Those little things you took for granted.

[rompicoglioni.livejournal.com]

Characters: rompicoglioni and towerofanimus!
Setting: Starting on the Fourth Floor.
Format: Prose, but feel free to tag with either!
Summary: Romano's being whiny about how much stair climbing he's been doing lately. Frankly, he's a little sore. Also some introspective woobieness.
Warnings: Obligatory warnings for Romano's mouth?

Why the hell weren't there elevators in a building this big? Why did they have to build stairs instead? Of course, his silent questions went unanswered, leaving him with nothing to do but to collapse on one of the sofas on the fourth floor, somewhere away from the dreary windows.

He missed Italy so much, the burning desire to feel actual soil beneath his feet growing so intense he thought he might cry. God (he presumed) had been kind enough to leave him with tomatoes and wine from home, but he was going to run out of those eventually if he stayed here long enough. How long would that be? Would he ever see his brother again? Were Spain and Belgium okay? He hadn't seen them, if they'd been saved alongside him and the other nations here.

He'd like to introduce his Spain to the female Spain he met in the cafeteria on the first day... they'd probably get along. A weary smile lit up his face and he sprawled out on the sofa, wincing as he felt his poor sore muscles protest that very movement.

Comments

[princesspowaful.livejournal.com]

If Romano were to look around the fourth floor he'd find Molly with her forehead pressed against the window, trying to find something that looked familiar, anything. She just wanted to see something, but there was nothing. Tears welled up in her eyes but she wiped them away quickly.

In a fluid motion she bangs her head against the window.

"WE HAVE TO STILL BE IN L.A. SINCE IT'S ALL FOGGY," she yelled before turning to a whisper, "please."

[rompicoglioni.livejournal.com]

Thump, thump, thump.

Romano turned around on the sofa to see where that racket was coming from, only to see a little girl with a funny hat hitting her head on the window. He cleared his throat. "So you're from America, then?" he called out. Yes, their situation was sad, and it was all Romano could do to wallow in his own self pity, but he's not the type to just let a little girl cry on her own.

[princesspowaful.livejournal.com]

She quickly turned around to face him, only hints of tears in her eyes but they're masked by sheer determination. Molly nods, "Yah huh, I'm from California, L.A." she takes a step towards him, "Where you from?"

[rompicoglioni.livejournal.com]

Couldn't stand to see a child cry. Even if she wasn't one of his own, she was still just a child. He smiled a little, hoping he came off more like a big brother than a creepy stranger. "Italy. You've heard of it, right?" If America's people were anything like him, this question was a necessity. "I spend most of my time in Rome."

[princesspowaful.livejournal.com]

She blinked a few times. Italy, Italy, Italy. "I met a girl with that name a few days ago!" she blurted out suddenly, "Silly, who names people after places."

Molly had met plenty of countries while here but it hadn't really clicked exactly what they were yet.

On the other hand, something else did click, "Hey! You get lotsa Italian food don't you!"

[rompicoglioni.livejournal.com]

He blinked right along with her. "A girl?" He brought a hand up to his chin in thought. "Did she call herself 'Romana'?

At her question, he grinned, beaming with pride. "Of course, there is no better food on Earth."

[princesspowaful.livejournal.com]

She shrugs, "Huh? She called herself Italy, didn't I just say that? Pay attention silly!" She smiles at him.

"I like Chinese food too!!"