#basilica of saint mark | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovedrots · 2 years ago

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little moments

iii . little moments - p.p. x reader ᥫ᭡

synopsis : you spend the last days of your trip to italy with the boy you admire most. ( includes one-bed!trope and mutual pining )

warnings : creepy pedo old(ish) men, mild swearing, very, very rushed. this is the first time i have written in a while. :( unedited, not proof-read !!

a/n : this is my first time writing in . . . a long time ! so please note that this likely isn’t very smooth, nor is it proof-read / edited. also i am begging you guys to give me requests in my inbox .. i gotta write more !!

word count : 6,921

italy ; 1:56 p.m.

venice was supposed to be fun.

this was supposed to be your opportunity to get away from your parents, to live out your cliche teenage late-night dreams with your closest friend, betty.

but instead, you were stuck trailing her and her new boy-toy, ned leeds.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like ned. no, he was funny. kind. but what bothered you was that he had wormed his way right into the middle of your plans. betty and you had put together list of what you wanted to do: sneak out at night to drink hot cocoa on the roof, pet the pigeons, take every boat you saw … of course, those were all thrown out the window.

and it didn’t really help, that ned’s best friend, peter parker wasn’t around. you hoped that he would at least have his – rather cute – best friend by his side, but it seemed that even he wasn’t content on watching ned and betty suck each other’s faces off.

understandable.

turning your attention from the pale waters, you tried to catch your blonde friend’s gaze – mission failed. you pursed your lip, fingers picking at each other. you were getting antsy, with a need to go something. anything.

“have you guys checked out the saint mark’s basilica yet?” you quipped, sliding in front of them. you were sick of trailing them like a helpless dog.

“doesn’t look fun,” ned muttered, dark eyes glued to betty’s grinning face. and the other didn’t even think it proper to reply. neither of them seemed to notice you, as they brushed past, the girl’s shoulder bumping yours in the process.

your face flushed with something resembling anger – both because of their lack of attention, and the fact that you may have been a little jealous of the couple. just a little. who wouldn’t be? sure, you could say they were just in the honeymoon phase, but the way they looked at each other still had you yearning for more than your life offered. when would you get to experience that? just thinking about it had you kicking your feet, fireworks going off in your tummy.

though you would never admit it, some nights, you would imagine yourself sleeping beside someone. it made you feel … safe, when no one else did.

that’s when you realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks, ned and betty out of sight. you frantically looked around, e/c eyes scanning heads as you stood on your toes. shit. gone.

“lost, amore?” a old, sultry voice rasped. you turned to see a man – likely in his fifties – looking you up and down. though he was smiling, it was certainly nothing kind.

lost? you weren’t lost. just exploring, yeah? you knew where you were; the cream walls, beige roof of the building to your left … the totally familiar waters …

okay, sure. you were lost.

but you couldn’t tell a stranger that!

“no, sir,” you replied, and though you tried to put strength into your voice, it still managed to come out as nothing more than a squeak. “i was just – just looking around. i’ve been here tons of times.”

you began inching backwards, uncomfortable with the older man and unfamiliarity of the situation. though you were sure he had no ill intentions, (were you?) you were rather put off by his use of such an intimate name. after all, you were a teenager; very obviously one, too.

“please, miss! you look –”

you stumbled into a hard surface, warmth seeping into your back, an oomph leaving whatever it is that you crashed into.

you spun on your heel, whipping your head up to look at – peter parker. oh, just the person you needed to see, you thought, sarcasm pounding your head. your gaze shot from man to boy, as if unsure where to focus. you were jet-lagged, disoriented, and maybe a little creeped out.

setting your eyes on peter, you tried to channel your feelings of long (momentary) suffering through the irises. though, in all honesty, you probably looked like a drunken madwoman. but when your e/c eyes met his, the honey-brown so enchanting, you felt a little more secure. it wasn’t quite a warm, safe blanket; after all, you didn’t really know the boy. you’d only watched him from afar. stuffing books in his locker (they often fell out), sneakily mixing chemicals in the lab (you could never tell what, exactly, it was), tapping his foot to taylor swift songs when he thought so one was looking.

yeah, you were smitten.

“sorry mister;” came his wavering voice, “she’s got me!”

sorry? you ‘got him?’ needless to say, you were baffled. never had you ever spoken to the brunette, yet he was acting as if you were the best of pals. you gave him a quizzical look, nearly crossing your arms. but the silence, the bothered look on the elder’s face, had you playing along. “pete!” you choked out, the nickname forcing itself through your teeth, “i was looking everywhere for you.”

“i was down by the – the docks,” he quipped, scratching the nape of his neck. he – rather reluctantly – placed his palm on your shoulder. Though his composure was stiff, and his acting skills horrible, you had no other choice.

feigning annoyance, you crossed your arms, thick brows knitting. “you could’ve answered my texts!” for the fun of it, you fished your cell phone from your back pocket, swinging it between your fingers.

he huffed, tapping his foot. now you were really getting into it, the little squabble. “my phone was dead! you try replying to messages with a pitch-black screen?”

the two of you shot back and fourth for god knew how long, pointing, grumbling, and prodding at each other. To the two of your, your humorous scene was only a few moments long. but, by the time you’d calmed down, laughter at the tips of your tongues, the man had drifted away. last you had checked, he was staring down the two of you with awe and anger, mouth opening and closing each time there was a heartbeat of silence, as if to interject.

the giggles finally bubbled up, leaving your lips in a string of gurgles as you attempted to suppress them. your newfound travel companion, upon hearing your racket, couldn’t help but explode. Peter doubled over, clamping a hand to his mouth, as if to stifle his guffaws; but, it was no use. both of you look utterly insane, like drugged maniacs.

but he thought your laughter was one of the prettiest things he had ever heard.

though, you didn’t know that. you were convinced that you sounded like a crow that had just drunken twelve bottles of whiskey. plus, you were too busy admiring his joy, through the whisps of hair that fell into your face as he chuckles subsided.

you averted your eyes, pupils refusing to shrink back. “thanks. for helping me back there, i mean. that guy was … something.”

he nodded in agreement, a boyish, lopsided grin plastered to his face. “oh, um, anytime!”

you suspected he would be on his way. that he’d turn around, and you would be left alone again.

instead, he analyzed you, head to toe; the hydrangea-print top, the sun-kissed cheeks and nose. you thought you looked like a sloppily put-together mess, but peter thought you looked dream-worthy. “i didn’t know you knew who i am.” he said once he collected his thoughts.

you blinked, your only sign of surprise, ‘till you spoke. “who doesn’t know peter parker? you’re basically the only reason our decathlon team wins every show-down. smartest guy we know!”

was that too much? perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. you only just topped yourself before you could have slipped out something along the lines of, plus, you’re gorgeous. very handsome. i like to watch you in class, you’re so pretty.

but, even when he wore an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, his grin grew impossibly wider, his chest puffing in pride. “i mean – i try. not the smartest, though. try mr. stark. he’s a real genius,” he rambled. “and, hey, you’re pretty smart, too. mrs. warren seems to like you! you always get good grades in her class.”

