towerofanimus | (no subject)

Characters: Romana and you!
Setting: The library.
Format: Either!
Summary: Romana went back to her own world. And she is a wreck.
Warnings: Tears, possible swearing, possible violence.

[For the few days that she had been back in the tower, Romana had managed to keep it together. Pretending to be find was a skill she had taught herself long ago, and one she used often.

But her scar aches under her clothes.

And she can't stop the images of her Italy in ruins, the once green hills and fields empty wastelands, her beloved Santa Chiara returned to rubble, like it had been after the bombings.

Venice, covered in water, Rome deserted, Vatican City burnt and broken to the ground.

And no where, no where could she find another living soul.

No where could she find her sister.

Finally, one day it gets to her, she can feel herself start to crack. And so she hides, up in a corner of the library, surrounded by photos pulled from her photo album. All of a smiling happy redhead, some with Romana by her side.

And Romana cries, arms wrapped tight around her, her whimpers muffled as she hides behind the stacks, praying that no one will find her in this moment of weakness.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Her only gaze is on the floor, Romana's nails pressing into her palms to keep her emotions in check]

It... it seems so.

[He's quiet for a while. Which, given this is America, is an unusual amount of introspection for him.]

There must be something. I didn't die when I was there, so--there must be something.

[While he's quiet, she finally looks over at him, frowning. He seems familiar...

Shaking her head, she looks away] Everything was ash. And if it wasn't, it was flooded, it was a desert. The... there was nothing. It's... it's foolish to be hopeful.

There has to be a way to fix everything. [America sounds convinced. Not being convinced of this means accepting everything is gone, and he won't do that.] We just don't know it yet.

[Snorts softly, shaking her head.] You sound like a child... or someone whose been talking to America too long.

I am America.

... Oh. You're the male version then...

Yeah. [He grins, in spite of the situation.] Who are you?

[Rolls her eyes] Italy Romana... the Southern one.

[The clarification is useful, not that he's going to acknowledge he needed it.] Nice to meet you. Kinda. I mean, except for the whole tower thing.

[She's used to the female America's staring, so she expected he'd need it] Mm. I guess. Though if it wasn't for this stupid place I wouldn't even know any of you existed. Some might consider that a sad thing.

Well it's not like everyone stops existing just because we don't know each other. [America shrugs.] And we know now.

Of... course it doesn't, but we would have never known. [Her head hurts]

I guess. But we do now. [He doesn't seem particularly concerned with it. But are Americas ever?]

... [Sighs. Why would she expect anything else from America] You're just as much of a child as her...

I met her while she was here, she seemed pretty cool.

Of course you'd think that, idiota. You probably think that you're cool too.

[Europe you are always so uptight.]

I am cool. What's wrong with being optimistic?

[Because they're old. Old as balls]

Our definitions of cool differ. And it's simply foolish. See things how they really are, and don't pretend they're better, because nothing will change that way.

I dunno, if you're depressed all the time you don't get much done.

I'm not depressed. Just realistic.