an introduction to the first we feel, then we fall cast | 02 / ?
‣ julian veles, he/him, twenty two - gemini, june 09th
‣ if an assassin’s blade were made into a man, it would take the form of julian veles. ambrosio’s right hand. valecnici general. assassin. philosophy and history hobbyist. an enigma. beautiful and damned. a fallen angel. or possibly, the angel of death. a cold facade with countless contradictions swirling beneath.
‣ a murderer who strikes by surprise.
“It’s happened more than once,” Veles said shortly. “My training was—rigorous.”
She nodded. It still seemed hard to believe he was the same school bully she had known.
Coldness and harshness were built up around him like the walls of a castle. All that scarcely subdued rage.
The boy who got boxes of sweets and loved pulling pranks on younger students, who whined over a scratched arm, was gone. Everything soft and indolent and pampered about him was carved away by the war. He hadn’t bought his way through Ambrosio’s ranks with money. He’d paid in blood.
Everything was so hard and exacting. His smirking and leering, and the vagaries of his courtesy all felt like an act. Like a mask he was wearing to disguise just how cold he was.
If she wanted to succeed, she needed to get past his mask and coldness and rage. He might be intending to use her just as a form of vindictive or amusing stress relief, but she was still determined to become more.
She needed to draw out his confidence until she could understand his motivation—until she found a vulnerability she could slip through.
No one was pure ice. Not even Julian Veles.
There was something about him. In his eyes. Something that looked like fire hidden deep within. She needed to find a way to reach it and then fuel it into something she could utilise.
He expected her to hate him and try to manipulate him with false kindness and sympathy. She had to be clever about it. More clever than him.
“Was that during the summer after our fifth year in school?”
He looked at her somewhat sharply.
Yes,” he said it in a clipped tone.
“Your uncle trained you?”
“Hmm,” he hummed in confirmation.
They were both staring at each other intently.
“Not the only thing you learned that summer,” she said.
“Are you needing a confession for something, Kowalski? Should I tell you everything I’ve done?” He drew closer so that he towered above her, and sneered down in her face.
She forced herself not to shrink or cower back. She stared up into his eyes.
“Do you want to?” she asked.
There was the faintest flash of surprise in his expression. He seemed caught off guard by the question.
He was lonely. She’d suspected as much, but now she felt certain. Dead mother, insane father. He was high up in Ambrosio’s ranks and they were notoriously filled with backstabbing. If he ever had any regrets, he’d never told anyone.
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