BOY { KING }

kid, get off the ground. spit your blood, and bare your teeth. go down a savage — go down fighting. piero ruiz / capulet

[ruizes]

katarinadvpont​:

She watches and waits, curiosity creeping into her irritation expression as he continues to flip through channels. He passes news reports, sports broadcasts, and popular films all in quick succession until he lands on some Spanish television show. Confusion only briefly flickers within her gaze before she makes sure it’s disappeared. Piero doesn’t seem the type to be watching soap operas, but with the world that surrounds him now that’s different in every way from that of his home in Spain and Katarina’s own predominantly accent that is a blend of her own French-Italian heritage, he has to be picking this show for a reason. The blonde can only partially discern the words as she briefly watches, and when he states his choice in what to order, she only nods and grabs her phone, walking out of the living room to stroll through the corridors of the palazzo as she calls the nearest restaurant to place an order. 

Pick a channel, pick something to eat, Katarina feels as though she’s been something like a drill sargeant, spitting out orders without any sense of patience. It isn’t as though she’s angry with him (not entirely, anyway) but the young man has simply come around on a bad day, and his mood seems to be as equally foul as hers. She can’t fix his mood, but she can certainly attempt to shove her attitude down long enough that they don’t explode at each other. Hopefully. Her grief and anger have been terrible to manage as of late.

“Probably, but there’s still time for you to make a change.” Her breezy response is made before she sits down on the other couch, twisting to grab a piece of wrapped chocolate from the candy dish before she tosses one at him. And then another. Kat refrains from throwing a third and instead keeps it for herself, dragging a throw blanket over her lap. “The food will be here in about ten minutes,” She informs him, unwrapping the chocolate while she speaks. “It’s already been paid for. Just answer the door.” As she crumples the foil and rolls it between her fingers, she fixes her gaze back on Piero, only half-trying to read his expression. If he wants to talk, he’ll talk. Kat just has to be here for it. “So, what’s the show about?” 

what does it matter that he finds comfort in idle things that mean nothing ? it means that he is human at his very core. all too often, he pretends that he is not mortal, instead he is something inhuman. something more, something god-like. he thinks himself immovable by things of little consequence, things like feelings of sadness and of lust and other trivial emotions. but his glass facade breaks and has been for sometime. chips in glass spread and grow, spiderweb threads weaving through his skin and muscle and bone.

perhaps this spanish soap opera will finally shatter him completely.

the piece of candy lands on his lap. he shoots her a dirty look as the second piece lands. he’s still before his fingers finally move to unwrap it. he pops the chocolate in his mouth and the bittersweet chocolate melts slowly, coating his tongue with its hint of sweetness. she tells him he’ll answer the door when the food arrives and he gives a curt nod. he unwraps the second candy and brings it to his lips. he can’t say anything he will regret with the sweet in his mouth.

he isn’t quite paying enough attention towards the show, instead he was just letting the familiar words breeze through one ear and out the other, but when she asks, he lets his gaze fix on the tv’s screen, his eyes clouded vacancy dissipating. he exhales loudly, exasperatedly before he explains. “ the woman in red — the older one — she’s angry. her daughter was betrothed to a man who would have set their lives on an upward path. ” his lip curls. “ instead, the daughter has chosen love. “ he lets out a hollow laugh. the idea of it — throwing one’s life away for something as fleeting as love ? wasteful.

it should be noted that piero has never known love beyond that of his parents for him. he has never cast longing glances towards a pretty girl or boy, he has never felt carnally towards another. when would he have had the time ? between sparring practices and learning skills of diplomacy ? it didn’t work that way. when he was around children his age, they made it clear they didn’t like him. he made them nervous. he frightened them. and he relished in that. of course, a part of him now feels the slightest bit lonely, finally in an environment unquided and unmoderated by his parents. he doesn’t know who he should resent for having those feelings.

“ i can put on subtitles if it will help you. “ it’s mocking and harsh. he doesn’t mean it. 

ten minutes passes and the food arrives. he makes silent work of opening the door and accepting the food. he hardly gives the deliverer a nod. he walks back into the living room and sets the pizza box on the table. he waits for kat to move towards it first. it’s only polite.

