WHERE : The Vatican Museum ⸻ by the The Sistine Chapel .
WITH : open to anyone.
❝ ⸻ Make sure he doesn't run too far ! ❞ Talia called out to the nanny she had hired ( a demon that worked and worshipped her every move ) to take care of her son , VALAK . Walking around the chapel that many demon would avoid , talia felt nothing and easily could step in sacred grounds without withering in pain or burning up . perks of being a prince. ❝ I sure did miss this place ❞ the woman muttered as she looked at its Renaissance frescoes by Michelangelo . her voice echoed through the chapel .
The Princes of Hell were often like unwanted stenches - cockroches one simply couldn't be rid of. As if he'd stepped from the shadows the Lord of Lies appeared and slipped his hands under the arms of his "nephew", hoisting the child up against his hip and moving after Talia. With a tut he warned the nanny to back off, dangerous amusement glimmering behind deceitfully sweet eyes.
"I always found Michelangelo's work overstated."
Enzo mused, barely turning a lash toward the artwork and instead using the fingers of his free hand to press Valak's nose in lightly. He smiled wide at the child, laughing when Valak did, all things a normal loving uncle might do.
"I like the sculptor who was commissioned to make Lucifer, then was fired because he made him too beautiful. So they hired the sculptor's brother ... and he made Lucifer even more beautiful. Amusing."
❝ ⸻ try looking in the mirror . Plenty of your people in the long distance past , of course . ❞
With her age many would think a creature as old as her would forget many things . SHE REMEMBERED IT ALL . ❝ And yet you choose to protect them . ❞ She shot back without missing a beat . Despite her own mother being human , she did not care . She will say the woman was foolish as well and many of them deserve to DIE .
❝ they were stolen from YOUR PEOPLE ... but nice to know that you shadowhunters aren't as united as many believe you all to be ... We all know in the end you hunters will choose your own kind ... the accords is simply a joke . ❞ artemisia downed the glass in one swig and looked at james with a sly look .
❝ Not my home ... Besides , you think a mere ward can keep me in ? I am simply just watching this all unfold . quite entertaining really . watching the lot of you run about the city for a sword , mirror , and a cup that might or might not fall into the wrong hands . YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN ❞
He couldn't help the snort. It tore at the back of his throat and came out of his nose like a great puff of smoke - a dragon of laughter and amusement rather than riches and shiny trinkets. Tongue wet his lips once again and James nodded. She was right. He had his own stick firmly planted up his ass.
"Hey, I know how my stick got up there, 'kay? Never denied it or pretended otherwise. Just learned how to sit so it's not shoved further up."
Was he lightening up? He'd deny it. Maybe blame the whiskey but he knew it was barely in his blood yet. Took a lot more than a few glasses to make the world spin in the pleasant way it could if he let it get far-enough. Admitting he could be cordial with someone he had a storied history of bickering with (and he had just that with Artemisia) was worse than being tortured, he thought. He'd rather staple his face to the carpet.
"They were stolen from the government officials of my people. That's like ... blamin' the citizens of England for somethin' goin' missin' from the royal family. Ain't got shit t'do with me. Never even seen the instruments, wouldn't know what they looked like if they were thrown at my head."
Lips pursed. James reached for the whiskey and poured himself another. Then poured Artemisia another.
"In the end I'll do whatever I'm contracted to do, like I've always done. I'm fine with your bias against us, I don't really give a shit. But you're preachin' to the wrong hunter if you think you're gonna rile me up with all this nonsense. Probably agree with you on most of it."
There was a reason he turned down the role of inquisitor so many times. There were a lot of reasons ...
"Shit, every warlock sounds like a bad villain from a Disney channel movie. You guys gotta give the theatrical shit up. Went out of style hundreds of years before I was born."
❝ ⸻ I buried her with that stick after your people killed her . As for my useless sperm doner , well ... I have no idea who he is but I shall make sure to gift him another stick once I bury him myself . ❞ Artemisia witted as the bartender served her drink and pushed it towards her .
despite her words , they did not affect her as one would expect when talking about a parent . Instead of a stoic look , the warlock held a mocking smile . She did not care much for her human parent or her own demonic father . ( whoever he is ) . Artemisia had made her name for herself and she was sure he knew many of the rumors about her . not that it mattered to her .
