half ghost

felipe/gabriele "better pleased with madness"

[felipechung-blog]

place: back space in a flower shop date: february 21st, 2019 time: 23:01 PM @lorettadelluci

Everything had happened so quickly, Felipe could barely wrap his mind around what had gone on. The city itself was still topsy turvy, especially with the news that Rafaella Capulet had been taken, and in her wake, Felipe felt more exposed than ever. She had been his ticket to freedom. A chance at, in the very smallest amount, surviving through it all. All that Felipe was left with now was a hope that his protection from Mona would hold, and that the deal he had struck with Loretta would stay strong. He had, after all, been at the festivities at her request, and it had been while performing duties for her that he stepped out into the fray, his face half hidden, and actually accomplished more than sitting in the dark.

Saving Maeve felt like a weight off of his chest, and the opportunity to fight, to feel his hands collide with another person’s skull, he remembered that brutality that he had walked away from. Felipe had understood his role, but he was never one to step aside as something horrible happened in front of him. For all of the hell that he had put himself through, and the cowardice that she had showed, Felipe found value in human life, whether that person was in the Mob or not.

He stood then, in the back of a flower shop, the buds blooming, and the air light with the scent of roses and lilies. Loretta sure did like to put on a show, even for him. “Well?” Felipe said, breaking the silence, and hoping that maybe Loretta could shed some light on anything that happened. Anything at all. He, for one, was lost. An agreement had been made, and he was supposed to offer up his information, but with Rafaella taken, everything felt smaller in comparison.

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

She means it when she tells him, “I’m glad chance brought you here.” She would say it to any customer — but not any customer looks as lost as he does. Paola is no shepherd, and she has no map to guide the souls gently back into the nooks and crannies to which they belong. But if there is anything she knows, it’s words. It’s books and novels and stories that change the direction of the wind and promise life anew. Words once saved the future of an orphan girl who thought the only work fit for her hands was petty, desperate theft; perhaps words can save this man who stumbles into this bookshop by chance.

“That’s my favorite kind of answer,” Paola turns over her shoulder to smile at him. She’s not much for enthusiasm; where some people are fireworks against the night sky, she is a long vine wavering gently with the breeze. But there is a special sparkle in her eye throughout their conversation. There is something familiar about him, something that reminds him of perhaps herself. Something she can understand. Something she can sink her teeth into, like the beginning of a good book or a beautiful story.

Her eyes are focused and steady, completely somber as she nods with every word. “Yes, I completely agree. As soon as I got to the last page, I wanted to read it all over again but it was so heavy. I’m waiting some time before giving it a reread. Love, power, evil — all of them are such serious things, and I think that deserves my serious reflection.”

She’s not much of a talker, but there’s something about books — and perhaps something about him, too — that keeps the words flowing. As if Paola has become a novel herself, eager to open her pages to him and show him all that lies between the lines. “One of my favorite games to play when I’m not sure what to read is trying to find a book written by someone with my name. Paola isn’t the most common name, I think,” she adds with a laugh.

“What’s your name, signore? Perhaps I’ll think of a writer with the same one right away.”

Felipe can feel the pull, the lure that Paola was unaware she even possessed. How easy it would be for him to stay in the bookshop forever. To set up camp outside the door, and wait there every morning for her to come and unlock it. Never before had he felt the need to remain close to another person. He had friends. Even in Verona, there were people that he trusted. But that had always been under a certain guise. A knowledge set that came with understanding that nothing in Verona was ever as it seemed. Everyone had their ulterior motives, a game that they were playing, a side that they were working for. Felipe hadn’t wanted any part in it, and thus, made himself an enemy of all.

But he wasn’t an enemy of Paola’s. Felipe was another stranger. A person with no name. In her one single question to him, Felipe could change the course of his life. All he needed was a name. A place to start, to build his new identity around. There was no point in holding onto something that would surely get him killed. Word traveled fast these days, and a wanted man was wanted, no matter where he ran off to. It was with that line of thinking that Felipe began to weave his lie. There was no malice, just a hope that in his new home, he could become a new person. Not a better version of himself, but someone worth keeping alive.

He opened his mouth, and for a brief second he felt as if he might say his real name. The one with a bullseye through it. Instead, he sidestepped the need to be honest, and started himself down a path that he couldn’t have ever known would lead to such chaos and destruction. Had he known then what he figured out in the future, no name other than the one he was given at birth would have been uttered.

“Gabriele. The name comes from the angel, Gabriel, who was considered a guardian by many.” The lie is easily, and he wishes it didn’t. It’s out there for the world to hear, and for Paola to believe. Would she hate him if she knew the truth? That his scarred hands were not always this rough? That his word craving mind had not always been so starved for something more? She was witnessing the carcass of a man who used to have the world at his fingertips, and now he was walking with the last energy stores from his body.

[felipechung-blog]

czarnichego‌:

Oh. It does twist her heart a bit, to think of Felipe longing for a little bit of normalcy. Brielle would, perhaps, rather die than go back to what was her normal for so many years. La Mafia is a terrible burden, but they have shown her more love and tenderness than anyone in the world. It would take a great and terrible pressure to move her away from them, back to what is safe and normal. On the other hand, she has never been quite so hunted as Felipe is. Even with Lucrezia tracking her before, it was only one person; she only needed to worry about certain faces. To not know whether to trust anyone at all would be terribly exhausting, but to meet with him in the dead of night at the Dark Lady was no burden to Brielle. ❝ Normal is not well done here, I am finding, ❞ she offers, unwilling to bring down their mood in the moment. ❝ But if you are wanting it, we get it for you. ❞ Hope. It was the only thing Brielle kept close at all times, this unwavering, unbending hope and the refusal to let it go.

