Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
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Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
27 November 2011 @ 10:00 pm

locked to housemates )

B; Around Mayfield, open

[Having found her housemates the next thing on Romana's agenda is to find her allies, her friends. Or even just to find anyone who needs help. So she had quickly started off to hunt for people, clutching a tattered jacket over her nightgown, flat shoes on her feet for once.]

Hello?! Hello?! Is anyone out there, anyone hurt?! Veneziano! Spagna! Ungheria! Canada, Paesi Bassi?! Anyone?


[They needed supplies. It was useless hiding out without supplies, and stubborn as ever Romana had headed out to find them. Anything she could find, bandages, cans of food, weapons, pieces of clothes, anything she could carry she had taken, making trips to her safe place to dump them.

It was in the middle of one of these trips that the hoard had arrived. Narrowly ducking the shotgun blast Romana scrambles into a sprint, whirling around to aim her own rifle back, one of the few guns she had managed to gather up. She doesn't miss, the thing (For that's all it could be, with skin like that, and a voice so ghastly, a thing, not human) going down. It's easily replaced though.

And then Romana fights. There's not really chance to flee, and her only choice is to hold her own as best she can, a pistol in one hand that she uses sparingly, only when the hunk of wood in the other, which she uses like a bat doesn't do the job fast enough. She's managing okay, for now, but who knows how long she'll last]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
A; Action - Morning, Around town.

[If you happen to run into Romana around town, and you've met her before... well, you'll quickly notice that something's wrong. Very very wrong.

She's smiling.

And calling out to passerbyers in a very bright cheerful voice]
Ciao~! Such a beautiful day, si?

[Everybody run for the hills.]

Cut for length )
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
03 September 2011 @ 11:35 pm
[Romana wakes with a start, her body instantly knowing something's not right. Was it the feel of silk sheets, a too soft bed, or the painful press of the wire in the lingerie the town's given her, or just some six sense, she's not sure. But she's awake, and while her first instinct is to shriek in indignation at her state of undress, she manages to control herself, her cheeks still bright red.

Slowly, she slides out of bed, only sparing Macau the briefest of looks as she tries her best to pull the sheet with her. He won't mind, he's not allowed to mind, he has a suit, when all she has is some silk, lace and fuzz. She'll get angry if he minds, she decides, wrapping the sheet around her body, and creeping to the door. Hopefully, she can just sneak out, run home, and then freak out without anyone seeing he-

the door's locked. And no matter how hard she pulls, it won't come undone. Her tugging starts to become frantic, the sheet slipping and finally Romana's foot flies at the door, landing with a solid thud that's followed by a sharp cry of pain]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
19 July 2011 @ 06:16 pm
A: Phone/Just outside 750 Partridge Drive.

[It's yet another sunny day in Mayfield. Which naturally means that it's going to be ruined, somehow. And true to prediction this peaceful day is shattered around 10:20am, when Romana walks into the kitchen after a quick clean of the house to find that huge scaly crocodile of Australia's lying happily on her previously clean kitchen floor. With a scream of shock she stumbles back, accidentally knocking the phone off the hook.

And then she explodes.

Into pure, unfiltered Italian rage.

Occasionally in Italian]

Australia!! What the hell is that fucking beast doing in my house, my kitchen?! Get it out, get it out right fucking now and I never want to see it again. This is not a fucking zoo, you Figlio di Troia! My kitchen is not it's holding cell!

I just cleaned that floor a day ago and looked at it! Look at it! Are you even listening to me, are you?! You rude che va in culo a sua madre!

I swear to Maria, I will go insane in the fucking place thanks to you, you little testa di merda!

[And all that can be heard is half muted Italian swears and the sound of things breaking. Italian temper at it's finest]

B: Main street of Mayfield

[After a rather long and loud rant at Australia about how she would never again tolerate animals in her house, Romana had stormed out. Clearly in a bad mood as she walks, she still manages to give curt nods to anyone that glances at her. But she rarely stops, her movements stiff as she tries to walk off her rage. She has had an explosion like that since... awhile. And the loss of control always leaves her slightly embarrassed.

Not that she thinks she was wrong to yell though.]