“you notice?” you rose a brow.

“well, i sit directly behind you, so it’s kind of hard not to listen to it. that’s the only reason. it’s not like i’m a stalker or anything!”

of course, he wasn’t watching you because of some feelings. it was just by chance. if you sat at the opposite end of the room, he probably wouldn’t even know that you’re in his class, for thor’s sake.

needless to say, you were butthurt. but you couldn’t let it show through.

even so, you only found the strength to nod, watching the waters of venice ripple. how could you have gotten your hopes up? you rubbed your arms, droplets of the rivers spraying them with each crash of the tides. you hated the silence. it was your chance; your chance to prove that you were worth becoming friends with. but your awkwardness, your shyness, kept you from saying a word.

you looked up at his face, expecting him to be looking right back – but instead, those puppy eyes were glued elsewhere, to the dark wood planks at your feet.

maybe, he was as nervous as you were.

you cleared your throat, shifting your posture a few more times than it would be, if you were casual. “you haven’t got anyone else, or any plans right now … right?” you tried, foot tapping.

“No, no no!” he quickly ushered, hands that were once behind his back now set in a defensive position. “none at all. i just wanted to walk around, y’know?” he bit his already rouge lips, the action only emphasizing the color in his face. “d’you want to join me? if you don’t, that’s fine! i mean, we only just really met, and it might seem kind of weird. not that i’m weird. am i? i don't think so, i just –”

oh, you were helpless for this man. the way he went on a tangent, deep eyes sparking, you had fallen far before you could really acknowledge it. your stomach was doing summersaults, head feeling light, but not quite dizzy. when were you going to wake up from this dream? you wanted to pinch yourself.

“oh, no, i’d love to . . weirdo,” you added with a quick wink. you weren’t flash, after all; you’d never intentionally bully the poor guy.

peter shook his head, curls bouncing as his face contorted further into a content happiness.

you slipped your phone into the front pocket of your jeans, slipping past him to launch into a slow stroll. you almost instinctively reached out a hand for him to take, as though to guide him, but you pulled away as quick as it came up.

the two of you were oh-so close, shoulders nudging every so often as you walked. it wasn’t always this way; at first, you’d been feet upon feet apart. but as you spoke, you seemed to gravitate towards the enter – or, towards each other.

“but, blueberry pie has such a good balance of sweetness, and the texture is so much more . . it’s just nicer!” you insisted, upon peter bringing up his favorite pie.

“but –” he countered, “that place down the street from delmars? best cherry pie ever.”

you shrugged, mocking offense. “well, i’ve never had it! how should i know?”

he scoffed, hand to his heart. “fine. when we get back from europe, first thing we’re doing? i’m taking you there. and ordering two slices of cherry pie, extra ice-cream.’

if we even make it that far, you wanted to mutter, but held your tongue. instead. you jabbed at his shoulder. “yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that.”

your bantering, since the little skit you put on, never seemed to stop. but your differences never made your heart beat less for him; it only made you more curious. one of the most interesting, being his view on heroes in comparison to yours.

“i appreciate them; i do,” you had said, “but they can’t save us all. kids still go missing. murders still happen. it’s impossible to stop.”

“but they try! they’re humans, too,” he countered. though his tone was harsher than you were used to, you didn’t miss the kindness, the understanding, in his eyes.

“i know,” you said softly. “but – they always say they’re going to ‘save everyone.’” you paused, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “it’s – it’s why i like spider-man, actually.”

you found it curious, how his eyes widened, and his cheeks grew crimson. “what do you mean?” he squeaked out.

“well; he’s not like those other heroes. he looks out for all of us. robberies, drunk drivers … stuff that most of the avengers wouldn’t bother watching out for. i admire him.”

“somebody’s gotta watch out for the little guys,” he murmured as if you couldn’t hear. and those words, stuck in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

somebody’s gotta look out for the little guys, huh?

italy, 6:34 p.m.

it was dusk, by the time you had left again. hours before, peter parker had walked you to your hotel, where you weren’t surprised to find betty missing. likely with ned, peter had scoffed. you nodded, shrugging. at least you has some peace to yourself. you had shared an awkward moment before he left; he had gone in for a side-hug, while you had expected a full-on one. this had both of you struggling to find a comfortable way to meet, before you settled on a less-than-shitty … fist bump. yeah. a fist bump.

you groaned at the memory, shaking your head. you needed something to clear your head. and that ‘something’ was a boat ride!

you wove through the busy streets, eyes glued onto the boat-stop, humming with delight as you watched one pull into view and –

“rose, lovely?”

you jolted once more, struck into reality as a man in a cap resembling a beanie held out a singular red rose. you shook your head, cursing yourself for not avoiding the packed walkways.

“american, yes?” he tried again, signaling the flower in his hand with the dip of his head.

opening your mouth to offer a curt reply, you instead felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “um – hi, sorry to interrupt, man. y/n?”

you quickly spun to see peter parker behind you, yet again. “peterrr … hi!!” you quipped, a fake grin splat on the panes of your face.

