You ran through out the streets of Italy, trying to escape the Allied forces. You were the daughter of Luciano Vargas. The personification of the northern half of Italy. You were Venice. You were his pride, his joy. You were his daughter. But the Alleys had come to your house in the middle of the night, looking to pick a fight with your father.
The commotion had woken you up. You had gone downstairs to find your father pinned under a larger man in a black coat wearing a scarf. Oliver, the personification of England, was the first to notice your presence in the room. He greeted you, and your father screamed for you to run away.
You always listened to your father, even when you didn’t want to. But at this, you hesitated a bit, until you saw Jason, the personification of America, come toward you with his bloodied, nailed up bat. You bolted from the room, from the house and down the street.
You had to get to Zio Flavio’s house. Flavio was the personification of the southern half of Italy. Your Zio always looked after you when your Papa was busy. Jason and Oliver were on your tail. They were gaining on you. They were going to capture you, seeing as how your father was detained.
You ran as fast as your tiny legs could carry you. You arrived at Zio Flavio’s house, and pound on the door. Flavio didn’t hesitate to open it. He saw Jason and Oliver in the distance and pulled you in, locking the door, and windows. He pulled all the curtains shut and locked the back door. Then he picked you up and hid in the basement. The basement had a hidden door so you could escape if the two got in.
You whimpered and Flavio’s immediate reaction was to comfort you. “Shh, bambina. It’ll be okay. Don’t cry.” He whispered in Italian. You, being an Italian city, were fluent. So you understood. You both listened in terror as the front door was pounded on. Then the pounding stopped.
There were hushed whispers outside, and you made out half of what was said. They successfully captured your father, and it was no longer necessary to go after you. As soon as they were gone, you cried for your father. You wanted your Papa. Flavio shed a few tears as well, but didn’t break down because you needed him to be strong.
Luciano growled and struggled with the ropes that bound his wrists together. He was being taken to Alley HQ ((*to lazy to type the full word~*)). He muttered a string of Italian curse words when he ended up giving himself rope-burn.
“You can struggle all you want, Luciano. The ropes are to tight, and we have all your knives.” James, the personification of Canada, muttered. “Ha! He just wants his precious daughter! Don’t ya, Luci~?” Jason taunted. James cocked a brow. “Luciano has a daughter?” He asked and Oliver nodded excitedly.
“Shut the cazzo up! And don’t call me by that ridiculous name!” He yelled at Jason. Oliver had an idea. “If he wants his daughter so bad~ why don’t we bring the poppet here~?” He chimed. No. Please, no! He thought, slightly panicked. “She’s with Flavio, isn’t she?” Vincent, the personification of France, asked.
Oliver clasped his hands together. “Oh, yes! Yes, the poppet ran to his house when we were after her!” He sang. Luciano was pleased to hear that you were safe with his fratellone, but he was upset that the Alleys knew where to find you.
“Then we’ll stop by and pick her up tomorrow. For now, let’s go to bed, seeing as how it’s past midnight.” Vincent suggested. The others agreed and James and Jason dragged Luciano to the basement of the building; there was a poorly made, makeshift cell. It quite literally looked as though it was just thrown together.
They threw down Luciano’s body and left. Luciano sat up with great difficulty and coughed, having the wind knocked out of him. He brought his leg out from under him and positioned his leg at his hands that were tied behind his back somehow, and pulled out his hidden knife.
Carefully, he cut the ropes and stood up, brushing himself off. He then grunted and walked upstairs, seeing as how everyone had gone to bed, his numerous knives set on a table, he hid them all within his uniform again and carefully, and he walked to the front door. Slowly, he opened it and stepped out.
Nothing in the house stirred, nor did anyone awaken during his smooth escape. The only trace of him ever being there, was the shredded ropes in the basement. He smirked and stalked off in the direction of his dear older brother’s house. On his way to pick up the light of his life. You.