towerofanimus

Characters: Spain, open to everyone~
Setting: Different floors~
Format: Action or prose; I'll just follow along.
Summary: More exploring, as usual. And a little confession.
Warnings: TBA

Floor Thirteen: Cathedral

This is something new. Spain wonders when did this appear, but decides not to dwell on it. Instead, she sits in a pew, clasping her hands together around her cross as her head bows low (inwardly she thinks she should have brought down her rosary). Her eyes are shut, but she's trying to hold back tears.

"Dios te salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo..."

-

Floor One: Cafeteria

Sighing when she reaches the cafeteria, Spain recalls the number of floors between her dorm and the cafeteria. Thirteen, the unlucky number, which ironically is the floor where the cathedral is.

Shaking her head, she mutters to herself, "Must have been a coincidence..." before helping herself to the food. Two small meat pies, salad and juice. She wasn't that hungry to begin with.

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Spain, too focused on her prayers, squeaked and almost jumped back at the unexpected touch, turning around to see who it was.

"Mi dios, you scared me, señor!" she exclaimed, clutching her cross over her heart. She had half the mind to slap him for the interruption, but held her hand. After all, she didn't know him, and he was merely asking a question.

Still. It was a shocker. If she was human, she'd probably die of a heart attack. "Don't... do that, por favor!"

Francis sat straighter in his seat, a rather shocked look crossing his features. He'd only seen the woman in passing, never exchanging a word or name, but he couldn't help but feel a stronger tug of familiarity in him when she turned to him, only to scold him lightly.

Expression turning sheepish, he spoke up. "Forgive me. I never was good with letting a lady cry without trying to comfort her." Scooting a bit to give her her room, he rested his elbows on the backrest in front of him, hands outstretched and clasped innocently enough. He smiled a bit. "You alright, cherie?"

"I... I am not alright, señor," she confessed, looking down at her lap again as she tried to calm herself down. "I've lost everything dear to me, even though I've gain friends during my stay here..."

He made a thoughtful noise and leaned in a bit to get a look at the side of her face, still feeling off-put by something. A confession hadn't hadn't been expected. "I have good faith that we will one day return to our respective homes and that patience will be rewarded," The man sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as well.

He was.

Deciding that they at least be on first name basis, the (apparently) Spanish woman and himself, he offered his hand to shake. "Francis, darling. I may be old but I never thought 'señor' fit me." The infamous grin lit of his face. He would get "What may I have the privilege of calling you?" to lighten the gray cloud over that pretty head.

She had calmed down enough to sense that the man wasn't human; he felt more like a country, but who...?

"No, we won't," she quickly remarked, fingers tracing the smooth metal of her cross. "I mean... I don't know anymore. I've seen my world and it's destroyed. There's nothing left."

She took his hand, and then his name struck recognition in her. "Francis... the male France, sí?" she inquired, finding herself smiling slightly when he grinned. "I am Spain, but sometimes I go by Isabel..."

Edited 2011-08-31 16:31 (UTC)

He honestly gave pause at that, watching her fingers move and processing. Francis had been here for over two months without going back to his home that was so in reality whatever she saw could very well be true. But he didn't think it was.

Softly, "If there is nothing left we would not be. I saw my brothers die to human negotiations and successions--surely these people could not keep us alive without our people, non?"

Trying to shrug off his conspiracy theories (he was good at whispering things and being unnoticed but even the sharp eyes around here made the back of his neck prickle if he even think the word 'conspiracy'), he kissed her knuckles. It was, luckily and strangely enough, nothing more than a courtesy.

"Aha, I thought you reminded me of someone. But Toni... No wonder I could not stop myself from coming to you. Oui, c'est moi. Oh, and I have been acquainted to my fairer half so truly meeting you, Isabel, should not be a surprise~"

Nope. She was attractive alright. Too bad he wasn't going to do anything about it. Most of the Tower had the same muting affects on his libido as his Catholic upbringing had while in this particular space. He could smile nonetheless. "It's a pleasure. I hope I never have to see you looking so morose, cherie."

"No, that's not true," Spain quickly said, shaking her head as she remembered that conversation she had with Ienzo. "Sure, our people and our land may disappear or be destroyed, but I suspect the memories of us are what keeps us alive. This is why Prusia is alive right now, no?"

The kiss on her knuckles calmed her down more, and she sighed, keeping her cross back under her shirt. "Francia, it is a pleasure to meet you as well." Gently taking her hand back, she leaned back against her seat, eyes closed. "It's been tiring few months, querido. I have reason to be morose."

"If nobody is there to remember us there are no memories and there is nothing to be had of us. Prusse simply adapted and became something else, yet he is too stubborn to be called something else. If memory was all we have left, why wouldn't Rome be walking tall and mighty down these halls, Espagne."

He frowned, but continued on. "If anyone was mighty and memorable it was that man, and yet he is gone. We remain. I do not trust this place or the sheepskin it has obviously thrown over our eyes." Sounding bitter, he pulled back and looked ahead with a grimace. She sounded tired so he was intent on silencing such an unfortunate topic.

Reaching forward he squeezed her arm gently. "Yes, I know...If there is anything I can do, let me know, hm?"

She merely shook her head, squeezing the bridge of her nose. She had came here to find solace, but the topic of their survival was breaking her heart again. She knew it wasn't his fault, but it still hurt to think about it.

"Gracias, Francia, but I think I need the silence right now."

Francis had the tendency when over-thinking to overstep, but he knew when he'd squashed a few toes unlike other of his companions. Sighing, he touched her arm again before pulling away completely.

"I apologize, Espagne. Please keep up hope ma chere."

"Lo siento, Francia." She sighed, shaking her head again before smiling sadly up at him. She was grateful he's gracious enough not to pursue further on the subject. "I have a lot on my mind right now, and dying is certainly not welcome."

He reached over to push some of her hair back behind her ear before crossing his arms over the chair back as a pillow for his head. The whole posture he was pursuing could be called deviance but hey, he had worse in the past.

"None of that. It would surely be the end of the world if it lost such a lovely lady as yourself."

"I doubt my people would appreciate their country dying," Spain whispered, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. "I best be off. It has been a pleasure talking to you, Francia."

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