The words, even now, sound brutal to her. The totality of them, the final nature, always sets bubbles of anxiety floating under her skin. Her greatest and most ardent protector, her shepherd, her muse, gone from this world and into another one. Faron was not a perfect man, something she only sees clearer with time, but she loved him with a maddening totality. She will always, in some way, adore him, burned forever into her mind as he was, strong and tall with the ability to eclipse the sun. ❝ He is, ❞ she admits, voice low and cracking under the weight of the words, ❝ and I am still here. If you ask me before, I tell you that is not a thing that can happen. I live and try again. It hurts. ❞

Brielle’s arm, linked through Felipe’s, bends slightly, allowing her hand to connect with his and squeeze a little. ❝ You are Felipe, ❞ she says with conviction. ❝ You are always this. It is just finding what this means, si ? Not needing a mob to be lost. You are still you, just different you. ❞ That was something she’d found hardest to wrestle with, at first. Her envy and pride wasn’t washed away in the Adige as she set foot beside it. They remain, even now, plaguing her and taunting her, and she must fight against them if she wants to be true to her principles. 

Death, at least, and its nearness are something she knows well. ❝ When I was in dying, someone held my hand, ❞ she says softly, fingers linked to his in pale imitation. ❝ It burned me. Cold fire. I was knowing I was still alive for it. They tell me I lose so much blood, I was meaning to die, but I had to stay and feel the holding. ❞ How sad she feels, to think of Felipe with no one to hold onto, that same cold fire filling him from the inside. Tears well in her eyes, but she knows he won’t see, facing the same way she is. ❝ No begging now. I will come, si ? We are not letting you be dying, or being alone. ❞

Felipe releases a surprise laugh, one that isn’t meant to be hurtful, just--shocked. Here, in the city that burned and thrived on the souls that it claimed, here was Brielle. Like an angel flying in, her broken up words doing more to heal him than any magic might. Her promises more addicting than any drug. To an addict like Felipe, who had fallen on and off the wagon more times than he could count, it was dangerous to believe so deeply in someone who he still hadn’t known for very long. It was even more dangerous to believe in any member of the Mob. Only a fair few in his lifetime had proven him wrong otherwise, and while he was still breathing because of one of those names, they didn’t touch him like this. Their words didn’t dig into his heart and force it to keep beating. “Who are you?” Felipe breathed finally, trying to figure out how any of this was even possible. Everything in the world felt foreign, except for the girl who was.

The pain in Brielle’s voice is evident, and it cuts through him like diamond. The ache, the freshness that she wears upon her sleep. Felipe knows that feeling, except he only mourns himself. A death that he merely escaped that still might as well have killed him. What a sick turn of events. “I guess that’s how you know you’re still alive. The unbearable pain of living.” The kind that made people wish for death. A world where every step felt like agony, but the only alternative was to stop moving. To lay under a layer of grass. Felipe hadn’t given up, he wasn’t ready to become a part of the Earth, not yet.

Felipe found his head falling onto Brielle, the weight of his thoughts dragging him down, and the comfort of her words forcing their way through his skull. They would not be turned away or ignored. She wouldn’t let him think anything else. None of that would stop him, of course. Not the brutal way in which he had cut himself in half when he left Verona in an attempt to leave the worst of himself behind. It was foolish to believe that he could start fresh without the sins of a far off city dragging him down. He had always been optimistic like that. Always hoping for the best and seeing only the good. The son of Rome had proven himself to be just as much of a coward as he was a narcissist.

Without another word, Felipe could feel the quivering of his lower lip begin, and suddenly, warm hot tears were roaming down his face. The action surprised him. Felipe couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Even as he lay dying in the street, no tears forced their way from his eyes. But now, wrapped tightly around Brielle, Felipe found his body relaxing in the most heart wrenching and vulnerable way imaginable.

He cried for Paola. He cried for his parents. He cried for Gabriele. He cried for his bambinaia. He cried for the person he once was but lost so long ago. “I had forgotten what this was like,” Felipe managed, his eyes burning.

[felipechung-blog]

lorettadelluci‌:

“I know what you mean,” she says, because she does. She has to wonder if the Witches saw themselves in the position they’d ended up in – if they’d been clairvoyant, somehow, knowing they had parts to play. Wonders if they’d been convinced they had played both Cosimo and Damiano for fools. It’s what hubris does to every person, that sort of arrogance. There’s a reason there are so many pieces of mythology on the pitfalls of human pride. She’s had her own pitfall, more than once, and the resulting downfall had always been ugly. But mistakes were natural – they usually didn’t end in death.

Verona plays a different game, compared to the rest of the world. Or maybe it’s only the mobs that play by their own rules. She hums, pleased, and braces herself against a gust of cold air. The chill runs its way through her bones, leaves her in a perpetual stand-still. She nods her head towards the exit. They’re very nearly done here, and it’s better to play it safe than it is to risk staying together for the sake of mutually held conversation. She has better things to do. She’s sure Felipe, does, too.

“I can’t promise you total protection, but I’m sure you knew that. I can give you money, the means to keep yourself safe, and whatever information you get your hands on. And I’ll keep you out of mob business, should I choose to get involved.” How many times has he heard this speech, and from how many people? It’s blatant posturing, the way she’s speaking to him, but it’s necessary posturing. Make him think she’s a little more powerful than she actually is. It’d been a skill she used more than once back in New York, and while it hadn’t always gotten the exact results desired, it usually achieved something close.

She’s going to be having a similar conversation with Paola very soon, if fate will allow it. The shrubbery fades away as they approach the exiting gate of the plaza. She thinks there might be eyes on her, but it could just be the statues. Loretta’s not entirely convinced their gaze doesn’t follow those who come in and out throughout the day, especially not during a lonely time such as this. She removes her hands from her pockets, holds it out to shake. A definitive business deal, in the stages of being wrapped. “Well, Felipe? Will you do this for me?”