“hey,” he smiled back, sliding his fingers from your shoulderblade to your hand, entwining them with yours. “let’s get our boat, yeah?” he gave your hand a gentle tug towards the dock, his other occupied with a small pale bag, making a point to raise the one holding yours just enough for the capped boy to see. and, though you shouldn’t have, you squeezed his palm just a little tighter. to remind the fluttering of your heart, that it was real.

when you sat on the slick bench of he raft, peter, alarmed by the pools of water on said bench, shrugged his jacket off, swiftly placing it where you were aiming just before you took your seat. you gave him a quizzical look, to which he replied, “i just – i just didn’t want your jeans to be ruined! they’re pretty.” his voice wavered, soft.

his little display of respect had you over the moon. and though everyone else was out of sight, you hadn’t let go. side by side, hands clasped, the two of you seemed to look opposite ways. you towards the city lights, and peter towards the open waters. but, in reality? you were looking at each other when the other turned away. it was like a game of whack-a-mole, to catch one another red handed. the few times your eyes met, you felt your skin ignite.

the entire ride, not a word was exchanged. but you never moved away. you would feel the occasional squeeze to your hand, which you would respond with one of equal gentleness. They seemed to communicate, ‘is this okay?’

it was short, sweet, the crossing not lasting anything more than ten minutes. when you stepped out, you seemed frozen. his irises, illuminated by fairy lights, were so sweet, like pools of milk chocolate.

but, nothing good lasts forever. the worker on the boat coughed once. twice.

right; money.

you slid your hands into your pockets, grabbing from your wallet … but the boat as gone as soon as you looked back up. peter was sliding a wrecked, leather-bound square back into his pants. you sighed deeply, rolling your eyes. “oh, please. you couldn’t have let me pay you back at least once?”

“pay me back for what?” he asked innocently.

you scoffed, dropping the wallet back where it came. “yeah, yeah, mister hero …” you shook your head, though you could feel tingles of a smile warping the edges of your lips. he had let got of your hand to pay, and though it did not find yours again, you could feel the ghost of his touch linger on your skin. “we have got to stop meeting like this,” you added, referring to the assistance he offered you. two times, now, had he led you away from odd men in this foreign land.

peter shrugged, fiddling with the handle of his paper bag. “at least i means we meet, somehow.” though his words came off as casual, there was a strain in his voice. as if he wanted to say more. “besides; if i didn’t turn out, where else would you be?”

rolling your eyes, your eyes followed the sun, watching it sink below the horizon. “i had it covered …” but, upon seeing his face drop a fraction, you felt yourself soften like warm wax. “okay, maybe i didn’t. you saved my ass, i admit it.” you rose your hands in surrender, a tight-lipped beam lighting your face.

he seemed to perk right up, like a dog receiving praise, posture straightening with delight. you could practically envision a wagging tail.

and you didn’t mind it, when your fingers drifted into his once more as you led each other back to where your class was gathered.

italy, 2:12 a.m.

you kicked your feet beneath the thick bedsheets, the absence of your friend hitting you like a ton of bricks. originally, the two of you planned to stay up late in face-masks, drinking smoothies and eating chocolates. but, where was she now?

with her new boyfriend, obviously. and thor knew how the hell betty managed to sneak into his room.

actually – never mind. your teachers were too much of a deadbeat, to pay attention to the lot of you the middle of the night.

you wrestled with the duvet for a few more moments, both hot and cold wrecking your body. blanket on? too hot. blanket off? too cold. how did people even manage, in such conditions?

you felt your feet touch the fuzz of your slippers as you swung up, laced night-dress crinkling against linen. you wanted to sleep, so badly, yet it never came. each time you closed your eyes, stars would appear, and you would replay your walk home with peter in your head. it was all so strange. you had met only today, really, and it felt like he was your ‘soulmate.’

or, maybe it was you trying to convince yourself that things could work out between you and the coffee-eyed boy.

you kicked your legs, emitting soft thuds to the mattress, unsure of what to do. you’d tried listening to ambience between the time of 1:34 to 1:56, but that didn’t seem to work, though it often times did. you also attempted the classic, ‘counting sheep.’ but, when does that ever really work. you even got so distracted, that you had begun to name the damned sheep that were jumping over your little imaginary fence.

your personal favorites were sir mcwooly and baaa-rney.

toddling over to the small desk by the hotel’s queen’s bed, you rubbed your arms, feeling the goosebumps spiking up on your skin. you sat on the swiveling chair, the small lamp as blinding as the sun when you turned it on. you seethed, squinting as you made a grab for the miniature sketchpad and pen assortment you had packed

you scribbled away, filling pages with tiny stars, before your hand began to flow out portraits of your friends. first, betty; with her shining blonde hair, her sugar-sweet grin. you doodled her and ned, despite the small crack in your heart at the thought of them so happy together. you drew them on the flight together, when you had been kicked out your seat to sit behind them, watching the new couple giggle through the cracks. you added little notes, complaining about their mushiness, about how empty they made you feel.

Needless to essay, the page was ripped from the booklet.

your pen found it’s way to paper once again, this time, the lines forming the familiar silhouette of peter. you started with his doe-brown eyes, making emphasis on the shining in them, the familiarity. though you enjoyed drawing each part of him, something about those eyes had you grounded to them. and it showed; when you were finished – or, more specifically, you noted how cliche you were acting – anyone could see the emphasis you’d placed on his irises. darker than all else in the portrait, white cut-outs of hearts and stars, if you looked close enough, bright against the ink.

you shook your head, gingerly, not to break the paper, tearing the page from the notebook. you set it aside, atop your previous project. the cold was getting to you; you were shaking like a wet dog, and, god, did you feel like you were sick. the small blotches of pen-gel on your hands didn’t help the look. it was like you were catching the plague.

padding for the suitcase propped against the wall, you dug through it, slipping a alpaca-fur sweater over your head. it would leave a mess of hairs, later, but in the moment, it was worth the suffering.

only issue was, your hands were still cold as ever. but you knew just what to do.

italy, 2:59 a.m.

the aroma of milk chocolate wafted through the room, the small kitchen’s floorboards creaking as you twirled and bobbed your head like a bird. you had your earbuds shoved deep into your ears, ramones blasting through the tiny speakers. you were careful to avoid the odd, slimy bits in the floor. though venice was a beautiful city, your academy didn’t seem inclined on letting the lot of you stay in a nice hotel.

whatever; the trip was free, anyways. you’d take what you could get.

you dipped your spatula into the thick, italian-style cocoa, buzzing with delight as you licked a speck of the liquid from your finger. heavy, yet delicious. even just a drop, was like a cup’s worth of flavor of those sad, little packets of hot-chocolate at home.

you poured a bit of the mixture into a small mug, surprised to find a good half of it left in the pot. you groaned, realizing that you did not, in fact, have a personal fridge to store the drink in for later. and you didn’t trust anyone from your class to not steal it from the hotel’s storage unit, if you chose to keep it there.

you’d have to gulp down the whole damned container. it was like sipping on melted-down icing.

you absent-mindedly poured the rest into a matching cup, grumbling at the spare dish you’d clean. you whispered the lyrics to the song playing through your ipod, foot tapping – rather noisily – on the old wood planks.

but, your peace was short-lived.

a small voice seemed to echo you, repeating the very lyrics you thought only you could hear. you pulled one of the buds out, head whipping about until you came face-to-face with peter, who was leant against the cracked doorframe, muttering to the very lyrics you were whispering.

you froze up, quarter-full pot in hand. like a deer in the headlights. “a ramones fan?” you squeaked out as soon as you remembered that you had a voice.

