No, he is not dead. He is only on his way. He has been bleeding through his nose.
He has finally developed those photographs he had Picardy take; if any other nation sees them, it spells disaster for la République française. For they are all double-developed, and are all nudes. To some extent. Of everybodyBut he has walked into Headquarters,
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Lovina kicks the frenchman in the side, testing to see if he's really dead. It shouldn't hurt that much...]
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[Francis opens his eyes and--ahhh, amour...]
Cherie, darling, you look somehow familiar...
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France?
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Attesa!
((ooc: /babelfish italian))
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No! Andate via!
[No! Go away!
Personally I use google translate...]
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I simply want to know how it is that I know you, my dear.
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Sono Lovina. Romana. Sud Italia.
("I am Lovina. Romana. South Italy.")
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Lovin...a?
[Realization dawns on his face.]
Since when have you...?
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Since birth you idiota!
[Blushing slightly and we're stomping away.]
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[weakly] Do stop by again...
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There.
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Umf--
Thank you. [Wipes face, sips at water]
Tell me... where you are from, is there... a female version of me?
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Si. I take it I am a male in your world?
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If you tell me more about my alternative self, I will return the favor.
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