There’s no point in not taking Loretta’s offer. He’s a desperate man filled with an even more desperate need to do something. Anything. Hiding and cowering away from the world never suited his larger than life personality, and now he feels more like a blank canvas than a fully grown man with a few lives that he has lived. Turning down Loretta means turning away from his one shot at starting fresh, and maybe even convincing Paola, somehow, to leave this rotting city behind. Everything was one step at a time. And the first thing he had to do was accept. To sign his life away to someone new, a different master with their own preconceived notions. Felipe knew too well that safe never meant safe. Not in Verona.

Felipe moves his hand out, and shakes Loretta’s hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach. His foolishness has only grown over the years, and his sickly complexion is all the world needs to understand that he’s a man that has been perfectly trapped in a corner with no way out. Even if this ends badly, at least he knew he gave it a shot. “It’s a deal, Loretta.”

There’s no need to draw it all out anymore. The festival was soon, which would either mark the start to a new chapter in his life, or another cage that was sure to confine him. Whether it be death or someone else to answer to, Felipe was too anxious sitting around to think much about it. At least Loretta was different. He genuinely believed in her want for a better Verona, and while he knew that his life would be easy to sacrifice, he hoped that she was one of the last few good souls that the city had to offer.

Without another word, Felipe extracted his hand from the handshake, and moved to leave, already feeling the hairs on his neck stand up in anticipation of something horrible happening. Nerves got the better of him these days, and the longer he spent away from his hideout, the more uncomfortable he became. Charisma didn’t matter much when staying alive had become the only thing that mattered anymore.

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

Oh, the ones who are just looking are her favorites. Paola’s entire face brightens at the opportunity to lead a stranger through a vast universe of words and stories, heroes and anti-heroes. It’s the most intimate way to make a friend, she’s found; ask a person for their favorite novel, and you will learn their troubles and their hopes. It makes her love each customer she’s ever helped in some small and fleeting way. They take a piece of her heart with them, every time.

“Well then — welcome home,” she says, looking around the books surrounding them both. “Is this your first time here? We may have record of books you’ve bought in the past, and usually we can pull up more recommendations based on that…”

She begins to walk as she talks, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books she passes like old friends and familiar lovers. There are thousands of stories in the world, and each of them have been waiting for her to discover them. To know them and learn them until they are imprinted in her memory. It’s the only way she knows how to read; it’s the only way she knows how to fill the gaps in her own life experience.

Paola stops at a particular section and peers at the titles, scanning for one in particular and making meaningless small talk as she does. “Or if you know what kind of material you like, that’s a great starting point but I’d like to show you… oh, here it is.” Paola gently tugs a book from the shelves.

“I’m trying to read through the most famous Italian novels right now, and I enjoyed this one. Betrothed, by Alessandro Manzoni. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it — my education was a little lacking, I’ll be the first to admit, so I hadn’t read it until now.” Most of her schooling was of scripture and catechisms, being raised in a Catholic orphanage. Perhaps it was why she devoured literature the way she did; she was hungry for the education she never had.

Welcome home. The words were simple enough for most people. A quick and easy statement. Something that normally would have been brushed off as just a worker doing their job. For Felipe they felt like something more than that. An old wound that might finally be able to heal. Rome had always been home. It shone brightly in the sun, and while it dimmed the longer he spent in Verona, the call to come back was always there. Felipe snapped out of his brief trance, realizing that he should probably answer her questions. “I’ve never been here before. I stopped in on a chance.” Or maybe it was fate.

He watches the bookshop keeper, the way she moves with her hands always touching a book. It’s the kind of softness that he longs for. To be touched in the gentle caress of something turning the page to learn what comes next. How easily he’s captivated these days, but after seeing in the dark for so long and looking over his shoulder constantly, these moments breathe new life into him. Even his skin is starting to glow.

“I’m afraid I haven’t read anything for so long that it feels like I’ve sort of forgotten how to even decide when I like a book. So anything you suggest--well, I guess I’ll have to try it.” Felipe smiles in response, eager to see what her favorite suggestions are. Books spoke to people’s souls, and with just a glance, he wanted to know just what exactly made her tick. What made her happy. What made her sad.

“I think I remember reading that one, surprisingly enough. Love. Power. Evil. The famine. The plague. It’s the sort of thing that sticks with you, I suppose.” Felipe so desperately wants to draw her into conversation, to force her to stay with him and to shower him in her thoughts and opinions. The idea alone made him feel pathetic, but the idea of spending an afternoon with someone that didn’t know the scars that littered his body. That felt like true peace.

Felipe kept watching, waiting for every word that might leave her mouth. Never had he so badly wanted to drown in someone else after just meeting them. He used to be that person. People used to fall over themselves just to touch him, and now he was a wounded animal, searching for a home. Welcome home.

[felipechung-blog]

lorettadelluci‌:

She’s no Damiano Montague, and she’s certainly no Cosimo Capulet. Cruelty in a physical manner does not come to her in great strides; it does not offer its tendrils to her and say come and see. Quite the opposite. She knows well enough by now that violence and terror only bring impunity and a desire to rebel. There are other ways to get what she wants. She thinks, even now, if Felipe were to disagree or turn his back on her, she might be a little disappointed. Like her mother had always said, so long ago she can barely remember her cadence: I’m not mad, honey. I’m just disappointed.