[evcravens]

PIERO.

he nods his head. “ i live there, in veronetta, actually — only a tiny flat.  it’s not much, but i don’t need much more than it. “ it’s not a lie, but want and desire for bigger things of lush luxe and grandeur exists within in his soul. “ i’ve taken to getting coffee and a cornetto from a little cafe below me in the mornings and really any time i’ve gotten hungry. it might not be the healthiest but it might be near the tastiest. ” he cracks a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “ i’d love to know other places you’d recommend near there. thank you. ”

at mention of burning bridges, he doesn’t quite respond. his shoulders move as if he is near to shrug but then they fall and he slouches once more. all the bridges his family once had with the capulets were long since burnt down. though piero has accepted his position seemingly with grace, he is angry and there is a fire within him roaring to burn them all to ash. they showed no remorse for his family, nor for him. when the time comes ? he doesn’t think he’ll have any problem seeing them to ruin. not even everett, not even with the kindness the man is so graciously showing him now.

“ it’s — fine. he’s — fine. i think he might think with his fists and not his head and that is taking time to get used to. ” he swallows sharply and gives a quick nod of his head. what more can he say ? he hardly knows tiberius, and the reverse is true as well. it’s sure to take time to become familiar with how the man acts and handles those beneath him. already piero is itching to do something more, to show tiberius he was worth saving and is worth a role in the capulets, but he is biding his time. he must. it’s too soon to do anything that will make an impact — he’s loathe to say it but there’s too much he doesn’t know yet. were things in his favor and that not the case, it would surely be a different story, but this is the hand he had been dealt and he is being all too careful in playing his cards. “ he’s — ” his eyes flick up to the ceiling as he thinks of the right words to use “ — he is unlike my parents. he handles things differently than they would. ” this time, he shrugs, as if there is nothing more for him to add.

“ ah — ”   his face reddens slightly. it is not embarrassment which causes the reaction, no. instead, it’s annoyance. the idea that there are things being said behind his back ? he is not so keen on it. surely, it was bound to happen, him being who he is, his family’s tragic past. but knowing of its existence is a new beast entirely. but there is no use to lie to everett, and so he nods his head, short and brief. “ perhaps it was bold of me — “ he shrugs “ —  but it needed to be done. i need to know i’m useful. ”

still, his attention has been caught by the mention of rumor, and it has found its way to sink claws into heart and brain. there’s a glint in his eye, a movement in his jaw. “ what are these rumors ? ”

It’s peculiar how Piero toes the line between teenager and adult with a strange, mismatched fashion: admitting to eating the tastiest food regardless of nutrition, while at the same time maintaining a nearly businesslike formality. For a moment, Piero reminds Everett horribly of Marcella and all her ivory etiquette. Then boy shrugs, slouches, and the resemblance is lost.

What is it like to drift unmoored to another country? No family, no home to return to, walking into the den of lions that devoured the man and woman who raised you. Everett thinks Piero must be desperate, or desperately determined. To what is the puzzle he has yet to solve. That the young Ruiz is determined to prove himself is the story circulating around Capulet circles, drawn from stories of his tenacity and travels all the way from Spain. That he’s lost, and directionless, and searching for vengeance is one Everett hasn’t completely discounted either. There are pieces of Easton he sees in Piero, seeds of hurt that might blossom into bitterness if given the chance.

“That sounds like him,” Everett agrees, amusement curling his lips. Tiberius is ever the firecracker, even when they spar together, and has more than earned his reputation as the indisputable apex fighter of the Capulets. If he weren’t, he’d be dead given how many times he acts first and thinks second.

But if there’s a faint thread of humor in Piero’s description of his promotore, it softens into something else when he mentions his parents. Everett can’t help but see a boy who’s as lost as he is searching, who’s going through a bildungsroman whose ending is still yet to be determined. He hopes, for Piero’s sake, that it will be a happy one. That in the Capulets, he’ll find a place, or that elsewhere abroad, he’ll create a new family of his own. He watches him with careful green eyes, searching for the right words to answer. “I think you’ll find there are few people like your parents.”

