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Below Zero Part 1: The Plan"Err... Great Britain? Um, you called?" Russia spoke into the now-dark room. Wind was still whistling around him from being magicked into the cavern. The floor beneath his feet had an odd characteristic of pulsing periwinkle blue. He could hear the chattering of teeth, so he knew Arthur was somewhere around. He examined the room, and it slowly came to life as the potions on the desks illuminated the place with rainbows of dim, flickering light.
The room seemed to have the most light coming from a dragon-shaped flask. Filled with something bright red, it seemed to crackle like a hundred Chinese fireworks going off. Hypnotized, Soviet Russia began to walk over, attracted, like a moth to a candle. Only when he was two feet away from the desk with the flask upon it, Russia was distracted by a whimper emanating from under the desk. Russia stopped himself, and bent down to see what was the trouble.
Huddled in the corner under his desk, Britain was trembling feverishly. Arthur was already a n
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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