[OPEN]
WHO: Cuba [labayamesa] & Canada [true_north_will]. OPEN. {+ Denmark [yndigt_land]}
WHEN: Evening.
WHERE: North Wing, Room 20.
WHAT: Cuba is having a really hard time dealing with this god-forsaken place without some sort of nicotine-rich outlet to calm him asides the medicine he has been forcefully prescribed. He turns to the only nation he can honestly trust with his woes. . .he's fairly certain with surroundings like these, he cannot mistake who answers the door.
RATING: TBA.
NOTE[S]: If you want to jump in while you can feel free. OMG RETURN GET.
The past month had been hell. He had denied all interaction outside his own head which had been throbbing weeks before his arrival to the hell entitled Sanctuary. Sanctuary, indeed! Cuba knew what sanctuary was and this was not it. He knew, and had been rather forcefully taught in his youth by his brother what sanctuary was amongst the good and merciful lord almighty but even at this point Cuba was starting to doubt religion could do much of anything in regards to the situation. Deliver him from his place? Ha, he never delivered him from his brothers clutches when he needed it the most and even when the United States of America had intervened, it was not for his benefit. Freedom? Independence? It was all a joke at this point really. He had gone from one prison to another. Political to physical and now without something to soothe his mind asides the lure the medication he had been prescribed caused, he had more time to think having run out of smokes a long time ago.
The drugs only made him light headed, and lethargic. They did him no good in focusing, which is what he wanted to do. All he could think about was that letter, that stupid letter that had him awake at night for all hours and nervous during the day, annoyed, angry like the wars that had been affecting his lands before he ended up here.
He needed to tell someone and at this point he was about to turn to his brother when he remembered that he had another outlet, one that he trusted a little more than the other.
"Canadá," he called out to the door that he knocked upon that early evening, hoping the other was in. The hallway was cold first off, and that in itself was strange. He didn't understand how a hallway could be made of ice and snow in a building unless those pills were doing something else to him asides attempting to calm him down. It only made him angrier and he glared at the doorway for a moment before reminding himself it was not the others fault they typecast him into a frozen lobby.
"Canadá," he called out again and waited. "Se trata de Cuba."
WHEN: Evening.
WHERE: North Wing, Room 20.
WHAT: Cuba is having a really hard time dealing with this god-forsaken place without some sort of nicotine-rich outlet to calm him asides the medicine he has been forcefully prescribed. He turns to the only nation he can honestly trust with his woes. . .he's fairly certain with surroundings like these, he cannot mistake who answers the door.
RATING: TBA.
NOTE[S]: If you want to jump in while you can feel free. OMG RETURN GET.
The past month had been hell. He had denied all interaction outside his own head which had been throbbing weeks before his arrival to the hell entitled Sanctuary. Sanctuary, indeed! Cuba knew what sanctuary was and this was not it. He knew, and had been rather forcefully taught in his youth by his brother what sanctuary was amongst the good and merciful lord almighty but even at this point Cuba was starting to doubt religion could do much of anything in regards to the situation. Deliver him from his place? Ha, he never delivered him from his brothers clutches when he needed it the most and even when the United States of America had intervened, it was not for his benefit. Freedom? Independence? It was all a joke at this point really. He had gone from one prison to another. Political to physical and now without something to soothe his mind asides the lure the medication he had been prescribed caused, he had more time to think having run out of smokes a long time ago.
The drugs only made him light headed, and lethargic. They did him no good in focusing, which is what he wanted to do. All he could think about was that letter, that stupid letter that had him awake at night for all hours and nervous during the day, annoyed, angry like the wars that had been affecting his lands before he ended up here.
He needed to tell someone and at this point he was about to turn to his brother when he remembered that he had another outlet, one that he trusted a little more than the other.
"Canadá," he called out to the door that he knocked upon that early evening, hoping the other was in. The hallway was cold first off, and that in itself was strange. He didn't understand how a hallway could be made of ice and snow in a building unless those pills were doing something else to him asides attempting to calm him down. It only made him angrier and he glared at the doorway for a moment before reminding himself it was not the others fault they typecast him into a frozen lobby.
"Canadá," he called out again and waited. "Se trata de Cuba."