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.]