“yeah – yeah. they’re cool,” he replied with equal eagerness. though he made an attempt to look casual, the constant shift in position and blush staining his cheeks opposed it. “how many song d’you know?”

“not many. this just showed up on my playlist, i guess,” you clarified, not quite meeting his gaze.

“oh! that’s fine. music is kinda subjective. and the ramones aren’t exactly in style now, so –”

you cut the poor boy off with a chuckle, holding out a cup of chocolate to him. “now, don’t undermine your tastes over me. hell, i’d be happy to listen sometime.”

“really?” the panes of his face seemed to heighten with joy. “awesome. people don’t usually .. they don’t tend care about that, y’know?”

you nodded, letting go of the mug as he took hold if it’s handle, fingers brushing yours with a spark. “it’s the little things that matter, though. i mean, imagine having someone who just knows everything about you like that?”

he gazed into the cup with wonder, as if pondering your words. “yeah … i mean. it would be easier than having to explain every little thing to ned,” he stuffy joked, scratching at his neck (again; a habit, it seemed) as if there was a switch to turn his awkward energy off.

you gave a polite giggle, leaning over the dusty counter, drink in hand. this silence seemed to be a reoccurring thing between the two of you. you would look anywhere, but each other, until you caught one-another red handed in the act. each time your eyes met, you melted a little, seeing the warmth behind them. and a sprinkle of something else. something dark. lonely. sad.

peter cautiously swiped a tinge of chocolate from the inner rim of the pot, tasting it, with a hum of approval. he took a soggy paper towel off the rack, wiping his fingers free of the sweet treat, before clearing his throat once. twice.

you looked back up, watching him frantically digging through the pockets of his jeans; front left. front right. back left. back right.

… the item he was looking for was, actually, in his hoodie.

when he at last came across it, a wide grin spread across his face, a depiction of relief. you caught a glimpse of red, shining against the soft light of the kitchen lamp.

“turn around?” he pleaded, fiddling with … whatever it was.

though you weren’t sure if you could trust it, the innocent, hopeful look on his face had your knees weak. so you obeyed.

you nearly gasped as you felt warm, calloused hands caress your neck, shifting your hair over your right shoulder. and as, in contrast, a cool metal chain was placed around your throat. as he clasped it together, he seemed to linger there, hands unnecessarily raking through your strands.

not that you minded.

you took the jewelry – a necklace – between your fingers, heart puddling to find a rose made of red glass resting on your skin. “oh, pete … why?”

“i just – i-admire-you, you-know? i-mean,have-you-seen-how-you-work-in-decathlon? or-how-you-help-mrs. warren, even-though-she-can-be-a-little … difficult. not-that-she’s-bad! no! and, um. you’re-gorgeous. not-in-a-creepy-way, but – still. yeah.”

boy, was he out of breath. you could barely understand a thing he said. “peter … i seriously didn’t catch a word of that. slow down, yeah?”

his cheeks grew scarlet as he nodded. “i was just saying that i, kind of, admire you i guess?”

you blinked, fingers that were fidgeting with the bud now frozen. “you admire me? peter parker? well, i must’ve done something right,” you laughed – not quite understanding that his words were, actually, a confession, and not words similar to that of a student and a mentor.

you didn’t catch the grimace of disappointment that passed over his face.

“right … yeah. of course,” he assured, taking a large step back. did your breath smell? you pondered, shoulders tensing. but he only padded to the spare cup, giving you a look of inquiry – to which you nodded – as he picked the ceramic up, taking a swig from the thick drink. you grinned as he pulled away from the mug, upper lip lined with deep brown.

“you’ve got something there,” you quipped, jutting your chin towards his face. he took a swipe at his mouth, missing the small puddle by an inch or two. again. again. by the time he’d given up, you were struggling not to spill your hot chocolate as you guffawed. you tip-toed to his silhouette, napkin in hand, and quickly swiped the dessert off his skin. “there, dork. all fixed up,” you declared.

the smile on his lips quivered, as though to keep it from turning into a full-on, toothy smirk. you lingered, body soaking up the heat radiating off of him. how you longed to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. and oh, gods, how he smelled. warm apple pie, laced with fresh rain.

you wondered if he tasted just as sweet.

but you couldn’t think that way. you shouldn’t have. what you wanted, what you knew, was nothing more than a fantasy. you only ever watched peter parker from the sidelines. hell, you didn’t know what his favorite food was. his favorite colors. all you knew was his favorite subject, how he tugged at his curls while we was stressed. the way he bounced his leg as your teacher spoke, pink lip tugged between his teeth. though, you could never really tell if he was really focusing; the boy’s eyes were always glossy, clouded. like he wasn’t really there. at this point, you were confident he lived inside his laptop screen.

except for the fact that he answered every damned question he was asked.

seriously, it had you rethinking your own intellect.

you didn’t grin back, your own foolishness taking a toll on your mood. you stumbled your way to the sink, his heat leaving your body feeling empty. setting your mug down with a clunk, you couldn’t meet peter’s curious gaze. “i’ve – got to sleep. early day tomorrow, yeah?” your voice was weak, no matter how hard you tried to bring humor to it.

and as you tuned to leave, what you didn’t catch, was the crushed look on your love interest’s face.

the moment you had reached your hotel, you were rather dejected to see betty missing. you scoffed, face-planting on your side of the queen-sized bed, right hand unconsciously shooting up to protect the glass art around your neck from the harsh impact. you gripped it just a fraction tighter as you sighed into the pillows, the heaviness of silence dragging anxiety from the depth of your heart.

it took you a few minutes, to find the strength to get up. but when you did, you slipped into a silken night gown, wrapping your skin in a thick robe to protect it from the cold air. your face was slathered in a gray mask, hair pushed back by a baby-blue headband. you could feel the clay on your face drying, sending a strange tingling sensation through your flesh. ick.

your eyes welled with disappointment as you stared at yourself in the mirror. were you selfish, for wanting your best friend back? you were supposed to be doing this together, face-masks and all. but instead, you had been abandoned for some guy. you blinked back your worries, determined not to let your sullied mood ruin your almost perfectly dried clay. instead, you took a deep exhale, eyes trained on the knob of the hotel’s front door.

it was as if you had summoned it with your eyes; a sharp, quick knock at the dead of night.

you blinked, almost confident that you had been hearing things. but it came again, once. twice. three timed, before you approached it, scowling. if she was going to stay so long with her boyfriend, why come back now?