C: Mayfield's Church

[Finally she ends up the church, and quietly Romana takes a seat up the back. Once seated she seems to collapse in on herself with a sigh, rubbing her forehead as she scowls. Maybe she had overreacted... no, no, she had not. It was perfectly reasonable to react like that when there was an alligatior, crocodile whatever in your kitchen.

Sighing in a huff she leans back and slumps down, eyes closing and she lets the quietness of the Church relax her.]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
30 May 2011 @ 11:51 am
A. Action.

[Her footsteps quick, Romana hurries home, hair in a tangled mess, some blood on her blouse. Any cut or bruise seems to be fading, her nationhood returned. She can feel it inside her, the strength of all her people, helping her to keep going. The first death hadn't been easy, physically, nor had it been emotionally. Guilt still naws at her, even as Romana frowns and shakes her head to clear it. What's done is done, and when it comes down to it... one person, one person for so many, for her sister. It was a needed sacrifice, and really... everyone came back in this town.

She can't regret it, not fully. And she knows, if she had to, she'd do it again. Which is why she barely flinches when a new letter is found on her doorstep, a new name and photo slipping out. Her eyes close briefly, and she can feel the photos of her people and her sister burning in her other hand. Well then. That was that, this... game wasn't over. Swallowing, she heads inside, and only then does she let the mask crack a little, only for a few minutes. And then it's business as usual.]

B. Phone.

[The emotion in Romana's voice is clear, moving from concern into threatening as the call goes on]

If anyone sees Veneziano, Feliciano, the little boy with a curl that sticks out to the side and will rave about pasta... make sure he stays inside. I swear... I swear, if anyone lays a finger on him, if anyone hurts him...

I'll make it my personal mission to destroy you, got it?

C. Action; locked to Steven's Road, specifically 2239

[Hair pulled back into a tight bun, and her curl flattened to lessen the chance of being recognised, Romana has managed to hunt her next target's home down. And after changing into an outfit more suitable for fighting and restocking her weapons she now waits, watching the house for a sign of movement. She doesn't feel too anxious to rush in, knowing from years of experiences that it's best to hold the higher ground and wait.

In the meantime, she'll just be hanging out in a tree, tucked up and away and checking her guns.]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
16 April 2011 @ 01:29 pm
[It's just another ordinary day in Mayfield. The weather is warm enough that for once Romana dares to wear something that doesn't cover her arms. It's still modest enough, and seeing how he body has lost all traces of it scars, she feels confident in her choice.

For once she feels content. The sun is bright, birds are chirping, and she's managed to find all the ingredients she needs for her Easter feast. And even though she could have taken her vespa to the shop, she chose to walk with the last of the groceries, some deeply repressed part of her wanting to enjoy the sunshine and crisp air.

Stopping outside 750 Partridge lane, Romana opens the mail box, pulling out a few bills, as well as a letter addressed to her. A slight frown forming, she opens it, the frown deepeningen only a photograph slides out. The courtyard of the church of her namesake... in it's ruin...

The photo falls from her hand, as well as the rest of the mail and groceries as Romana shrieks in agony, clutching her left shoulder and falling to her knees as a ugly red burn scar appears, covering her forearm, the marks on her chest covered by her dress.]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
08 March 2011 @ 05:51 pm
A. [On the floor of Mayfield's Church of Salvation, just behind the alter, you can find Romana's body, neck broken, with a bottle of Holy Water spilt next to her. Her eyes are shut, a single tear in the corner of her eye]

B. [Sometime later there's a call, the voice clearly Romana's, even if it is choked up in what sounds like tears]

It hurts... bastardi, it hurts so much... why didn't you help, why, I would have helped you...

[A small burst of static interrupts her and the line goes silent, the voice waiting for a response before continuing it's game]

C. [She's warm, comfortable, as Romana wakes, sleepily eyeing the room Mayfield has given her. In the moments of her first waking she lazily rolls over, her mind slowly focusing on yesterday. And when she remembers she gasps, sitting up quickly, her hand flying to her neck. While it feels perfectly fine, she still gets up quickly, to the small vanity table, to check the mirror, needing visual evidence to abate her fears.

