[France is, understandably very annoyed when he pokes his way through the mail this morning. For obvious reasons, really. However, he's quickly distracted by the box he's holding, from which pecking noises and cooing can be heard. He slowly walks through the living room, staring at the box, until he arrives at the Christmas tree where a present
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[First a bird, then a lil child, things stop coming through the window prease]
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Calming down] Che diavolo?! Who are you piccol...a?
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So.]
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[Helping steady him?]
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[Blinks, before giving him a small one back] Ciao, Francia. It's me, Romana. I'm from a different time to you, that's why I look older.
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Italia Romana?!
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