Everett scans Piero’s expression, peels apart each tell that sits too fresh and unguarded on the young man’s face. The set of his jaw, the flush that creeps into his cheeks, the curtness of his nod. Irritated, surely — and so Everett pivots accordingly.

“Only that you presented quite the clever plan for improving Capulet relations in Spain when you first were considered for initiation,” he says, and conveniently omits the speculation regarding Piero’s motives considering his parents’ untimely death, or the fact that Everett has personally noticed Piero’s plans for improvement are coincidentally similar to sentiments the late Ruiz couple frequently expressed.

Instead, Everett offers him a smile, keeping his curiosities to his chest. “Allora, complimenti, Piero.” Congratulations, the sort that Everett almost genuinely means. “It seems your career in the Capulets is off to a promising start.”

— EXEUNT EDGAR

[dailygossipgirl]

[katarinadvpont]

@ruizes

[ruizes]

evcravens​

I’ve been too busy learning about the Capulets.

What was Everett doing at Piero’s age? Bike rides through Veronetta, making kites with his little brother, learning to cook for the first time, playing calcio on the university quad… he can still feel it, if he closes his eyes for long enough. Sunbaked grass and loud laughter, ice skating and cioccolata calda. The autumn years of his adolescence are rose-tinged and golden in his memory, a time untouched by tragedy when he still wore innocence on his brow like a crown.

What is Piero doing, now? Mourning two dead parents, pouring his life into a war that was never his to begin with. Too young, Everett thinks, heart sinking. Too young for the mafia, for this whole life. If the mafia is a necessary evil, if Everett has begrudgingly accepted his fate as part of the monolithic institution, it doesn’t mean that he wishes such a fate on Piero, who never had a choice in the first place. He can tell, from the negative space between the boy’s words, that Piero feels the weight of his fate as well. O bere, o affogare — drink, or drown. Such is the law of Verona. Such is the law on all of them, whether the life they live was chosen or inherited.

But Piero is no Mikael, old enough that Everett can discuss the subject with all of its heavy nuance. He’s no Catia, either, with an age-old relationship that demands his honesty in every conversation. So Everett leaves behind the dour reality of the Capulets’ philosophy, offering Piero the little he can — the silver lining of the little things, so often lost in life. “Certo. There are a lot of attractions here in Città Antica… but Veronetta has all the good food. I can send you a list, if you’d like,” he says, the offer of a lunch together on his tongue. Too soon, perhaps… Instead, Everett returns his attention from Piero back to the plans scattered across the table. “What neighborhood do you live in now?”

Perhaps it weeds out those too detached from working too hard.

Everett half-smiles. “Or, it burns bridges,” he remarks dryly. Were Tiberius the capodecina working with Carmen, he’s almost positive the man would’ve shot her within the first month. He’s always been the more volatile between them, all fire and fists where Everett is levelheaded strategy. Is that what he’s been teaching his newest initiate? The art of war — not its inner workings, but the brutal passion that comes with it. “Perhaps if your sponsor decides to show you the ropes, you’ll be faced with the intricacies sooner than you think.” A beat. “How is it, Piero? Learning from Tiberius?”

He would laugh, if it were Halcyon saying the same words. The only thing I know I’m good at is survival. But from Piero’s tongue, it curdles in Everett’s ears, too raw and honest for him to find humor in it, despite the falsified, wry smile on his lips. Everett’s eyes tell a different story, lingering a heartbeat too long on the young man. “Survival, yes. And persuasion, if the rumors are to be believed. I heard you pled your case to la capobastone.”

he nods his head. “ i live there, in veronetta, actually — only a tiny flat.  it’s not much, but i don’t need much more than it. “ it’s not a lie, but want and desire for bigger things of lush luxe and grandeur exists within in his soul. “ i’ve taken to getting coffee and a cornetto from a little cafe below me in the mornings and really any time i’ve gotten hungry. it might not be the healthiest but it might be near the tastiest. ” he cracks a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “ i’d love to know other places you’d recommend near there. thank you. ”

at mention of burning bridges, he doesn’t quite respond. his shoulders move as if he is near to shrug but then they fall and he slouches once more. all the bridges his family once had with the capulets were long since burnt down. though piero has accepted his position seemingly with grace, he is angry and there is a fire within him roaring to burn them all to ash. they showed no remorse for his family, nor for him. when the time comes ? he doesn’t think he’ll have any problem seeing them to ruin. not even everett, not even with the kindness the man is so graciously showing him now.