“you should have just stayed where you were,” you bit out as you swung the door wide open, huffing. your voice was venom, and deep down, you were sure you’d overreacted. but you were hurt. “really, bett! it’s – what – three in the –”

were betty’s eyes always such a deep shade of brown? you didn’t remember her hair being so short.

oh.

you blinked back your angry tears, wishing you could take each little word back. you’d been a fool, for lashing out at your friend – much less, the wrong one. you rubbed your eyes, barely missing the crusted clay inches beneath. “peter?” you coughed.

“bad timing?” he swallowed, taking a step back from the door; an offer to leave, if you so chose. you felt your heart crack, just a fraction, as you shook your head quickly, opening your door a bit wider.

“more like, bad situation,” you shrugged, far too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “what . . .” you continued, “what are you here for?”

peter’s mouth pinched, as if he was thinking carefully for his next line of words. “i got kicked out,” he finally admitted, a sheepish grin pulling at the panes of his face. “betty took my side of the bed, and i didn’t really want to listen to them flirt all night.”

you giggled, a warm rush coating your skin as you nodded. “you should have seen them earlier,” you replied, spirits lifted with his caring presence. “i couldn’t even get a hold of the girl, for god’s sake. she’s infatuated.” you took a deep breath. the memory wounded you, but it felt nice – to laugh about it with someone who understood. “did you . . want to come in?” you finally asked after a heartbeat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. you looked like a grizzly bear, in your fluffy turtleneck and your dark clay mask.

but he didn’t seem to mind. hell, little did you know, he thought you looked beautiful. sure, he enjoyed watching you from his seat in chemistry. enjoyed gazing at you as you bit your lip while working through an equation, or how you raked your hand through your hair idly, when your fingers had little to do. but above all, he enjoyed this the most. you, in your rawest, most natural state.

“yes. yes, please,” he quipped, slipping past you, into your dimly lit hotel. you trailed after him, the air far heavier than it had been moments ago. what were you to do? the boy you’d been eyeing for ages now stood in the center of your room, looking lost and helpless.

sucking on a tooth, you sighed, “just . . . sit, yeah?” you pulled out the office chair to your right, rolling it just behind him, like the gentleman (gentlewoman, you supposed) you were. “i’ve got to wash this—“ you gestured to your skin, caked in product, “—off my face.”

you excused yourself with a forced grin, despite the butterflies in your stomach. even if you were happy, you were far more bashful than anything else. you gazed into the mirror as you shut the bathroom door behind you, noting the texture of your skin, the dryness of your lips, the bags beneath your eyes. you looked like the devil herself, ruined and exhausted.

you gently scrubbed the mask off, turning the mini-towel you had brought a light grey, so as not to irritate your skin. you didn’t want to teeter out looking like a seeded strawberry.

once your skin shone with water, not a trace of dirt beneath, you dug through your bag for a plethora of items; chapstick, moisturizer, a nightgown, a hairbrush . . . it took you little over twenty minutes, to took anything like the girl you were, this morning.

slipping out the washroom, you tugged at the sleeves of your nightgown, the beige a contrast to the deep red trousers he had chosen.

“so!” you clapped, falling back onto the plush mattress of the hotel bed. “you can take the bed, and i will take the . . . couch.” though it was soggy, and looked a strange color, you couldn't bear the guilt of making him sleep on it. he’d already been kicked from him own room, for christ’s sake.

you had expected relief to wash over his face, but instead, he panicked. “no. no! i can’t let you do that,” he gave you a pointed look, his eyes darting between the cushions and you. “i intruded. i’ll take the couch,” he announced, sitting up a bit straighter.

you were having none of it. “oh, please. you cured my loneliness. i wasn’t the one who got kicked out of my own hotel, was i?”

the brunette’s lips tightened, as though he was about to give in. you watched him hopefully, your tummy fluttering with absolutely glee as a sigh loosened. “yeah. yeah, okay.” he broke out in a grin, and though it looked sweet . . . mischief lurked beneath it. “if,” he continued, peter’s nervous aura replaced with a sly air, “and only if you’re willing to share. i know those couches suck, probably full of germs and mold . . .”

you cringed, remembering the soggy floorboards and furniture of the foyer. did you really want to sleep on . . . that? you could already feel the stale, reeking water encasing your arms. shaking your head, you finally replied. “you’re . . . awfully stubborn. fine. only because i can’t stand the smell.”

the boy before you, however, seemed taken aback, cheeks glowing a red hue. had he not expected you to agree? you stifled a giggle behind a cough, padding to the bed, testing the springs of the mattress with your fingers. “are you tired?”

“very,” he admitted, wincing. “being out all day . . . yeah.”

“right.” guilt washed over you. it was your fault, wasn’t it? you had wanted to explore, and he complied, for your benefit. you sat, patting the space to your right. “please, sleep. i’ll be in soon! i just need to text bett.”

he looked up at you curiously, honey-brown eyes sparkling in the dim light.

you giggled, resisting the urge to ruffle his already-messy hair. “i don’t want her coming back in te morning to a boy in my bed, with no explanation.”

“oh. oh.” his expression as it kicked in, had you rolling. he was distressed, burning up, his words incoherent and quick as lightning. you – gently – slapped his shoulder.