He asks an important question: why? Why bother at all? She mulls it over in her head and winces slightly at the squelch of mud beneath her shoes. They’re not nice shoes, at least – as if that sort of thing mattered. There’s a line being drawn in the sand, right before their eyes. Damiano Montague might be a little desperate. There’s nothing to indicate such a thing in writing, but his actions at the theater had been more than enough evidence to prove that the world as Damiano knew it was ending, and he was desperate to keep it close. Loretta admires that in a man, that sort of vitriol and nostalgia keeping him tethered. But it’s not enough. She scrutinizes Felipe, then, turns her head his way.

“I don’t like losing, Felipe. And the best way to win is to not play the game at all, but given the circumstances you and I have both found ourselves in, I’ve decided to throw my hat in the ring.” She scoffs at her own words, in how she sounds a little like the villain of a novel. Who monologues this much? Loretta Delluci, apparently. She smiles. “Maybe not with the Montagues specifically, but I don’t think they’re doing well. Their leader is powerless, his son is wishy-washy and can’t get anything done, and their own soldiers are cut up in personal dramas. I’ve seen the texts they’ve sent, I’ve listened to their phone calls. They’re as at a loss of what to do as Damiano himself.

“But the Capulets have drive, and ambition, and in a way, I think they’re winning this war. I didn’t come to Verona to play soldier but I think the only way you or I are making it out of this alive – if anyone does – is to pick the right side. You do this for me, and stick with me, I make sure you can buy yourself a ticket out of here with a whole new life ahead of you.” It’s a ballsy offer, she realizes, but Loretta’s got a long reach. If she can make dead bodies disappear in New York without so much as a trace, what’s one living man?

Felipe isn’t quite sure as to how life has led him to this moment. He can see the path so clearly in his mind, but none of it really makes much sense. There was a time when many believed that he could have been a world leader. The creator of an impressive empire. Someone who shone brightly for the entire world to see and admire. What would they ever think of him now? All of those people with so many hopes and dreams. Ideas that never came to fruition. People burned out so quickly these days, and he was just another casualty of the war of success. For a time he had been able to redefine the term and make it his own. At the moment--Felipe had nothing. From a golden palace to a small room in a brothel, falling from grace hit harder than he realized it ever could.

Loretta was someone that Felipe knew well enough not to get on the bad side of. She was intelligent, she had resources, and she was willing to do whatever it might take to get something done. In his newly shrunken world, that meant an escape. A chance to start anew and create a third identity for himself. Not Gabriele, not Felipe. A different man who learned, for once, from his devastating mistakes and the people he lost along the way. Even thinking about what he did to Paola made his hands shake. He was, at the end of the day, a soft-hearted fool that made his living pretending to be something he never was in the first place. And Loretta was asking that of him again. To dip himself back into that water that nearly killed him already.

“I’m sure you know my jagged history with the Montagues. I’ve been able to escape most scrutiny, but I have a feeling if anyone is to figure me out, it’ll be Marcelo. We have a mutual history that will most definitely end with me on the other end of a bullet. Again.” This wasn’t him saying no. Felipe had learned by now that while honesty won him no points, it did give him peace of mind. He had to have some sort of honor. Something to hold onto when he felt himself slipping away.

He nodded quietly. “I’m willing to help you. But only you. You can pick your side and throw yourself behind it, and I’ll give you the information I learn. I just can’t stomach ever trusting any of them. It’s just a scale. They tip back and forth in an unending musical movement, and it’s fucking exhausting. One minute one side is winning, and the next, the Witches are dead.” Felipe can feel his breathing continue to rise, the understanding of everything settling in on him. Were they all just doomed to live this way forever?

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

felipe,

i get the sense that you’re a romantic. you would have made a wonderful poet, i think. have you ever missed anyone? sometimes, i think it’s actually quite scary to let yourself stop missing someone. it feels a lot like forgetting them, sometimes. and some people are too great and too worthy to forget, or to stop missing.

i’ve never cared much for seeing the world. i’d much rather find a place to call home.

yours,

paola

p.s. not only are you romantic, you’re also clever. my respect for you only continues to grow.

paola,

i miss people all the time. there are some people that i miss so much that it barely feels like i’m missing them because i’ve kept them so close to my heart. but there are times that i wonder how my life might work if i could just forget. even for a day. how peaceful that might feel to miss nothing at all.

and verona isn’t home?

warmly,

felipe

p.s. or maybe i’m just trying to impress you.

[felipechung-blog]

henryzhxng‌:

Henry felt a glimmer of irritation. The man didn’t have to lie to him. He could’ve just told him to fuck off. Instead, speaking with an inflection so familiar he was sure he had to be someone Henry was acquainted with, he told him he wasn’t from around there. People streamed around them, but he ignored it, unconcerned with anything but ducking his head to study the face looking anywhere but at him.

The only way to describe the man’s posture was shifty. Henry’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Neither face nor voice was a perfect match to anyone he knew well, and yet, they called to him all the same, almost as if…

His face paled, and he took a small step back, afraid. That was impossible. He’d been feeling quite insane of late, but he had assumed, now that his memories from the night Cosimo stole from him were mostly returned, that he would have no further issues. Clearly he was wrong.

Henry was seeing ghosts. Henry was having a fucking hallucination, because his brain was going haywire, and it was signalling impossible things. Grief and confusion welled inside him, the inescapable loss he felt whenever he remembered a dead friend, and irrational anger was left in its wake. How dare this man so resemble Felipe? How dare he remind him of what he’d lost?