“ it’s — fine. he’s — fine. i think he might think with his fists and not his head and that is taking time to get used to. ” he swallows sharply and gives a quick nod of his head. what more can he say ? he hardly knows tiberius, and the reverse is true as well. it’s sure to take time to become familiar with how the man acts and handles those beneath him. already piero is itching to do something more, to show tiberius he was worth saving and is worth a role in the capulets, but he is biding his time. he must. it’s too soon to do anything that will make an impact — he’s loathe to say it but there’s too much he doesn’t know yet. were things in his favor and that not the case, it would surely be a different story, but this is the hand he had been dealt and he is being all too careful in playing his cards. “ he’s — ” his eyes flick up to the ceiling as he thinks of the right words to use “ — he is unlike my parents. he handles things differently than they would. ” this time, he shrugs, as if there is nothing more for him to add.

“ ah — ”   his face reddens slightly. it is not embarrassment which causes the reaction, no. instead, it’s annoyance. the idea that there are things being said behind his back ? he is not so keen on it. surely, it was bound to happen, him being who he is, his family’s tragic past. but knowing of its existence is a new beast entirely. but there is no use to lie to everett, and so he nods his head, short and brief. “ perhaps it was bold of me — “ he shrugs “ —  but it needed to be done. i need to know i’m useful. ”

still, his attention has been caught by the mention of rumor, and it has found its way to sink claws into heart and brain. there’s a glint in his eye, a movement in his jaw. “ what are these rumors ? ”

[bpdslime-blog1]

“what motivates you?”

[redwheelbaerrow]

[ruizes]

@katarinadvpont

[ruizes]

omi​

How far removed Omi had felt from her early adolescence. Though she’d only recently ventured into her early 30s, her late teens, which she’d gathered Piero had to have been it— seemed almost millennials ago. Maybe it was having to grow up faster than most— finding themself both parentless and without any other family at the age of 18, and being catapulted into what was considered the “real world.” Maybe it was the blood that encapsulated their mind and soul, just as they’d watch it wilt the cherry blossoms at the age of 7 by their father’s hands. That, they imagine, is when the veil had begun tearing itself away from their eyes. And though they hadn’t quite understood death in that very moment— it would follow their family’s each and every footstep, until only Omi remained. You, my darling, will pay for the sins of your father, she had been told once, unexpectedly and without welcome by an elder in her neighborhood. You, curse wielder, carry death in your very blood.

Nevermind that, though. They no longer believed in curses, gods, or religion— as what else could have explained all their unanswered prayers? Omi only believed in what was tangible— what she’d touched and tasted and yearned for. Life. Lust. Power. Greed. Love. Youth. How all the other factors managed to shape youth, whether intentionally or not. Their youth had been set aflame before their very eyes, and if they’d possessed the power in order to prevent the destruction of another’s— they’d gladly employ that power. 

Had it been too late for the young stranger? Omi watched as his delicate, handsome face contorted with a flurry of emotion— amusement, annoyance, perplexion, but rage above all else. How suddenly they’d been overcome with the urge to rescue you him— knowing just as well as anyone that you cannot save someone from themself. Have you had your world stolen from you, and in exchange for your soul been granted something anew? she wanted to ask but knew that a strange boy would not be receptive to such a heavy line of questioning. So she committed herself to keep the conversation lighthearted. That when he walked out of that door, even if he was unable to leave without the burden he’d entered with, that he would at least leave with a smile and a newfound ally. Their position had afforded them such a luxury— to collect allies in high and low places.

Omi met the stranger’s self-assuredness with a quirked brow. Who did he think he was fooling? Maybe he had arrived alone, but he had not been in The Dark Lady to indulge in the pleasures it afforded Verona. She knew his response had been blunt and forthright as if to convince himself of his words above all else. “Now, koinu,” she said with a slight shake of her head, propping her elbow onto the bar with her head in her head. Rarely had Omi even thought to give someone a nickname in her native tongue, but something about his youthful fury emulated a young pup. A wolf or fox pup, perhaps. “If you truly intended on being here, then why don’t you enlighten me about your reasons for being so? If there’s anyone who could direct you to where you wanted to be, then I’m your person.”