...she's fine. There's not a bruise, not a scratch, nothing. She swallows, shaky fingers tracing a line down her throat as she stares. She was dead, she knows. It may have been a quick death, but it happened.

Eventually she makes it to the phone, cradling the base unit in her lap as she leans against the wall. Her voice, without her realising, is nearly identical to the one the angel used yesterday.]

Is... is anybody there?
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
22 February 2011 @ 10:32 pm
[A. In the morning, just after 9 Romana can be found zipping around town on her shiny red vespa. People of Mayfield, watch out! She's Italian, what are road laws? So yes there is a high chance she'll come close to hitting you, though at the last second she'll always stop, or avoid you. Good reflexes.

B. Later, closer to noon there's a phone call]

So, just so everyone's aware, I had a perfectly normal and extremely boring Sans Valentino. No need to ask any questions about it, okay? Because nothing happened. [Yep, going to play the denial game for as long as possible. If she doesn't admit it, nothing ever happened]

But that's not the point of this... I was wondering, if... if a small, home based take away Italian service was to open up, how many would be interested... Just because Seborga and Veneziano think it's smart doesn't mean it is after all... anyway.

If you could let me know, that would be good. Ciao. [Click as she hangs up

Or it's C. Which finds Romana sitting on the front steps, watching the sunset. She's bundled up in a winter coat, a glass of half drunken wine next to her, a lit cigarette in her hand. She smokes it slowly, a frown on her face as she contemplates what really happened over Valentine's Day, of what she had done. Surely it had meant nothing, really, hadn't come from any deeply hidden feelings... and yet she can't shake the fear that it was.

She had been willing to sleep with him after all. She sighs softly, smoke curling from her mouth as she takes a long sip of her wine, refilling it with the bottle nearby. Drinking the memories away does seem like a very good idea at the moment, consequences be damned.]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
14 February 2011 @ 11:34 pm
A. [Romana hadn't even glanced twice at the small package, setting down her knife on the chopping board as she opened it. As soon as the flap was lifted, the memories rushed back in Romana gasping as she stiffened.

Germany... Germany. He had come to her world in the past, Mayfield wasn't their first meeting. She swallows, letting the letter drop, turning the stove off in a daze. And then she snapped to attention, moving in quick military precision as she grabbed her coat and left the house, door banging shut.

She had to find him. Had to see if he remembered what they had shared, what they had done. Her breath appears on the air as she runs straight to his house, banging on the the front door with a fist, shaking slightly as she waits impatiently for him to answer his door.]

Germania, dammit, Germania, will you open the door per favore!

[There's no anger in her voice, just frustration, and slight worry. They were torn apart once before what was to say that their relationship wouldn't be interfered with again? Finally she slams her hand against the door once more, desperation completely clear]

Ludwig, bambino, open the door, per favore!
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
03 January 2011 @ 06:07 am
[A. Shortly after 10 o'clock there is a phone call, one Romana meant to filter to nations she knows, and then Germany. Alas, she hasn't gotten the hang of filtering yet, so it's an open call]

Should... is this a trick? If I vote yes, go home, will I go to some fucked up version of my home where everyones dead and gone? Or will I really go home? Most of you have been here longer then I have so... I need you advice, per favore.

Which is the safe option?

[B. Then later, in the afternoon, Romana can be found wandering through Mayfield's park, all rugged up. Her hands in the pocket of her coat she doesn't look as she walks, each step slow. She seems deep in though, a frown clear as she takes a seat on the park bench, looking up as she leans back. To stay, here in this place, or go, back home, which hopeful won't be slowing sliding into another war. To stay and protect Seborga and Veneziano, or protect Venezia. But what if it's all a trap...

Closing here eyes she sighs, sinking down slightly. There's no easy choice is there?]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
26 December 2010 @ 05:44 am
[You can find Romana in  places. Ultimately though, they all lead to the same purpose: Finding a way out, now. Someone got their gift.]

