[ooc: Okay. I feel I should put this out, because I don’t want anyone to think that I’m going to be the type to ignore everyone. My anxiety makes me worry about these things. 8I; I’m incredibly slow at rp, worse than a turtle, so I apologise in advance. I’m going to try to interact as much as possible because I love the idea behind this group. Reply to as many posts as I’m able too, without being overwhelmed. Just, yeah, slow.
But, um…I’m always up for talking ideas, rp (no matter how silly), drawing, or just chatting. So, if you want, you can add me to msn (ryu-foxe@hotmail) or skype (ryufoxe). That way you can beat up my guy, or my guy can beat up yours…
Okay. I am so sorry…this was lengthier than intended. I’ll go hide now. 8’D ]
It was cold, enough to stab you straight to the bone, but far from enough reason to keep most people indoors. Hardly enough call to wear something reasonable either, if the dolls strolling the streets were any indication. Fashion would be fashion, regardless the weather. He wore little more than a suit himself, a stark contrast to the leftover snow. In the end though, he was just another face in the crowd, and that suited Vieri just as well. For the moment. When he desired attention, he’d get it.
If he were a honest man (ha), he’d admit that he really should be down below scoping out the place, but he’d retreated outside some thirty minutes ago. Vieri had never been a very social creature, and idle chit-chat had a tendency to bring out the worst in him. Not a hard feat to accomplish. Never one to mince words, the Pazzi much preferred to let his fists do the talking, if at all possible. The only time one could find him chatting it up was at the poker table, but only when the odds were stacked in his favour. That is if trash talk qualified as punching the bad. Vieri suspected it didn’t and really couldn’t be bothered to care.
Only when the flame reached the butt of his cigarette did he feel the need to discard it in the snow. Vieri let his eyes search the passersby, taking brief interest as a few swanky in-the-know headed inside. Another smiling group hurried in, so he resigned himself to doing the same. The snow kicked off one shoe and then the other, Vieri saw himself back indoors where lively music greeted him.He had seen the younger man leave for a few minutes, and Cesare vaguely wondered why he insisted on stepping outside into the cold when he was perfectly allowed to light a cigarette in the warmth and comfort of the speak-easy. He supposed that Vieri would give some response that encompassed his desire to “scope the scene,” or get himself into trouble. They were one and the same with the Pazzi family, always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong and needing to be dug out again with money or favors or smooth-talking.
Cesare was capable of all three, but he was growing tired of having to come to the aid of a family so inclined to create a stir for the sake of setting off a few rounds from their guns and getting to see bloodshed. The young Pazzi especially was eager to get his hands dirty, and was constantly offering his assistance to whatever task Cesare had on hand for him. Usually he just had him pour his whiskey and scout areas for meetings, but he felt that the kid could handle himself pretty well, granted his hands didn’t shake when he drew his gun. Cesare wouldn’t put his life in his hands necessarily (he wouldn’t put his life into the hands of any Pazzi if he was really honest with himself) but he could certainly let him do a few more jobs that put more trust in him. Vieri was like a lapdog when it came to giving him a sense of responsibility.
Clearing his throat and tapping his empty lowball glass on the scrubbed wooden table a few times before setting it down and sliding out of his seat. He felt watchful eyes on his back, knowing that Micheletto had silently stood and moved with him across the room. Sliding behind Vieri as he picked his way through the crowd to the bar, Cesare placed his arm around the younger man’s shoulder and made it very clear that he should fall in step with him. “I have a proposition for you, Vieri. I know you always are up for a listen. And it’s nothing small this time, I know you’re tired of the dog work I’ve been sending your way. How about handling some… special funding for the Church? I’ve already cleared your schedule for you, you don’t have to worry about your old man.”
Ignoring the near heart attack, because a man as imposing a character as Cesare really shouldn’t be able to move half as well as liquid, Vieri felt a tendril of excitement crawl up his spine. This new frenzy momentarily chased away logical thought, leaving him to do little more than nod his head in agreement. Vieri would never turn down a job in the first place, no matter how below his level he felt it to be, and he would certainly never voice it aloud. The fact that the Borgia kept him around at all, when they could just as easily leave him to the wolves, played a big part in his respectable silence. He wasn’t ignorant, if the boss felt so inclined; Vieri would find himself taking a ride. Cesare had more than enough competent, able-bodied individuals at his disposal, and would not miss one violent punk.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the bar that the young Pazzi dared speak, wetting his dry lips before they split into a grin. The tamest reaction he could show, given how lively he felt on the inside, because the last impression he wanted to give was that of an unruly child. “You know I’ll do anythin’ for the Church, boss. Being a devote man and all.” Vieri leant against the counter, removing his hat to run his fingers through his hair, ineffectively slicking it back. “What did you have in mind? Some fella needing help with his ledger?” He looked out at the crowd, eyes landing on Cesare’s shadow, Micheletto, and then made their way back. “Seeing how my schedule is free.”“That’s the spirit.” Cesare’s face split into a grin and he waved the bartender to him without taking his eyes off Vieri. “So the next step, besides a celebratory taste of the new Borgia whiskey, would be to inform you of what you are to do.” Taking the glasses offered to him by the other man, Cesare slid one the short distance down the bar to Vieri’s awaiting grasp, and then leaned in, his desire to keep the information confidential suddenly apparent.