A lighthearted chuckle escapes her. “Now, on the other hand, if you stumbled in here on accident, or even decided to come in here without a specific objective in mind and aren’t quite sure whether or not you’d like to leave yet, or even if you absolutely just cannot leave without feeding your curiosity, then I’m still your person.” She pauses for a moment, though Omi already knows the answer. “Something tells me it’s one of the latter options, though. Which would be much preferred for both of us.” She politely turns back to the bartender and orders herself a whiskey, before turning back to her mixed up companion. 

“Six, sixteen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty— however old you are, and I imagine you’re no older than twenty, but feel free to tell me otherwise— you’re still way younger than me. But—” she begins with a sigh, giving him an appraising once over, “—I suppose that you do look old enough for a proper drink. Not too many, though. But before I officially extend my offer— you aren’t driving, are you? And if you’re walking, at least let me call you a cab home. Now sit.” She officially greets him with a long overdue nod. “I’m Omi, by the way.”

the dark lady exists as it did around them, thrumming and vibrating with life and lust and vibrancy. piero and omi, instead, are trapped in a subliminal point of being, lost in the moment, encompassed by both their bright curiosities. he wants to walk away, but he fears that the experience of being there will be marred knowing that people see him and can instantly point out that he doesn’t belong. an older version of piero would scoff at the idea of not standing out, but the one that exists now wants to exist under the consciousness of all. he needs to be invisible until it comes time to show the merit and worth he has.

his chin juts up and he gives her a sharp nod. “ it was just idle curiosity about — ” he looks around, the glow of the lights reflecting off of his eyes, “ — this place. “ it’s true, but he keeps it brief. he’s not a fan of talking, especially not with strangers, but he thinks that won’t be a problem. the person in front of him seems the sort to chatter and prattle on. hopefully she will lead the conversation and he can do little more than smile and nod. his eyes narrow, though. “ how do you mean ? you’re my person ? ”

he thinks it likely that he will never see them again once he steps over the threshold to leave. there is nothing here that brings a siren’s call to his ears. other places in verona, however, catch his fancy. he finds himself caught by the cathedral, the lair of the capulets, where they all lurk and learn. he thinks he’ll be there more often than not, if only to learn by passive observation. it would be easy to simply stay at the small flat he calls home, to do nothing else and go nowhere until he is called upon by tiberius, but he has never done well being idle. 

piero wants to say how old he is but he bites it back. he can only think that it will come back to bite him were he to admit the grip youth still had on the scruff of his neck. “ i’m old enough that  i can hold my liquor, be assured, “ he says. some of his anger has tamped down, he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep it at bay. “ and i walked here and was planning to walk home later. “ he takes her suggestion and sits down. he folds his arms across his chest, his gaze still fixed on her.

“ piero ruiz. “  it’s a brief introduction.

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: You’re allowed to feel whatever emotion you want to feel. [ Perhaps it’s not that he doesn’t feel much of anything. Maybe he feels too much and the overwhelming weight of it is beginning to crush him. Does it stretch into nothingness? Does it bubble and fizz like an antiseptic when it comes in contact with an open wound? ] You aren’t angry all the time? You’ve been angry every single time we’ve spoken. [ She knows what he’s going to say before he says it. That she’s the reason for his anger, that she’s the reason why he turns red with rage. She finds that to be a lousy excuse. ]

Heloise: [ Heloise hesitates. There are plenty of words to use to describe Piero, that isn’t the issue, but her choice of words aren’t exactly kind. ] I’ll tell you what I think, but you can’t get upset. My words aren’t unwarranted. You asked. [ She sighs. ] I think it would be impossible for you to wake up, look in the mirror, and admit that you’re no different from anyone else on this Earth. [ She’s whispering now, but she doubts it’ll lessen the blow. ] You...you think you’re special. I don’t doubt that, and it wouldn’t be an issue if it didn’t come with your huge ego. [ She wrinkles the button of her nose and waits for the thunder of his words to cut her deep. ]