❝ Humans never need convincing to sell of their soul in something they want . Their mortality makes them fickle , selfish , weak . Why I am here is certainly none of your concern , malatesta . either way , aren't you suppose to be out there looking for the missing instruments ? you seem awefully relaxed for someone who likes order ❞
James snagged the glass with the tips of his fingers and swallowed down the whiskey as easily as water. Once more he sighed for the burn, set it back with another clink, and rolled his shoulder in the slightest of cracks.
"Yeah, well humans are foolish." A beat. He cleared his throat. "Why do I give a shit about that? They aren't mine. They weren't stolen from me. Wringin' my hands about it isn't goin' to make them appear any faster. Let someone else worry about that shit. Let them get wrinkles and grey hair over it."
Said the man whose beard had been sparking a little pepper as of late. He didn't mind that - the aging look. It kept the mystique about what he was, left the inevitable questions just another while away before he had to do something drastic like change his name and fake his death. Or something.
"You worried your home is gonna shit a brick about you bein' locked up here?"
It was a sincere question, despite how it may have come out. He cocked a brow at her, minded the bartender dropping another whiskey off and only turned to acknowledge them when they started walking away again.
❝ ⸻ Why would I have anything to say to a stuck up shadowhunter who likes to make monsters of us all ❞ Artemisia's mood truly took a dive once james sat next to her and started to tell her what to do . She always got an off feeling from him . He certainly wasn't like the other shadowhunters and perhaps it was because she had witnessed him hunt before . RUTHLESS . MERCILESS . as if he was born to kill who they thought were the monsters and demons .
❝ But I will take that FREE drink ❞ She might hate all shadowhunters but she had no qualms taking their money or having them buy her a drink or two if it meant she didn't have to pay . Not that she was ever short on cash . A woman as old as her , she was loaded .
"Lemme ask you somethin', your human parent bury that stick that deep up your ass when you were a kid or did your demon parent gift it to you when you were born?"
He was more amused than anything. Shadowhunters were not the most popular of people, despite their believing how important they were. Truth be told he wasn't quite fond of the self-aggrandizing that his kind was prone to. Even the Accords seemed to favor those blessed by Raziel's lineage and blood more than the Downworlders but James was one man and he couldn't change anything about their nature.
Though if the cards were reversed he was sure he'd carry some latent hostility, too. After all, he'd be hunted down much worse than Artemisia's kin.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to find the sharpest stick possible to poke her with. Just to see if someone in such a high station would do anything untoward. He wouldn't be James Malatesta if he wasn't pushing someone's buttons.
"Why are you in a mundane bar, anyway? Looking for dinner? Some poor fuck to convince into selling their soul to you? Is is mating season for the praying mantis?"
Location: A mundane bar.
When: Sometime after 11 pm.
"If you're going to sit there and drink, we do it quietly."
He understood a crowded bar, taking a seat beside someone when there really wasn't anywhere else to sit made sense. He wouldn't complain or even give a sideways glance at that setting because it was part of the unwritten bar code: you sat and drank in silence and didn't acknowledge the person whose shoulder you almost brushed.
But this was not the case. Maybe it was a regular seat, maybe whoever it was had business with him. James just wanted one drink without interruption. Four fingers of whiskey sat in front of him, freshly poured, and he intended on swallowing it back without much conversation to chase the burn down.
So he grasped the glass, knocked it back and sighed at the familiar heat that ran from lips to stomach. The glass returned to the wood with a clink and James wet his lips with his tongue.
"Okay. Now you can talk. Within reason." He paused, signaling the bartender for another, "And one for ... them."
WHERE: Sacro Bosco Gardens aka Park of Monsters
WITH: anyone who wishes.
IT WAS FAR TOO EASY TO BLEND IN WITH MUNDANE WORLD when the head horticulturalist's cabin appeared perfectly placed, hiding it's true appearance (HERE) from those who couldn't see. She appeared a somewhat young woman, dressed for the day in the gardens tending to the world there, looking up as she stepped out, "I don't suppose you're here for the open position." Marivel spoke, fingers reaching for the gardening gloves hanging out of her jacket.
The family estate once had a beautiful, sprawling garden. His mother used to tend it in her spare time, lovingly watering and clipping various flora and fauna to tender it to pleasant adulthood. All of the effort had slipped by the wayside where weeds had at least been sprayed out to nothing and nurtured plants were long gone. Relics of a bygone era.