❝ Sorry, ❞ he apologized, ever polite, even as he stepped back into the other man’s space. He really did look like Felipe. Those perfect cheekbones were masked a bit by the beard, along with his jawline, but the eyes… the eyes were too reminiscent, if far more downtrodden. ❝ I’m sure I look as though I’ve seen a ghost. ❞ He watched for any reaction, any at all. Guilt, fear, or confusion, they would each tell him something about this person who should not exist. ❝ Thing is, I think I have. ❞     

So often, walking in a crowd was the only way to become truly invisible. With a crowd, there was enough bodies to blend in. To become just another object moving around in a hurried manner from one destination to the next. That was how Felipe so often moved if he was pressed into the daylight. The burning sun threatening to reveal an intruder, but the crowd protecting him with their combined shadows. One slip, and he was so easily revealed, and in this case, the slip sent him back a few years. Back to when Henry was more than just another threat to look out for. Friend should never have turned foe, but Verona was good at the game of manipulation and even the kindest would never last. He hadn’t.

What Felipe really wanted was for Henry to let it go. To let him go. This game that they were playing now, it was more painful than not being remembered at all. Now he could see, in the flesh, all of the sins of his own making. This wasn’t the hurried joy of seeing Paola up close in personal, nor the fluttering of his heart with every exchanged e-mail. Pain was the only thing that crept in. Henry was one of the only friends Felipe had managed to keep during his stay in Verona. The two men had become close quickly, thanks in part to their shared love of academia. Another aspect had always been alcohol. Parties. Their camaraderie was just as much built on regret as it had been learning.

“A ghost?” Felipe replied, feigning confusion. “I don’t believe in ghosts. What’s dead is dead.” His words were harsher than what he meant them to come out as, but the entire interaction threw him, and he felt as if he might slip off the edge of the world. How was he going to slip away now? How was he going to keep on living with the knowledge that the very bright Henry, of whom he had spent many an afternoon and evening with, suspected that he was more than just a figment of people’s imaginations. He trusted his old friend. He tried. But Henry was more than just a memory, he was a Montague.

That hadn’t been such an issue until now. Not when he knew that Marcelo would want his head on a spike if he knew that a dead man rose from his grave.

[felipechung-blog]

czarnichego‌:

Relieved that she hadn’t fucked everything up, she was in no hurry to make Felipe vocalize his feelings. It didn’t need to be said, after all. There was horror, sometimes, in his eyes, the same horror she felt from many in Verona. Sometimes it was at the mere idea of this, the idea of staying kind in a bed of cruelty. With Felipe, as with many, she thought it might stray closer to horror for her and what she’d set out to do. For what she would see before the end. 

She caught the word and let it melt on her tongue, brows furrowed as she considered it. ❝ Non convenzionale… can you say what it means ? ❞ That was the most frustrating thing about translation; there were so many words she thought she knew well that, in Italian, sounded nothing alike to her version. Based on context, she could try and puzzle out the meaning — strange? weird? unexpected? — but as with all things she didn’t know, it was better to ask and add it to her lexicon than to fake it through. She slid her phone from her pocket to write it in her notes app, just so she could remember to memorize it. Every new word made her sound more legitimate in the eyes of others, and she collected them the way people historically collected gold or jewels.

Brielle quickly realized, in her first genuine act of surprise gift giving, that seeing someone happy with a gift was one of the greatest feelings in the world. She’d spent more time than she probably should have worrying about whether their reception would be good, so to see that it was filled her with bubbly delight. ❝ Winter is perfect time to be reading, ❞ she murmured, refusing to talk about what they both knew: the only reason he had to read was because he was afraid to venture too far outside, justifiably so. No one wanted to go down that road, of course, and remind him of what he couldn’t have. At least, that was what Brielle tried to avoid.

His question catches her off guard. She blinks, and has to think about it for a moment, but Brielle is nothing if not open with the way she wears her heart on her sleeve. Maybe a different sort of person would deflect the question; it wasn’t her loneliness they were here trying to assuage, after all. 

Instead, she got up and moved to sit next to Felipe, nimble hands sliding around his arm until they were linked, elbow to elbow, and pressed her cheek to his upper arm. It was partially a ruse; she knew that her answer might prompt a response, but often it was easier for the men in her life if they were able to talk about this sort of thing without looking her in the eye. Something about the intimacy of eye contact locked up their feelings, which Brielle could understand. Instead, she gave him the space to look away when he spoke, for she had a feeling this conversation wouldn’t be an easy one. The other half of the move was comforting in motivation, a gesture she would always make.

And if it helped her, too, to feel anchored by another person close to her, that was alright to need in moments like these.

❝ I was, ❞ she answers, emotion cloaking her voice, ❝ and I am. Not for same reason. ❞ She considered leaving it there, but worried that it wouldn’t be equal enough to get him to open up, either. She thought he probably needed someone to talk to, but more than that, the flickering flame of his confidence called out to her. This was someone she could tell a secret want to, unaffiliated with the mob as he was, though touched by it all the same. ❝ When Faron bring me to Verona, I was lonely. My family make me lonely. We live alone, far away from things, only seeing many people at races. But… they tell people I am not good enough. People listening to them and not me. I tell myself, it is okay. I don’t need people. ❞

❝ But I did. Faron see this and he take me away, and I need him. I need him too much. ❞ The words almost choke her in their vehemence, in the poison of them as she tries to swallow it. Even now, speaking ill of Faron is akin to going against survival instincts. ❝ Here, I have many people. No one to tell them I’m bad. No sister to take my spot. I am not alone. ❞ She pauses, tasting those words and surprised by how good they feel, sweet honey on her tongue. ❝ But still lonely. Trying to… do things like I do, it is lonely-making. Finding way to be me, and to be in la mafia, and not lose me. That is lonely. ❞       

Felipe was still trying to get used to Brielle and her grasp of Italian. There were times when he would forget completely that it wasn’t her first language, and thus, expected her to grasp every word he said. It was especially unfair as he went to University for the soul purpose of further diving into Italian, and what made the language so beautiful. He hastily replied, not wanting to leave her confused or uncomfortable. “It just means that all of this isn’t normal, which isn’t your fault, or my fault really. But most people can meet outside in the day time. Not in a hidden room behind a Brothel.” He wears a smile of an apology, hoping that she understands he didn’t mean it as a negative, just a true understanding of their odd predicament as friends.