“get your mind out of the gutter, and go to bed,” you ordered, leaping to your feet to retrieve your phone. you could hear the rusting of duvets and sheets, as he settled in. and only then, did you let yourself really think. you had just invited your gods-forsaken crush to sleep in your bed. with you in it. you were so wound up in nerves, you didn’t even text your friend. you doubted she’d even come back, anyways.

so you simply stood there, for a few minutes, simply . . . watching. watching the way his lashes fluttered, the pattern of his breathing. he fell asleep widely fast, already steady and deep in his dreams. you tip-toed back, until you were slipping into the now-warmed cotton, humming in content. the sound of his breaths, his subtle heartbeat, lullied you to sleep like a sweet song.

the last thing you felt, that night, were his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

italy, 9:34 a.m.

it was cold, when you woke up. freezing, in fact. that human warmth from the night before . . . it was gone, but what did you expect? a romantic morning-after scene? you two hadn’t even kissed for christs sake.

you laid there, feeling defeated. had you just made things awkward, between the two of you? would you ever get to speak to one another again, or would he avoid you? but, eh wasn’t like that, was he? no, he was kind, and sweet. and he wanted to share, no? he offered, and you accepted. he couldn’t do this to you.

almost an hour passed before you got up, soles of your feet warm against the ice-cold flooring.

and that’s when you saw it. a single note, crumpled and messy, on your nightstand, amongst the pile of drawings – a few missing, you noticed. his.

oh, shit.

you picked up the sheet of paper, eyes scanning the pages, reading each syllable aloud to yourself.

“you know, it’s rude to draw someone without showing them. i’m awfully offended, and am keeping these!

. . . not because i don’t like them. i love them. a lot. god, you’re talented. they’re cute.

i would have stayed. i wanted to. but i had an emergency, from mr. stark, and didn’t want to wake you with a call, y’know? please don’t be upset. i liked last night. i haven’t slept so well, in a while. maybe it’s a sign we should do it again? if you wanted? maybe?

– peter.”

perhaps this trip wasn’t so bad, after all, you decided as you tucked away the sheet. you’d keep it forever, if you could.

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cincinnatusvirtue · 1 year ago

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Countries that are no more: Republic of Venice (697AD-1797AD)

The first in a series I hope to feature on providing high level overviews of countries that existed and were influential to history or obscure and lost to most memory in time. The first up is the Republic of Venice.

Name: Serenisma Republega de Venesia (Venetian). In English this translates to the state's official name The Most Serene Republic of Venice. Also referred to as the Venetian Republic, Republic of Venice or just Venice.

Language: The official languages were the Romance languages of Latin, Venetian & later Italian. The regional dialect of Vulgar Latin in Northeastern Italy known as Veneto was the original language of Venice. This evolved in Venetian which was attested to as a distinct language as early as the 13th century AD. Venetian became the official language and lingua franca of the everyday Venetians and across parts of the Mediterranean although Latin would still be used in official documents and religious functions. Overtime, modern Italian was spoken in Venice though the Venetian language remains technically a separate language in Italy's Veneto region and the surrounding areas to this day.

Minority languages across the republic's territory included various Romance languages such as Lombard, Friulian, Ladin, Dalmatian and non-romance languages such as Albanian, Greek & Serbo-Croatian.

Territory: The republic was centered on the city of Venice founded in the Venetian lagoon on the north end of the Adriatic Sea to the northeast coast of the Italian peninsula. It also included the surrounding regions of mainland northeast Italy in the regions of Veneto and Friuli and parts of Lombardy. This became known as the terraferma or the mainland holdings of the republic. It also possessed overseas holdings in modern day Croatia, Slovenia, Montenegro, Albania, Greece & Cyprus.

Symbols & Mottos: The main symbol of Venice was its flag which had the famed Winged Lion of St. Mark. This represented the republic's patron saint, St. Mark. Mark the Evangelist after whom the Gospel of Mark in the New Testament in the Bible is named. Mark's body and holy relics were taken by Venice and said to be housed in the Basilica di San Marco (St. Mark's Basilica) in Venice itself. Variations of this flag differed during times of peace & war. During peace the winged lion is seen holding an open book and during war flags depicted the lion with its paw upon a bible and an upright sword held in another paw.

The republic's motto in Latin was "Pax tibi Marce, evangelista meus" or in English "Peace be to you Mark, my evangelist."

Religion: Roman Catholicism was the official religion of the state but Venice did have minorities of Eastern Orthodox & Protestant (usually foreign) Christian denominations at times in its territory and it also had small populations of Jews and Muslims to be found in Greek and Albanian territories during the wars with the Ottoman Empire.

Currency: Venetian ducat and later the Venetian lira.

Population: Though population varied overtime for the republic due to a variety of factors such as war & changing territory and disease & its subsequent effects. There was rough population recorded of 2.3 million people across all of its holdings in the mid sixteenth century (circa 1550-1560). The vast majority of its population was found in the terraferma of northern Italy and the city of Venice itself with its concentrated population on the islands within the Venetian Lagoon. The Greek island of Crete and the island of (Greek speaking) Cyprus were the most populous overseas possessions of the republic's territory. The rest of the population was found its various holdings in the Balkans mostly along the Adriatic coastline.

Government: The republic followed a complex mixed model of government. Essentially it could be characterized as a mixed parliamentary constitutional republic with a mercantile oligarchy ruling over it in practice. It had no formal written constitution, and this led to a degree of evolution without exactly defined roles often in reaction to happenings in its history. The resulting government became more complex overtime as institutions became increasingly fragmented in their size, scope and duties, some almost obsolete but still retained and others not fully defined. Yet, the republic managed to function quite well for most of its history. It incorporated elements of oligarchy, monarchy & limited democracy.

It's head of state and government was known as the Doge which is akin to the term of Duke. Though this similarity of name ends there. The Doge was neither similar to a duke in the modern sense nor was it meant as a hereditary position. The doge was rather a lifetime appointment much like the Pope for the Roman Catholic Church. Furthermore, doges were elected by the ruling elite of Venice, namely its wealthy oligarchy merchant class. The doge didn't have well defined & precise powers throughout the republic's 1,100-year history. It varied from great autocracy in the early parts of the republic to increasing regulation and restriction by the late 13th century onward. Though the doge always maintained a symbolic and ceremonial role throughout the republic's history. Some doges were forcibly removed from power and post-1268 until a new doge could be elected, the republic's rule transferred to the most senior ducal counsellor with the style of "vicedoge". After a doge's death following a commission was formed to study the doge's life and review it for moral and ethical transgressions and placed judgment upon him posthumously. If the commission found the deceased doge to have transgressed, his estate could be found liable and subject to fines. The doge was given plenty of ceremonial roles such as heading the symbolic marriage of Venice to the sea by casting a marriage ring into the sea from the doge's barge (similar to a royal yacht). Additionally, the doge was treated in foreign relations akin to a prince. It's titles and styles include "My Lord the Doge", "Most Serene Prince" and "His Serenity". The doge resided in the ducal palace (Palazzo Ducale) or Doge's Palace on the lagoonfront in Venice next St. Mark's Basilica and St. Mark's Square.