“The Auditore family, I assume you know them. Ah, you just look like you bit into a lemon, that is a good thing. They have been snooping around my family, and have begun delving into matters which do not suit them, if you understand me. They used to be bankers and made a profit turning money for my people, and that suited us just fine. But they have started thinking a little bigger, and have started to turn liquor and weapons as well as money. I am assuming it is the work of the new Auditore in charge, since his old man stepped back. I also know that you already know most of this information, thanks to your father and his affinity for speaking too loudly on matters that do not concern him. Regardless, I need you to look into taking a long hard gander at their books. I have an understanding that the older Auditore brother, Federico, carries ledgers and notes on his person as to what the family is currently handing off. He is also a bit careless with the spirits, when the mood strikes him.”
Cesare leaned in even closer, his dark features cast in a red glow from the candles that lined the bar top. “I want you to take Federico into your confidence, by any means necessary outside of physical violence, and see what you can find out about the Auditores and where their business stands. I want them out of the dealings that my family have worked so hard to establish, and I would like it done quietly if at all possible. Murder makes a big noise in the papers, so if it can be done with a quieter method, I would be grateful. This will determine whether I can trust you with further errands. If you piss on this one, I will wine and dine your corpse without hesitation. Do we understand one another? Of course you do, you’re a smart lad.” Cesare barked out a laugh as he pulled away from his hunched position, turning to lean on the bar and down his lowball glass without hesitation. “A drink to your health, Vieri. Your whole family, in fact.”
Out of all of the Auditore to choose from, it had to be Federico. Why not the sister, she had to be just as in the know as Federico. Better looking by far. Besides, Federico’s name left a bad taste in his mouth, one that even whiskey refused to wash away. The ever-protective brother, loving and diligent son. Whenever he got into a scuffle with Ezio, Federico would shove his nose in and, with ease, dispose of whatever men Vieri had left in their brawl. All with a smile. Put the two sap brothers together and it was hell. Now he was expected to play nice? Even if he could, somehow, convince Federico, while drunk, that he was an ally, there would be Ezio.
This was going to end with his body dumped in a field. The thought made him grimace and ask for another shot. If he slammed his lowball glass a little hard or strained to laugh in time with The Borgia, there was reason. Especially with Cesare’s promise hanging above his head.
“Anythin’ for the Church.” For a few tense moments, the younger man remained silent, tapping a nervous rhythm on the hat in his hand. He opened his mouth, as if to protest or raise complaint, and noted the slight narrowing of eyes sent his way. “It’ll take time and I don’t have a very clean reputation with the Auditore, you know that. Not sayin’ I’m not on the level, I am, and I’m not sayin’ no, I’ll do it. No problem. But if I try to get close too fast, I’ll have the lot of them breathin’ down my back. They have eyes all over the city, same as you, one meet, on common ground or not, and word’ll reach the top.” Vieri found he couldn’t look his boss in the eye for long, his mouth suddenly gone dry. “I’ll keep the peace though, like you want, and see about contactin’ a few of the other fellas to scout. I don’t want to tail that drugstore cowboy and have them thinkin‘ I‘m stuck on him. So, a little time won’t be an issue…yeah?”
It was cold, enough to stab you straight to the bone, but far from enough reason to keep most people indoors. Hardly enough call to wear something reasonable either, if the dolls strolling the streets were any indication. Fashion would be fashion, regardless the weather. He wore little more than a suit himself, a stark contrast to the leftover snow. In the end though, he was just another face in the crowd, and that suited Vieri just as well. For the moment. When he desired attention, he’d get it.
If he were a honest man (ha), he’d admit that he really should be down below scoping out the place, but he’d retreated outside some thirty minutes ago. Vieri had never been a very social creature, and idle chit-chat had a tendency to bring out the worst in him. Not a hard feat to accomplish. Never one to mince words, the Pazzi much preferred to let his fists do the talking, if at all possible. The only time one could find him chatting it up was at the poker table, but only when the odds were stacked in his favour. That is if trash talk qualified as punching the bad. Vieri suspected it didn’t and really couldn’t be bothered to care.
