THE LION OF FLORENCE

I don’t intend to wage war. Wars are fought by warriors. Massacres, though— those are fought by monsters. — i’ll stain your white flags red | m.a.w CESARE DE MEDICI, TWENTY-SEVEN

[ofgoreandglory-blog]

@madamxlunette

People liked to revere the dead. Perversely, they seemed to love a corpse better than the living. It was a fault Cesare not only wasn’t guilty of, but completely abhorred in others. Yet needs must as they said and he had found himself coerced into attending a memorial service for his not sufficiently long-gone fiancée. He was supposed to still bow his head and pretend to mourn her, all the while thanking his lucky stars the unassuming little mouse had no unmarried sisters her money-hungry family could force on him. The apple had truly not fallen far from the tree in her case, and he’d loathed the whole lot of them.

But now there was nothing more he could do than wait for time to pass and others’ expectations in him to be forgotten. And since he wasn’t so good at waiting, he could wash off the stink of incense in whores’ perfume and strong spirits, instead. Battling a headache that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d imbibed so far, and everything to do with having to brave, straight-faced, several hours of droning sermons in remembrance of one he’d shoved off the mortal coil, Cesare was currently struggling to summon up an easy facade for a night of laughing debauchery. 

In truth, he only wanted to be left alone to nurse the bottle of brandy in front of him, and not have to pretend he actually enjoyed others’ company. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked, not lifting his eyes from the bottom of his glass as somebody sidled up to him. “I’m in mourning tonight,” he grabbed the bottle and poured himself another shot, staring morosely ahead as he downed it.

[ofgoreandglory-blog]

immeasurableamaya‌:

Amaya pushed her way through the crowed streets, of the market. She had told her mother that she would be home more than an hour ago. Amaya had been fortunate enough that she had been able to get away with out and escort at all. A professor had been giving a lecture at a near by hall and Amaya would not miss him for the world. 

So, she pushed and gave her apologizes as she hurried on her way. A small gust of air escaped her lungs and she slammed into a hard body, her bag and  mens clothes she had worn spilled out onto the floor. “Damn,” she whispered as she knelt down and started to gather the clothes and paper. Looking at the the person her eyes widening , “ -  my apologies… I… is there anyway you could just pretend you never saw me?” she asked her eyes pleading. The last thing she need was to be lectured by her mother once again.

People just didn’t walk into Cesare.

For one, it wasn’t like he was particularly difficult to see with his broad shoulders and looming stature. And he didn’t usually have a particularly friendly countenance – most tended to feel him glowering before they even lifted their eyes. Add to that the fact that most of the time, he was carefully and elegantly dressed. Quality was a thing the plebes noticed and shied away from lest their grubby hands stain exhortatively expensive clothes.

This time around his back was turned, so maybe he could drop one of the above reasons as inapplicable, but the rest two still stood – quite firmly. Turning around, fully determined to apply a kick to the head of whoever had crashed into him, Cesare’s intentions – nothing short of adaptable, as he was – instantly changed as he caught sight of who had wronged him. “Signorina Pazzi!” his eyes widened, and while he hadn’t exactly bellowed her name, he went to great pains to make himself heard by those around him, as he feigned surprise. He smirked, only for a split second, only as her eyes locked with his, and then knelt, all solicitude and gallantry to help her gather her things. 

While he was being oh so chivalrous, he also made sure to steal a glance at one of the papers he’d got hold of, just in case there was anything interesting on it. “Do forgive me for failing to grow eyes at the back of my head so I could see you coming,” unfortunately she didn’t seem to be walking around hoarding her family’s dirty laundry - at least, not in the metaphorical sense. Cesare’s gaze alighted on a pair of hose and he lifted them, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Have your maids deserted the family, signorina?” he affected a vague air of concern, his voice only loud enough for her to hear him.

[ofgoreandglory-blog]

( OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN, HE/HIM, MALE ) Have you heard CESARE DE MEDICI has arrived in Florence? The TWENTY-SEVEN year old SON to the Head of House DE MEDICI is known for being both CHARISMATIC and MACHIAVELLIAN, but would not want anyone to know HE HAD HIS FIANCÉE MURDERED RATHER THAN GO AHEAD WITH THE WEDDING.

Sometimes I’m good at these things and some times I am so tired my brain weeps. Will update this in a more coherent manner after I’ve had some sleep but here are some starting points for plotting with my flaming trashcan of a boy:

 He is a bit of a psychopath. He can be quite personable and affable when the situation requires it, but he is completely dead inside. Normally, he does what he wants, and he does it well. If his family requires someone to do anything illegal, or immoral, or just generally objectionable and under the table, to further themselves, he’s normally the one who does it (bribes, threats, beatings - Cesare’s your guy and he relishes the prospect). 

While he has a certain...attachment to his family and its members, his loyalty has clear limits and as a general rule, he’s the only one who knows what those are. He “lost” his fiancée  less than six months ago, and while he put on a properly somber facade for a little while, he hasn’t bothered to appear anything other than mildly relieved to his family. He isn’t quite gone enough to believe they would approve of him having gotten rid of her, nor does he expect them to buy a sentimental act on his part, so a little mixture of relief and bored with the whole affair is what he’d chosen to go ahead with. 

PLOTS

Bring me fellow rakes he could get into fights and get drunk with, some could be his personal guards, or other - less responsible - sons of the noble families. 

Despite his secret, Cesare doesn’t have any objection to spending time with women, normally. They just have to show some claws as to keep him entertained. 

[constitueniken]

People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think it means ‘mean.’ It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it.

Marco, from the Animorphs book series #30 The Reunion. (via constitueniken)