While the doge remained the symbolic and nominal head of the government, the oligarchy remained supreme overall. The supreme political organ was the 480-member Great Council. This assembly elected many of the office holders within the republic (including the doge) and the various senior councils tasked with administration, passing laws and judicial oversight. The Great Council's membership post 1297 was restricted to an inheritance by members of the patrician elite of the city of Venice's most noble families recorded in the famed Golden Book. This was divided between the old houses of the republic's earliest days and newer mercantile families if their fortunes should attain them property ownership and wealth. These families usually ranged between 20-30 total. They were socially forbidden from marrying outside their class & usually intermarried for political and economic reasons. Their economic concerns were chief to the whole of the republic and most centered on Eurasian & African trade throughout the Mediterranean Sea's basin. Members of these families served in the military and eventually rose to prominent positions of administration throughout the republic.

The Great Council overtime circumscribed the doge's power by creating councils devoted to oversight of the doge or executive and administrative functions (similar to modern executive cabinets or departments) whereas the doge became more and more a ceremonial role. The also created a senate which handled daily legislation. They also created a Council of Ten set to have authority over all government action. Other bodies were formed from this Great Council and others overtime. This resulted in intricate and overlapping yet separate bodies which found themselves subject to limitations with various checks on virtually each other's power. Essentially running as committees or sub-committees with checks on another committee's powers. These bodies weren't always completely defined in their scope and overtime their complexity led to battles to limit other's power (with limited success) along with gradual obsolescence and sometimes slow grinding administration.

Military: The military of Venice consisted of a relatively small army and a powerful navy. The famed Venetian Arsenal in Venice proper was essentially a complex of armories and shipyards to build and arm Venice's navy. The arsenal in Venice has the capacity to mass produce ships and weapons in the Middle Ages, centuries before the Industrial Revolution allowed for modern mass production in economic and military applications. Venice's military was designed towards protecting it possessions both in Italy and its overseas territories. The primary concern was to secure Venice's trade routes to the rest of Europe as well as Asia & Africa. It faced opponents' overtime ranging from the Franks, the Byzantine Empire, Bulgarians to other Italian city-states, France, Austria, the Ottoman Empire and Barbary Corsairs along with European pirates in the Adriatic and Mediterranean. It played key roles as a naval transport in other powers including throughout the Crusades. It also played a key role in the infamous Fourth Crusade which culminated in the Sack of Constantinople in 1204 AD, an event which fractured the Byzantine Empire into a half-century of civil war between successor states before a weakened revival in the mid 13th century. The Byzantine Empire would linger until the 15th century when the Ottoman Empire finally conquered its last remaining portions. Many attribute this loss to in part to its weakness still resulting from that 1204 sack lead by Venice. The Venetian military would exist until the republic's end when The French Republic's Army of Italy under Napoleon Bonaparte conquered the republic, a conquest in which the Venetians surrendered without a proper fight.

Economy: Venice's economy was based largely in trade. Namely control over the salt trade. Venice was to control salt (preservative of food) production and trade throughout the Mediterranean. It also traded in commodities associated with the salt trade routes to Eurasia and Africa. These commodities could include other foodstuffs (grains, meats & cheeses), textiles & glassware among other items.

Lifespan: 697AD-1797AD. Though the exact founding of Venice itself hasn't been determined. It is traditionally said to have taken place in the year 421 AD. At a time when Roman citizens in northeast Italy were escaping waves of Germanic & Hunnic barbarian invasions that contributed to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The going theory is that these Romans evaded barbarian attacks by building their homes in the Venetian Lagoon by hammering wood stakes to form a foundation which sunk into the muddy shallows and petrified. Upon which they built their homes and created a cityscape marked by streets and canals interlaced. Venice remained a community of fishermen and merchants and was nominally under the control of the surviving Eastern Roman Empire (Byzantine Empire). It avoided barbarians overrunning the land but also was removed enough from Constantinople that it was relatively autonomous and became strategically important as a port. Other islands in the lagoon also banded together with Venice in a loose confederation of sorts by the 6th and 7th centuries which increased economic productivity and security for the city. The first doge was said to have been elected in 697 AD under the name Paolo Lucio Anafesto, though there is dispute about his historicity. Anafesto supposedly ruled until 717 AD. This is traditionally regarded as the foundation of the Republic of Venice.

Venice's third doge was Orso Ipato who reigned from 726-737 and he is the first undisputed historically recorded doge whose existence was confirmed. Orso also known as Ursus was known to strengthen the city's navy and army to protect it from the Lombard Germanic invaders who had overrun and ruled Italy by that time. Though nominally part of the Byzantine Empire, by 803, the Byzantine Emperors are said to have recognized Venice's de-facto independence. Though this view is disputed somewhat, it nevertheless remained virtually independent until its collapse in 1797.

Venice also partook in the slave trade of non-Christian European populations from Eastern Europe and transferred them to North Africa, selling them to the Arab and Berber (Moors) of the Islamic world.

As the 9th century progressed, the Venetian navy secured the Adriatic and various trade routes by defeating Slavic and Muslim pirates in the region. The Venetians also went onto battle the Normans who settled in southern Italy and Sicily in the 11th century.

Venice provided naval transports for Crusaders from Western Europe starting with the successful First Crusade.

The High Middle Ages (1000AD-1350AD) saw the wealth and expansion Venice increase dramatically. However, over this period Venice gradually came into mixed relations with its former ruler the Byzantine Empire. The Byzantine Empire endured corruption, civil war and foreign invasion which saw it alternate between periods of waning power and restored power. Venice provided the Byzantines with an increased naval force when needed and many trading commodities. In exchange for this, Venice was granted trading rights within Byzantine territory and a place within the "Latin Quarter" for Western Europeans in Constantinople. The Byzantine populace though calling themselves "Romans" having taken on the political & cultural institutions of the Roman Empire which lived on in the East long after the Western half's collapse, were in fact mostly Greek by ethnicity, language and culture. Their religion was the Eastern Orthodox or Greek Orthodox branch of Christianity which was often at odds with Roman Catholics of Western Europe. Resentment at the religious and cultural differences along with the economic displacement the Venetians and other Italian merchants from Genoa & Pisa had caused in Constantinople's maritime & financial sectors contributed to the 1182 "Massacre of the Latins" in which the Byzantine Greek majority of the city rioted and slaughtered much of the 60,000 mostly Italian Catholics living within the city. Thousands were also sold into slavery to the Anatolian Seljuk Turks.