He'd never met the Seelie Queen before, not officially, but he'd seen her. Some Shadowhunters liked to play with fire with the gentry fae (James had been guilty of spending time with one when he was younger, but it was never anything worth noting) but even he knew better than to mess with the head honcho. Everything was riddles, a means to trick and trap into promises and favors owed. He found it was better to tighten his lips to keep from such dangerous things than to speak without thinking first.
Though this seemed harmless enough.
"Got talked into keeping a succulent. Figured I should at least pick one up, make an attempt. Say I tried."
dark brown eyes looked over at the taller older male with runes on his skin . anyone mundane would simply think that were just interesting tattoos . Vanessa knew otherwise . Still , she had met many shadowhunters in her life and felt nothing . seeing this one made her skin crawl . like the time she had seen her own demonic eyes in the mirror made her skin crawl for the first time . was he like her or was he something else ?
❝ ⸻ We do ... ❞ Vanessa motioned for him to follow her . ❝ we have one hard copy on display which are signed by the author and many paper which will be a lot cheaper ... ❞ the small brunette turned the corner and right in front of them was the Lovecraft books among many others . ❝ I recommend the hard copies . depending on how much you value and care for books , it will last much longer . ❞
Years ago he'd made a promise. It was woven on his fingers now like the treads of fate tied and interconnected - one half of a rune whose whole lay at rest in the mausoleum at the back of his family's estate. Never again would he be able to lock his fingers with a Mother adored and see the whole picture, yet the promise remained as alive as he was. The glance of wide eyes over the small slathering of exposed skin (his fingers, his neck) was enough for James to press his palms into the pockets of his jeans and dig them deep enough to shrug his shoulders. When she gestured for him to follow he silently ambled behind.
He envied the mundanes. They had no idea about this world of theirs - the dark things that lurked in the night or the possibilities therein. Maybe if he were born into another family under different circumstances he could be like them. Maybe he'd have a different outcome in life other than this one, where he watched the small head of brown disappear around a corner and narrowed his eyes. She was something else. He'd say he could smell it but that wasn't quite right. Whatever she was remained cleverly disguised under wide-eyes and a polite demeanor. He'd known plenty of people that were perfectly kind until they weren't.
So James stayed on guard.
"Hard, signed copy is fine. Tend to be like a collector ... read what I hoard."
⚔ ⸻ ( jon bernthal → cis man → he / him / his ) / / * seems like james malatesta , crossed the city limits into rome : you know , the forty-seven / 47 year old nephilim / shadowhunter , who is reputed to be + focused and +diligent , but is avoided when they are -cold and -detached . rumor has it that has been heard saying ❝ i forgot softness. softness did not serve me. ❞ . that would explain why they do not care for the mortal instruments . *
Name. James Malatesta.
Nicknames. None. Please do NOT call him Jim or Jimmy or any variant of James.
Age. Forty7.
Sexuality. Heterosexual.
Date of Birth. November 8.
Place of Birth. Rome, Italy.
Gender. Cis Man.
Pronouns. He, him, his.
Current Location. Rome, Italy.
Languages. English, Italian, Enochian.
Zodiac. Scorpio.
Bad Habits. Chews his lips and cheek out of boredom. Puts his feet on furniture. "Manspreads" on furniture.
Hobbies. Reads extensively.
Fears. Being alone.
Other Mentionable Details. James has hidden his true nature as a Nephilim for as long as he's been aware of it. His mother used runes to hide it prior to that, obviously aware of her copulation with an angel. James is aware he will likely outlive most of his friends or loved ones, and this is partially why he keeps people at an arm's length, despite his fear of being alone. He often avoids churches and jokes that he'll burst into flames if he walks into one.
Faceclaim. Jon Bernthal.
Height. 5'11''.
Hair Color. Dark brown.
Eye Color. Dark brown to honey, in some light. Turns gold when angry or threatened.
Notable features. Imposing stature, 14x broken nose (he never learns), nearly permanent scowl but incredible smile when he lets himself.
Parents Names. Cosima Malatesta (mother) and Umbriel (father).
Siblings. None.
Pets. None.
Income. He inherited the Malatesta estate upon his mother's passing.
Residence. Malatesta Estate - an old Victorian-style manor that's been in his family for generations.
