pilate. It was a great city, a marvelous kingdom… But the instant he condemned Jesus Christ, the entire place was swallowed up by the earth.”
“All of it?” Italy gasped, his eyes (For once) open wide.
“All of it.” Germany confirmed with a slightly twisted grin. ”It is said that a rooster will dig out the tip of a tower belonging to Pilatusstadt, and then the whole city will rise again. But this is merely old folklore, Feliciano. Nothing you really need to be worried about. Especially when you’re developing so much flab.” He poked a pen straight into his lover’s stomach, making the excitable Italian exhale a puff of air.
“I’m not developing flab!” Feliciano moaned, pouting. ”It’s a muffin top. It’s cute.”
“Hnn.” Germany wasn’t about to argue this point (Mostly because, well, he didn’t want to upset Italy by saying that he was fat.) Instead, he used a different tactic, and shot his lover a smile as he nodded to the kitchen. ”Why don’t you go make us some dinner?”
“Okay!” perked the boy, and he ran to prepare yet another plate of (Very good) pasta and (Very bad) wurst.
The German steepled his fingers as he balanced his elbows upon the desk, chin resting delicately atop his sharply trimmed, perfectly uniform nails. The story of Pilatusstadt was an old wive’s tale that he had never given any credit to and had never felt important enough to regale to anyone, least of all the excitable, easily distracted Italy.
He glanced at the note once more, bit his lip, and reached into a drawer, pulling out a book of old German fairytales.
It couldn’t hurt to brush up on his history a little.
Written for “The Mobius Chronicles: Death”
Posted on Thursday, 26 April
Tagged as: GetIta ItaGer Seiferre's Fandom Hetalia Germany Italy Mobius Chronicles The Mobius Chronicles Seiferre's Headcanon Mary and Seif's Headcanon Mobiverse Letters Challenge
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