Heloise: You just said Verona doesn’t compare to Spain. [ It’s a shame. He can’t even keep up with his own lies. ] It sounds like you miss it to me. [ His words are sharp like a knife and dread weaves itself through her veins. It seems as though a simple act of kindness is the equivalent to a dagger to the heart with him. She should’ve known. ] I’ve done nothing wrong. [ Heloise flies into a fit of frustration as she abandons the couch, her heart echoing in her ears. ] I don’t see how you’re able to list off the horrible things that have happened to you, and include me in that list. If I’ve done something to upset you, then I apologize, but it seems to me like you’re the one with the problem. [ She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth. She hardly recognizes her own voice. She shouldn’t have said anything. ]

Heloise: [ Tears fill her eyes, and she’s grateful he cannot see her. Heloise has never been one to shy away from her own emotions, but she doesn’t have it in her to be ridiculed for them. Not right now. ] My sister’s here. [ A beat. ] I’ll go wherever she decides to go. [ Would he be able to get a decent read on her if he learned to sit and observe? Does he know anything about her besides her first name? She’s an open book, but they aren’t talking about her right now. ] Of course there is. I just have to find it. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but I’ll find my purpose someday. [ She rubs at her eyes and clears her throat. Heloise hopes he cannot detect tears over the phone. ] So will you.

Piero: [ He agrees with that. ] Maybe I like feeling angry. [ Really, most times, he tries to feel nothing. He tries to numb himself in the most important of situations so that he doesn't feel the hurt of disappointment or the thrill of glee. They are the most overwhelming. They can suck him in without a second thought, pulling him underneath the waves so quickly that he doesn't realize he's drowning until he's already greeted death. And so, feeling nothing is easier. Apathy is a mask he wears well. But in moments that don't matter, like when he is with Katarina at her Palazzo, drinking Red Bull and eating the dinner she made, like when he is around Heloise, wishing for idle distraction, he lets himself feel every spark of emotion. He lets them control him, claws on his heart and claws on his brain. ] Perhaps you're unlucky and only catch me on my bad days. [ What would she think of his numb facade ? Would she be scared of the man he presents himself then because she's seen his real volatility ? Would she pity him further ? He swallows the thought and the lump in his throat.]

Piero: [ He doesn't want to hear it but he asked — he asked and now he has to hear. He's brought it upon himself. ] You don't get to tell me what I can and cannot feel. [ He sounds chiding. They both know he will be upset, no matter how much she speaks her words into threads of sugar and lace ; pretty still cuts. ] ... [ Her words sting. They are salt and acid under swathes of sweetness. ] I think you're wrong. [ He doesn't just think it. He will prove it. Maybe not today, and not tomorrow either, but eventually he will show everyone just exactly who Piero Ruiz is. They will shake at the sound of his name. They will regret underestimating him. Perhaps she won't be one of those people. Perhaps she will have forgotten him by then, caught up in whatever pretty fancy her aged self has captured. ] I know you're wrong.

Piero: [ When he speaks again, it's come to a stalemate. She's pointed out a flaw, but he refuses to concede victory. And so he is petulant and moody, it should come as no surprise to her. ] Whatever — whatever. Spain, Verona, here and there. Whatever. They are whatever. [ Not true. She pays attention, it seems. His saying it's whatever is confusing all that he's said prior. He doesn't want her to be sure of anything about him. He doesn't want anyone to be sure of anything about him. Why should they be ? They see him as nothing anyway. If they stick with that, it will be more satisfying when he comes into his whole self. ]

Piero: [ Has he been unfair to her ? Maybe. But the world has dealt him unfair hand after unfair hand. Why should he show grace when it hasn't been leant to him ? He begins to rub at his eyes. This conversation is exhausting. She is exhausting. He wonders if anyone sees her in the same way he does. ] I devour tender things. Perhaps you should see my cruelty as a warning sign to stay away. [ He is shifting blame to himself — how surprising. It's a rarity but it happens. He thinks that she is not likely to listen to him here. If that is the case, she is to blame for any harshness he's to show to her henceforth. He doesn't address her mention of his problems. He has too many to count. He pretends they don't exist most of the time. He swallows thought and feeling over and over. If he doesn't acknowledge them, they do not exist — he believes that, so surely it must be how it is. ]