This event lingered in Venice's memory as its trade in the city was reduced for awhile. Though trade resumed between the Byzantines and the West again shortly thereafter, the event soured the perception of the Greeks to Western Europeans. This along with a subsequent power struggle for the throne of the Eastern Roman Emperor fell into Venice & Western Crusader's hands in 1202. Looking to originally ferry Western Crusaders to the Levant against the Islamic Ayyubid Sultanate of Egypt & Syria. Events transpired that devolved into Venice conspiring under its doge Enrico Dandalo along with other Western leaders and a Byzantine claimant to the throne that resulted in the first successful sacking of Constantinople in 1204. The city was ransacked, some Greek citizens murdered by the Crusaders & classical works of art destroyed or looted (most famously the four bronze horses of St. Marks in Venice) and politically, the Byzantine Empire would be temporarily fractured between competing Greek dynasties while the Crusaders along with Venice created the short-lived Latin Empire, which controlled Constantinople and its environs while Venice also acquired Greek territories which it was to hold for centuries. Venice also came into conflict with the Second Bulgarian Empire at this time as its support of the Latin Empire of Constantinople encroached on the Bulgarian's land. Eventually by the mid 13th century the Latin Empire (never fully stable) collapsed, and the Byzantine Empire was restored until the mid-15th century but forever weakened as a result of the 1204 sacking of its capital.

Venice reached trade deals with the Mongol Empire in 1221. As the century wore on, it also engaged its rival in Western Italy Genoa in some warfare.

The 14th century is generally regarded as Venice at its peak as it faced down Genoa in a number of battles and came to be the most dominant trading power in the Mediterranean, though it was impacted by the Black Death plague. Nevertheless, into the 15th and even 16th centuries, it partook in a number of wars which saw it gain territory on the Italian mainland, establishing its terraferma domain.

By the 16th late 15th and into the 16th century new threats had emerged such as the Turkish Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman capture of Constantinople in 1453 is seen as the end of the Middle Ages as the last political vestiges of the Roman Empire vanished from the world stage. However, a number of Byzantine Greeks escaped on Italian ships during the conquest of the city and others escaped Greece in subsequent years. These refugees brought with them artistic and cultural heritages that reemphasized the classical forms of Ancient Greece and Rome and lead to the Italian Rennaisance in art & other forms of culture. Ideas which emphasized humanism and spread to elsewhere in Europe overtime.

While there was a cultural flourishing in Venice and elsewhere due to the Rennaisance. There was also the first signs of economic and political decline as well from the 16th century onwards. The Ottoman dominance in the Eastern Mediterranean meant the traditional trade routes to the East were cut off by an often-hostile Muslim power. Additionally, other maritime powers in the West namely Spain & Portugal had recently begun exploring the continents of South & North America and in time France, England & the Netherlands would join in them. This decline in Eastern trade and the newfound trade routes dominated by other European states in the Americas and Asia (by way of rounding Africa) would render trade with Venice gradually obsolete. Venice would still maintain what trade it could in the Mediterranean, but it also focused on production and placed increasing importance on its Italian mainland possessions rather than just its declining position overseas in Greek territories, including the loss of Cyprus to the Ottomans in 1571. Though the Venetian navy with other Christian powers won the notable naval victory against the Ottomans in 1570 at Lepanto.

It was also involved in the Italian Wars between various rival city states and the power struggle between the Papacy, France and the Hapsburg realms of the Holy Roman Empire and Spain.

Other factors that impacted the declining trade in the 17th century included an inability to keep up in the textile trade elsewhere in Europe, closure of the spice trade to all but the Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese, French and English and the Thirty Years War (1618-1648) which impacted Venice's trade partners.

Ongoing wars including a 21-year siege of Crete by the Ottomans saw further losses. Although Venice partook in the Holy League headed by the Holy Roman Empire (under Hapsburg Austria) which saw some minor temporary gains from the Ottomans in southern Greece before losing them again in the early 18th century.

War and loss of overseas territories along with a stagnant economy was slightly offset by a somewhat strong position in northern Italy. Nevertheless, its maritime fleet was reduced to a mere shadow of its former glory and it found itself sandwiched still between Austria and France. Over the rest of the 18th century, economic stagnation and social stratification remained prevalent while Venice remained in a quiet peace. However, the French Revolution reignited war in Italy and while Venice remained neutral, it would soon get caught up in events.

The Austrians and the Piedmontese (Italian) allies were beaten by the French Republic's Army of Italy headed by an up-and-coming general named Napoleon Bonaparte. Bonaparte and the French army crossed the borders of northern Italy into Venetian neutral territory to pursue the Austrians. Eventually half of Venice's territory was occupied by France and the remainder of the mainland was occupied by Austria. By secret treaty the French and Austrians were to divide the territory between themselves (Venice was consulted in the matter). Bonaparte gave orders to Venetian doge Ludovico Manin to surrender the city to French occupation to which he abdicated his power. The republic's Major Council met one last time to officially declare an end to republic on May 12th, 1797, after 1,100 years. Venice was placed under a provisional government and ironically the French looted Venice stripping it of artworks to grace the Louvre Museum in Paris along with the Arc d'Triomphe, taking the famed four bronze horses of St. Mark's to adorn the triumphal arch in Paris, the very same horses Venice had confiscated from Constantinople in 1204. It was a symbolic end to the republic, the irony of which did not escape commentators at the time. Following Napoleonic France's final defeat in 1815 the horses were returned to Venice and St. Mark's where they remain today. Venice itself was given over to the Austrian Empire.

The Republic of Venice has a historical legacy in terms of its economic accomplishments through control of trade and its innovative mass production of ships, armaments & trade commodities. It also holds a political legacy worthy of study given it was a unique and enduring polity for 1,100 years. One that maintained a complex and at times chaotic form of government that still managed to function and endure for centuries.