There was something about touch that made Felipe melt. Whether it was a craving for it, or the understanding of his body that he needed it. Hiding for so long would make anyone go crazy, and the isolated nature of everything made Felipe forget the last time he had someone hold him. Actually hold him. And he had never been one to shy away from affection. The days spent with Paola were days spent touching every inch of her that his hands could manage, and the same would be true on her end. Now he there was nothing. Just the whisper of what had been.

As Brielle curled herself around him at his side, Felipe felt him lean into her touch and soaking it up. Greedy for whatever she gave, more so than any book or board game she had offered him just minutes before. What a desperate sad creature he was.

He nodded his head, although he wasn’t sure if he fully grasp everything that she was saying. Most of it made enough sense. Finding a family. Finding purpose. Felipe had a family once. He had people that cared deeply about him. And what had he paid them with? His back as he walked out the door and into the Devil’s lair. Today, his parents probably had chalked him up to a lost cause. Fallen from grace, following in Lucifer’s footsteps. If only they knew how close they were in that regard. If only they knew the suffering that Hell wrought.

“And Faron is gone.” Felipe echoes back, remembering the news that had spread like wildfire in the city. Faron was a name that many feared, and yet here, glued to his arm, was someone that had looked at Faron with more reverence than horror. That was how most of these things worked. One man’s monster was another’s lover. Felipe was sure he was the monster in someone’s story, and now he was simply the monster in a closet. Tucked so far away that he might just become a passing story.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure I remember who I even am. I lost myself without being in the mob at all. One day I had everything, and the next, I’m crawling to someone’s door with blood pooling out of the chest, just begging that they might save me. There’s nothing lonelier than the pull of death--the coldness of it all.”

Felipe shivers on instinct, remembering the feeling of blood leaving his body. Every second, he could feel himself turn blue.

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

long, long ago because alyssa and i never discussed the date tbh, in a bookshop in rome. closed to @felipechung​

Paola did not need much from life. A roof over her head, a foundation to stand on. A belly that did not ache, a reason to wake up in the morning and a reason to smile before she fell asleep. Life in Rome was simple when need and want were the same beasts. The steady routine of her life was the lullaby she had never been afforded as a babe, and she found the rhythm of it suited her. Each day held the same promised between its lips, and Paola kissed and thanked it each morning for the security she had found at last.

But the touch of leather spines and new pages were never the same. Each story had a different song, and each word had a different scent. Paola was determined to know them all, so she lingered across every book she laid tenderly back on the shelf. Working at the quaint store gave her just enough to keep her appetite small, and she loved it. She loved having the world at her fingertips, new characters to befriend and love and mourn. She loved smiling at those who could turn the small store into an endless universe. She loved the customers, both familiar and new.

This one was new, and she was quite taken with the warmth of his eyes. She watched him meander through the aisles, looking quizzically upon each title, until her heart took pity and Paola could not stay behind the counter any longer. She made her way towards him and cleared her throat softly to make her presence known. “Hi,” she said, her voice lilting up at the end like a question, “Can I help you?”

Being back in Rome after spending four dark years in Verona, it felt a lot like a rebirth of sorts. He wasn’t wandering around under his usual title, and the welcome home wasn’t what he had always pictured in his mind, but the city still reached for him. Felipe could hear the echoes of his distant past calling him, and at every corner, an old memory that would swim to the surface, reminding him of where he had always belonged. And yet, he had left. The world outside had felt so tempting in comparison to a place he had found to be too small for the likes of time. Too confining. He would have to become someone new. Someone better. Not Felipe, the fallen son of Rome. Not Felipe, the hunted man from Verona.

Felipe stepped into a small bookstore on his way to grab lunch, the distant page turning luring him in. He had been an academic for most of his life. The call to a higher learning always holding his attention. There was something about the way a book felt in his hands that always felt right. Like he was meant to hold them all along. In Verona, he hadn’t read a single book for the four years he had been there. Every day was a new battle to be raged in a bigger war to be won. Only, the war was his life, and every second he was losing.

A bell sounded that he stepped inside, and he made his way through the shelves, barely glancing at anyone around him, too enthralled by the possibilities. Never had his attention been so rapt. Except--a voice. Her voice. It rang out like the bell that greeted him inside, clear and bright, a lighthouse for the haze in his war-riddled mind. Of course she could help in, she already was.

“I was just looking around, if I’m being honest. But, I’d be open to any suggestions you might have. I’d like to get back into reading, I’ve neglected it, and I’m not proud.” Felipe smiles back, trying to remember the last time he had smiled genuinely, without hopes that it would save his life or create a new business opportunity.

