towerofanimus | Those little things you took for granted.

Characters:

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.

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Romano hastily scooted over to politely (though belatedly) give the woman some room. He looked at his hands resting on his lap. "As much as I always complain about him, now that he's... I.."

"Dead? That's bullshit," leaning back, Prussia let her arms rest over the back of the couch, her eyes searching upward, "That's what they want us to think, break us faster. What proof can they give us when they won't even let us out of here to see for ourselves?"

She had to keep thinking that. Think logically. She'd done nothing less herself when they had to deal with informers before.

She had a point, and enough charisma to make Romano agree with it. He looked up at her, brightening up little by little. "Yeah, those bastards have been lying from the start! What the hell's gotten into me." When did he start believing they were telling the truth, anyway?

"My brother's probably stuffing his face with pasta as we speak."

"Mine is hard at work or something. There's a guy who's just like her here doing just that," she waved her hand dismissively. This was the easiest way to deal with the situation at hand. Driven into panic, they would never be able to think straight, let alone leave this place.

"Hard at work, huh?" He brings his hand to his chin in thought. Hardworking women are pretty attractive, in his opinion, but that is neither here nor there. "A guy who's just like her?" That sounded familiar...

Normally, she would be more cautious around human, but the young looking man didn't feel like any of the sort. And they were all trapped in this place, so this sort of caution around other "prisoners" was obsolete.

"We've come from different places, so to speak, right? It seems there are duplicates of us here."

"Yeah, I met a woman like me from a different world through the network." He spoke, agreeing with the woman's statement, then added in a mumble to himself, "And a woman like Spain, too."

"You're not human, are you," she asked with some finality, turning to face him and leaning her head on her hand lazily.

"Hm?" Oh, she was quick to notice, he thought. "No, I'm not. I'm a nation." He was pretty used to people in the tower knowing about his kind, so he didn't hesitate at all. He then tilted his head, wondering where she was going with this.

"Just wanted to confirm before I made an ass out of myself." it was comforting, in some measure, that there were more of them here than she thought, sharing the same history, if not memories, "Then again, so am I."

Those little things you took for granted.

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