Only when the flame reached the butt of his cigarette did he feel the need to discard it in the snow. Vieri let his eyes search the passersby, taking brief interest as a few swanky in-the-know headed inside. Another smiling group hurried in, so he resigned himself to doing the same. The snow kicked off one shoe and then the other, Vieri saw himself back indoors where lively music greeted him.He had seen the younger man leave for a few minutes, and Cesare vaguely wondered why he insisted on stepping outside into the cold when he was perfectly allowed to light a cigarette in the warmth and comfort of the speak-easy. He supposed that Vieri would give some response that encompassed his desire to “scope the scene,” or get himself into trouble. They were one and the same with the Pazzi family, always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong and needing to be dug out again with money or favors or smooth-talking.
Cesare was capable of all three, but he was growing tired of having to come to the aid of a family so inclined to create a stir for the sake of setting off a few rounds from their guns and getting to see bloodshed. The young Pazzi especially was eager to get his hands dirty, and was constantly offering his assistance to whatever task Cesare had on hand for him. Usually he just had him pour his whiskey and scout areas for meetings, but he felt that the kid could handle himself pretty well, granted his hands didn’t shake when he drew his gun. Cesare wouldn’t put his life in his hands necessarily (he wouldn’t put his life into the hands of any Pazzi if he was really honest with himself) but he could certainly let him do a few more jobs that put more trust in him. Vieri was like a lapdog when it came to giving him a sense of responsibility.
Clearing his throat and tapping his empty lowball glass on the scrubbed wooden table a few times before setting it down and sliding out of his seat. He felt watchful eyes on his back, knowing that Micheletto had silently stood and moved with him across the room. Sliding behind Vieri as he picked his way through the crowd to the bar, Cesare placed his arm around the younger man’s shoulder and made it very clear that he should fall in step with him. “I have a proposition for you, Vieri. I know you always are up for a listen. And it’s nothing small this time, I know you’re tired of the dog work I’ve been sending your way. How about handling some… special funding for the Church? I’ve already cleared your schedule for you, you don’t have to worry about your old man.”
Ignoring the near heart attack, because a man as imposing a character as Cesare really shouldn’t be able to move half as well as liquid, Vieri felt a tendril of excitement crawl up his spine. This new frenzy momentarily chased away logical thought, leaving him to do little more than nod his head in agreement. Vieri would never turn down a job in the first place, no matter how below his level he felt it to be, and he would certainly never voice it aloud. The fact that the Borgia kept him around at all, when they could just as easily leave him to the wolves, played a big part in his respectable silence. He wasn’t ignorant, if the boss felt so inclined; Vieri would find himself taking a ride. Cesare had more than enough competent, able-bodied individuals at his disposal, and would not miss one violent punk.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the bar that the young Pazzi dared speak, wetting his dry lips before they split into a grin. The tamest reaction he could show, given how lively he felt on the inside, because the last impression he wanted to give was that of an unruly child. “You know I’ll do anythin’ for the Church, boss. Being a devote man and all.” Vieri leant against the counter, removing his hat to run his fingers through his hair, ineffectively slicking it back. “What did you have in mind? Some fella needing help with his ledger?” He looked out at the crowd, eyes landing on Cesare’s shadow, Micheletto, and then made their way back. “Seeing how my schedule is free.”
It was cold, enough to stab you straight to the bone, but far from enough reason to keep most people indoors. Hardly enough call to wear something reasonable either, if the dolls strolling the streets were any indication. Fashion would be fashion, regardless the weather. He wore little more than a suit himself, a stark contrast to the leftover snow. In the end though, he was just another face in the crowd, and that suited Vieri just as well. For the moment. When he desired attention, he’d get it.
If he were a honest man (ha), he’d admit that he really should be down below scoping out the place, but he’d retreated outside some thirty minutes ago. Vieri had never been a very social creature, and idle chit-chat had a tendency to bring out the worst in him. Not a hard feat to accomplish. Never one to mince words, the Pazzi much preferred to let his fists do the talking, if at all possible. The only time one could find him chatting it up was at the poker table, but only when the odds were stacked in his favour. That is if trash talk qualified as punching the bad. Vieri suspected it didn’t and really couldn’t be bothered to care.
Only when the flame reached the butt of his cigarette did he feel the need to discard it in the snow. Vieri let his eyes search the passersby, taking brief interest as a few swanky in-the-know headed inside. Another smiling group hurried in, so he resigned himself to doing the same. The snow kicked off one shoe and then the other, Vieri saw himself back indoors where lively music greeted him.
Anonymous
(( adskjhfsadf gosh thank you ;u; And yeah, I be Ryufoxe. ))
[ooc: poiuajfhlaskdjhf Thank you~ ://D]
