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!