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

australia,

i’m not sure if you can separate the two, actually. the fonder you become of someone, the more painful it is when you lose them. i’m not trying to make you feel worse about it, not at all. but maybe you’re worth being missed.

to be honest with you, i’m not even sure where i would go if i did choose to leave verona.

i hope you find peace. i hope we all do, really.

yours,

paola

p.s. normally, i would protest to being called verona or having to relate to it at all. but you feel familiar, felipe, almost like a kindred spirit. you may turn me into a fan of verona yet, and a friend of fate too - maybe there is a reason we ran into each other. i’m glad we did.

paola,

what’s the next step after missing someone? acceptance? then i think i’d settle for acceptance. or maybe something in between. missing just hurts too much. it’s a constant ache that you’re never rid of, and eventually it just becomes the new normal. but i don’t want that sort of normality.

you should start making a list of places in the world to see. verona is just a small blip on the radar.

warm regards,

felipe

p.s. that almost sounds like optimism

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“I think you die again and live again,”

— Anne Sexton, from The Collected Poems; “For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach,”

[felipechung-blog]

henryzhxng‌:

january 12th near the castelvecchio remnants  afternoon | closed for @felipechung​

It was happenstance that led them to meeting once again. A chance encounter, enabled mostly by Henry’s half-drunk state and lack of care for the world around him. Normally composed, he’d just been to send another letter to Hector, and was thus in a more… fraught place than he usually was. That must have been why turning a corner caused him to also veer sharply into someone’s very corporeal body. He caught them just as they would’ve fallen, already apologizing under his breath, when he immediately noted their desperation to get out of his hold.

Strange.

He didn’t struggle, letting go immediately, but as his eyes flickered over the man’s face, something caught him. The shape of the eyes, almost entirely unrecognizable in the panicked expression, but…

Clearly he had somewhere to be, but as he walked past, Henry’s curiosity got the better of him. He turned and followed, increasing his pace after a moment to keep up. ❝ Wait, ❞ he called, ❝ wait, please ! ❞ He caught the man’s shoulder, hoping he would stop rather than brushing him off. ❝ I… do I know you ? ❞ 

He knew he had to be losing it at this point. Maybe he really was going mad, because it felt as though he’d seen a ghost.

There were a handful of people in Verona who Felipe desperately hoped he wouldn’t run into. They were people that knew him well, inside and out, and in that knowledge, they could ruin him for good. Felipe had already been dealing with Paola, his own lies becoming quickly entangled with each e-mail he sent off. He knew he was playing with fire, but just reading her writing was enough to make his heart quicken in a desperate flurry. Memories replaying in his mind like a never ending movie. But it did end. He ended it. He had foolishly gone back to Verona, and now he was living with his regrets.

Besides Paola, it had been seeing Henry that plagued Felipe most. They had been close before he had run off back to Rome. Their intellectual discussions were always stimulating, and the ghost of Henry’s lips continued to haunt him more than he haunted the alleyways of Verona. It hadn’t been often that Felipe had found such a close friend, especially one that had wound themselves up with the Montagues. That was beginning to be a theme in Felipe’s life.

These thoughts passed through his mind in turn, and it was with those memories that reality crashed into him. Henry.

In a panic, Felipe ducked his head down, and desperately grappled for release, not bothering to care that he was most definitely causing a scene. Being that close to his past was far more damning than he realized it would be, and seeing Henry’s face--the world was crueler than he could ever have imagined.

Felipe thought he was in the clear, just a chance encounter that led to nothing further, until he heard the familiar voice chasing after him.

He stopped, devastation rippling through his body. Death should have been easier than this.

“I doubt it, I’m not really from around here.” Felipe tried to disguise his voice, to throw Henry off the best he could. If he could fool Paola, he could fool Henry. Right?

[felipechung-blog]

czarnichego‌:

He sounded far too desperate. Brielle frowned, reaching out easily to grab his arm and squeeze once. Gently, yet solemnly, she promised: ❝ I will stay as long as you want. ❞ She immediately grew pleased with her grammar; she knew that had been a correct sentence, a perfect one. Right at the best moment! It wasn’t a promise to stay in the physical space, but a promise to stay friends. A promise to continue reaching out and caring as best she knew how. ❝ Am only trying to see lines. Uh… rules. Things you want and don’t. ❞

At his question, and at his obvious small pleasure at the gift, Brielle grinned again. ❝ Yes. The others I read from my father’s study, but this one I buy here. I want… to see what people think of Russia, not in Russia. It is good job telling it. And it is pun. ❞ She covered her blushing face. Deathless. Silly of her, but she wanted to try and make Felipe laugh. He got so dour sometimes.

She put And Quiet Flows the Don and Doctor Zhivago in his hands as well, now almost teasing, if still a little shy. ❝ I see your walls did not have a lot by us, ❞ she said as she gestured to the wall, where there were a few small shelves, ❝ and am thinking to fix it. ❞ Truly, literature is one thing she was happy to take from Russia with her other places, and relieved to learn was very well respected even outside her home country.

The other two gifts are… well, they made her more insecure, but she handed them over nonetheless. She knew what he’d see when he unwrapped them; a deck of playing cards with flowers on the back, and a mini chess set with tiny, still recognizable pieces. Brielle wrung her hands, watching his expression anxiously. ❝ Inside things, ❞ she said carefully, her voice soft. ❝ Going outside not safe, so we stay in and do things. Together. Not so alone. Si ? ❞

Brielle’s understanding of Italian only further endeared her to Felipe. He knew that anyone in the mob must have held some deadly skills, but to him, she felt more like a lost child. Every word she spoke was another dagger into his soft, bleeding heart. There had been a time when Felipe had been able to separate himself from these feelings, but after everything he had been through, Felipe simply felt too much these days. Loneliness. Regret. Heartache. Brielle, with her bright smile, it practically made Felipe shake.

“I know, I’m sorry. This is all rather unconventional, and I appreciate--” He wasn’t exactly sure what he appreciated most, but Felipe didn’t bother finishing the sentence. He felt it best to let her fill in the blanks for herself. Some words were more easily translated when they weren’t spoken at all.

Her excitement was palpable, and Felipe caressed the book like it was his most treasured possession in the world, and for the moment, it was. Years ago, gifts felt like a given in his life. He was showered with the riches of life, and as every birthday came and went, Felipe began to expect that the world would only continue to give him exactly what he wanted. There had been no way of knowing that his future held such a delicate moment. When all of the riches in the world couldn’t compare to the simplicity of a book with a name that was a pun.