A: [Kneeling in front doorway of 750 Partridge drive, staring in shock at a small hand mirror, a few tears creeping down her cheeks as the hand holding the mirror shakes. If you look in the mirror, what do you see? The same thing as Romana does, death and destruction, Italy following Germany into another way, the Allies of World War 2 being the enemy of Germany again, Spain taking a stand this time, following France only to get knocked down by Hungary, a grim look on the man's face. And from the look of the world, this is not 1940's]

B: [On the way through town, military uniform on, determination and tear streaks on her face as she ignores pretty much everyone. The mirror's still in her hand, a jagged crack running across the glass though the pieces stay in place.]

C: [At the hardware store, going through the range of guns Mayfield has to offer. The nice drone man who refused to sell her one of them on account of her gender is still there behind the counter. Though he is on the floor, a wood chopping axe buried in the back of his head.]

D: [On her way through town again, though this time she's loaded up on weapons and is heading straight towards the Mayor's office with a grim look on her face. She's getting out of here, she's going back home and she's saving her sister. Well, if she doesn't get droned.]

[ooc: Just so everyone knows, if tags stop suddenly I've collapsed from need to sleep. Otherwise should be here all day.]

Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
30 November 2010 @ 12:06 pm
[Even though her argument with Australia was long over, his words and their sting had stayed in her head. He thought that he was so great, because he was the one earning a salary while she stayed home, dealt with his occasionally bratty girl, and that weird son, cooking, cleaning, being the homemaker. Ha. Holding down a job wasn't that hard. She could show him if she wanted.

That's why when Mayfield
delivers a large suitcase, full of make up samples, a price list and instructions for her new job, as well as her old military uniform, Romana doesn't ignore it like she usually would. Instead, she puts the uniform on, takes the case in hand, and charges out into the neighbourhood.

she'll show him]

[Mayfield, please enjoy the stubborn Italian woman knocking on your doors, delightfully fake smile in place as she holds up the case]

Ciao~ Is there a Signorina here who would be interesting in trying a few samples. We've just got a new line in, and trust me, you would look gorgeous with these colours.

[There is no escape]

[ooc: Also, much like Vitt has gone and changed the human name of Hong Kong, due to new information, I've decided to change Romana's human name to Chiara. If she's mentioned Lovina to you before, please pretend as if it was always Chiara. Thank you.]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
07 November 2010 @ 12:03 am
[It's been a few days since her arrival in Mayfield, and most of that time has been spent wandering around her new house, trying to find anything that resembles her usual clothes, before giving up. Then she went back to exploring the kitchen.

Initially, she had wrinkled her nose at the candy, pushing it aside. It seemed... off. But as much as she tried to put it out of her mind, it kept sneaking in, she kept finding herself standing before the bucket, staring down at the colours.

Finally, she had given. One tiny piece wouldn't hurt, and this way she could put her mind to rest over whether it was edible or not. Spice hits her tongue, Romana coughing before racing off to get a glass of water. Racing off in bright red stripper heels.

...After the candy Romana decided the next thing on her list of things to do today, was to finally go outside and meet the neighbours. And show them just how nice she could be.

So, dressed in the most skimpiest nurse dress ever, you can find Romana roaming the streets of Mayfield, flirting with anyone who passes her, pouting when the drones reject her]
Italy Romana | Chiara Vargas
03 November 2010 @ 07:10 pm
[For someone whose just woken up in a bed that is not her own (her own being far more comfortable), dressed in clothes that also don't belong to hers (and never would. Even her sleepwear is designer label okay?), and in a place that is most certainly not her beloved Italy, Lovina is handling it all quite well.

...Well, that of course depends on your definition of well. Her own means that to her it's perfectly reasonable to tiptoe down the stairs of this strange house, table lamp in hand, Lovina primed to attack the heads of her kidnappers.

And then, just as she passes it, the phone rings. After spending a few seconds staring at in suspicion, Lovina picks up, holding it warily to her ear as if it'll explode at any second, giving her something else to be irritated about as well as destroying her carefully styled hair.]

...Hello? Who is thi-

[Anything else she's about the say is cut off by a loud shriek, at a volume that will definitely make you ears ache. This shriek is the followed by loud cries of 'demon!' as well as the sounds of that table lamp smashing and Sam's angry chitters. Enjoy, citizen's of Mayfield because it's being sent straight to your phones.]