Cosima Malatesta was always a lonely woman. Devout in her beliefs and descended from a well-known Shadowhunter bloodline, Cosima inherited her mother's beauty and her father's talents and devoted herself to the Clave. By all accounts and standards she was the ideal image of a Shadowhunter; following each law to the letter and spending most of her time in the field wherever it was deemed necessary. Up until her death, and following her to the afterlife, she was revered as a great woman and an attribute to the Clave, and the Rome Institute later as a researcher.
Her encounter with Umbriel is wholly unknown.
None would suspect that such a law-abiding Shadowhunter would dream to break one of the most sacred of rules, but the conception of James would surely tarnish the Malatesta name and reputation.
47 years ago, under circumstances even he is unsure of, James was conceived from the union of Angel and Mortal.
Raised as a Shadowhunter, James was spirited away to New York under the claim of a change of pace shortly after his birth and Cosima dedicated her skills and knowledge to the Institute in the City. He was raised with no knowledge of his heritage until he approached puberty, and only then did his mother bind him in a runic promise not to share the tale of his birth - lest he live a life damned by the very people he was raised among.
When Cosima was called back to Rome she left her son with tears in her eyes and a kiss planted to his forehead, another promise that sh would see him again soon.
She passed when James was 20. Something he was heartbroken for. Mother's are all boy's first loves, after all.
It was in the New York Institute that he met and bonded with Jordan Shadowheart. Their mutual love for mischief had them drawing a close friendship - something James considered a brotherhood, which eventually led to their binding as parabatai. For years he worked with his closest friend and ally (he'd consider these golden years, if asked) unaware that the severance of this bond would come in their twenties.
It was sudden, painful, and not at all understood. James nearly overturned the Rome Institute in his rage and pain - a loss that had him severing his emotional ties to those he had been raised around. Without a mother to love him, without his closest friend and bond to share in the world with, it simply felt easier to allow himself to numb out entirely.
Time wore on. He withdrew further, lending his expertise and anger into assignments that took him all across the world. Learned and experienced, by the time he returned to his family's estate in his mid-thirties to semi-permanently settle he had been approached at least once to rise to the rank of Inquisitor. At least once every few years he'd been asked and each time James denied the responsibility. It hardly seemed worth it to invest in a people that would sooner damn and destroy him for his existence than accept him as one of their own... as he'd always been.
So it's gone: years without knowing Jordan is still alive in the world albeit as a a Downworlder James has hunted the kind of all his life. years without allowing himself the pleasure of another connection for understanding that it simply doesn't matter... he'll outlive them anyway, years of runes burned into scars over actual scars on his body shone silver under noontime sun. Years of loneliness building walls so high he simply doesn't recall how to connect on a meaningful level to anyone else.
Years in self-appointed solitary confinement. Punishment for daring to love, to exist.
A promise kept to a Mother adored and missed. A secret safe.
WANTED CONNECTIONS:
Dalliances - While James is remiss to form emotional bonds he is a man like any other, weak to the physical needs one might find themselves in service to. He's a known name in Rome, has been for many years (between his family's lineage and his own whispers) and has garnered something of a reputation for being good for a one night stand. He's not beholden to the laws of the Clave and has happily dabbled with Downworlders if it meant mutual satisfaction in the end.
Comrades - A repeat Shadowhunter he's been sent on assignments with now and again. They know about his embittered attitude, seeming disregard for his own safety, and ultimately callous methods when deployed to a task. They might be considered friends of James were the kind to use those terms. Either way, his bristled personality doesn't bother them and they work well together, even.
Old Friends - They knew James back in New York, or when he first came back to Rome with Jordan. They remember what he was capable of in the realm of pranks and mischief, of chaos that used to light his eyes in puckish light. Still, they try to bring out that flame they know is stuck deep in him somewhere, buried in thorns and acrimony. They've even gotten him to sincerely laugh a few times, and maybe show up to his family's estate to ensure he doesn't become a complete shut-in outside of assignments. He really appreciates them, but he'd never let them know it. They keep him from being entirely alone.
Someone who knows Jordan is alive - And has for a while. Maybe they saw Jordan, maybe they just found out. Maybe they interact with him often. For whatever reason they've kept this to themselves for however long and now they're going to share the news with James. He should be happy his old soul-bond is actually alive, right?
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
stormborns
janainaart
annaxmalina
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