Before long, one book multiplied into three, and his heart felt like it might burst. Life hadn’t been kind to the man turned ghost, but Brielle had the ability to flit between dimensions, her kindness more infectious than the plague. “You’re right, I don’t think I’ve been giving the Russians enough of my time. Thank you.”

But the presents didn’t stop there, two more gifts appeared in front of him, and without further questioning, he opened them gently. Felipe’s hand shook at the continued onslaught of the gestures that Brielle offered him. He had fallen so far from grace, and instead of finding himself in Hell, he found himself in the clutches of an angel.

“Are you lonely?” The question comes out without further thinking.

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

date for tea,

i hope your family does think of you as often as you’re thinking of them. it’s like you said - things happen for a reason. maybe you’re thinking of them at the same time they’re thinking of you. but i do understand about making decisions that must be done, even if it’s not ideal. i think, for me, staying in verona is one of them. i’d love to be in australia searching for nemo, but i can’t help but feel i have to stay here.

what does the light at the end of the tunnel look like for you, if you don’t mind me asking?

sincerely,

your tea date

p.s. then i look forward to your next visit to verona.

verona,

i hope so, too. but at the same time, i hope when they think of me it’s only fond memories. i couldn’t bear to cause someone pain with them missing me. does that make sense? maybe one day you’ll make a new decision. maybe one day you’ll be able to leave.

peace. it looks a lot like peace.

felipe

p.s. i’ll be back in verona soon

[felipechung-blog]

paoladamasco‌:

felipe,

i’ll have to give that a try. i’ve had some trouble sleeping lately, so maybe that will help. i know i have enough to think about, perhaps it will provide some much-needed clarity. what do you find yourself thinking about during your evening walks?

i can’t be sure if you’re an optimist or an idealist or a plain romantic. it’s good, though — it’s been a long time since i’ve met someone who had something to believe in. i quite like it.

yours,

paola the pessimist

p.s. perhaps over tea?

tea date,

what do i think about? my family a lot of the time. i haven’t seen them in a few years, and i wonder if they think about me much. actually, most of the people i used to know i don’t keep in touch with anymore. sometimes decisions have to be made, and they’re not always the best ones, but they’re the right ones. you know?

i prefer calling it a realist. things may be hard for a single moment in time, but there always has to be a light at the end of the tunnel, otherwise, what’s the point? i couldn’t go through life like that.

felipe

p.s. i think i answered that

[felipechung-blog]

czarnichego‌:

He worded things so strangely sometimes. No, maybe that wasn’t the word, but… suspiciously? Paranoid certainly came to mind whenever in Felipe’s presence. Yet what little she knew of the threat meant she couldn’t discount that feeling either, though it seemed painful to always look over one’s shoulder. The few weeks she did it following Lucrezia’s attack against her felt awful, and it gave her more of a sense than she’d ever had as to how Felipe felt, hiding, growing his beard, shuffling around and skulking in the darkness.

It must be awful, to be someone so clearly made for the golden glow of the sun, forced into shadow and barely touched by the dusky twilight hours.

❝ Yes ? ❞ She didn’t know what else to say, or how better to say it. ❝ I like having friends. ❞ They weren’t always easy to find, being in such a remote place throughout her childhood. Once she’d thought, when Heloise was still a baby, that they would grow up to be friends and confidantes, but there’d been a line drawn in the sand between them from the moment her parents had brought her into their home. We had to do better with this one, she’d overheard them saying once, not long after Heloise was adopted. Learn from our mistakes. 

Brielle’s expression dropped at his words, eyes flickering like coal in a dying fire. ❝ I don’t want you — to make you, because I came. ❞ She held the nearest package close to her heart, like a shield between them. ❝ I can take back. Or go. It’s okay. ❞ Even when he sat down, she still seemed unsure of her welcome, but since he asked…

Tentatively, she set down what she was holding and moved two off the top, leaving three. The smallest, she took in her hands, holding it out. ❝ You said you were reading, ❞ she said quietly, and the shape of a book was clear beneath the wrapping, though it was a thin volume. ❝ I have three books. If you… run out. Ones I like. ❞     

Friends. The word echoed in Felipe’s mind as if it was a word he had forgotten and was relearning. He had held friendships in the past. Too many to count. All of Rome was his friend. Henry had been his friend. Paola had been his best friend. Now those sorts of relationships were lost on him. Isolation had been more damning than death ever could have been, and the golden boy had truly lost his shine. His past had turned to ash, and in his banishment, Felipe only wished that the scars on his heart marred his face instead. At least then people would see the damage done. The singing pain burning underneath. Felipe had forgotten what it was like to truly be good.

“No--stay. Please.” He couldn’t stop the words from sounding like begging. Brielle leaving was an unthinkable thing to occur, not when he craved company. Any company. At least in moments like this he could pretend that things were different. That there wasn’t a price on his head and he hadn’t subsequently ruined the best thing he had in his life. For so long Felipe had never known failure, and now it followed him around like a foul stench.

He reached out his hands, grabbing the first gift. A small smile fell onto his face. Brielle was a person that he found it impossible to find any fault with. Her Russian accent only further accentuated the naivety that he had once felt. With no further hesitation, Felipe dug into the wrapping, and revealed the book beneath. The title read Deathless. “It’s certainly a fitting title. You’ve read it?”

The quest for conversation was more potent than anything else. Touch. Closeness. That was a part of his cravings, but the simple one on one conversations were what he missed most. It brought Felipe back to the days in Paola’s book shop, where they could hide in a corner, discussing the latest book that they had read. The sun slowly setting, but their minds never settling.