Piero: Must be nice to still have family. [ Can she hear his jealousy ? His voice is light, but he is shaking in his seat. He wonders if she can feel his jealousy from however far away in Verona she is. This is too much. Her and this conversation, he is facing emotions he has repressed. It is too much. This is too much. ] I hope we do. [ It might be the gentlest thing he's said so far. It seems genuine, but from him, it sounds wrong. Is she doing this to him ? Softening him with staunch observation and pointed truths ? Hang up, hang up, hang up. He doesn't press ' end call '. He wonders how long they can sit in silence for. ]

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: [ He knows little of compassion, it’s obvious from the way he spits words of venom, every syllable destined to pierce the red of her heart. She stands there, her cheeks a furious shade of pink, and bites back. ] Those who have others to lean on don’t lash out the way you do. [ Her words are unkind, but they’re true. He stung her with his words, so she stings him back. She shouldn’t—it’s childish, impolite, but she cannot help herself. It’s obvious he can’t either. ] I don’t need you to confide in me, but you should confide in someone. It’ll help, Piero. You won’t be so angry all the time.

Heloise: I think I already do. [ She doesn’t say this to frustrate him, though she’s certain it will. She suspects that they’re both right in their own way. He has turned his heart to stone, so much so that no one dares to chip away at it, but she won’t rest until he unravels the tangled web of horrors that hold his heart captive. Selfishly, he’ll have her to thank. ] I didn’t realize I was wasting your time. You weren’t doing anything before I called, were you? [ She knows the truth, even if he does decide to deny the fact. ] You can hang up if you’d like. I won’t be upset.

Heloise: Maybe I’ll go someday. [ Prior to her arrival in Verona, she hadn’t been outside of St. Petersburg. Money had always been an issue, but even so, she doubts her mother would’ve allowed it. That’s one thing she’s grown to cherish and fear—her newfound freedom. ] You aren’t alone though, are you? Like you said before, maybe the list of people you choose to confide in just doesn’t include me. [ Profound gestures and tender words of encouragement are her strong suit, but she’s beginning to struggle. For once, words fail her. ] It’s okay to miss home. I do. [ She falters. Heloise wonders if he will regret this in the morning. She knows she will, but for a different reason. She won’t get another chance like this, and she’s ruining it with her inconsequential mumbling. ] Is the grass greener, at least? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

Heloise: [ She rolls onto her back and observes the cracks in the ceiling, ignoring the dull throbbing of her shoulder. ] At least you can go back. There’s nothing left for me in St. Petersburg anymore. [ She’s extending an olive branch, attempting to make him feel less alone. Heloise isn’t entirely sure if it’s working. ]

Piero: [ He takes a long breath. ] I don't need anyone to lean on when I can stand firmly on my own. [ It doesn't occur to him but he needs his parents. It's true and with them he would be a thousand times better. Perhaps he would be just as conceited, just as passionate. But he would listen and learn without a chip on his shoulder. He would not be so angry and rash. ] I am not angry all of the time, I assure you — but tell me, Heloise, do I not have the right to be so ? [ He doesn't know what she knows of him and his past. If it's nothing, he won't tell her the sordid details. She can learn on her own. And if she knows what happened to him ? He'll shake off the pity. ]

Piero: Tell me what you know of me and I'll tell you whether you're right or wrong. [ He assumes she will simplify his basic desires, turning him into a creature soft and needy. When she does, he will deny. He thinks he'll deny everything she says of him, if only to spite her by saying she is incorrect. ] Knowledge of you alone wastes my time. [ He refuses to admit he was doing nothing. ] I think you're lying. You would be upset. [ He hasn't hung up, though. What does that say ? ]

Piero: [ He hums a noise of acknowledgement when she says she may go. He doesn't care. But his heart does a flip. Spain is his — it was his — and his once-home makes him feel some sort of way. He thinks of another version of him, one that slipped into obscurity, nothing but pennies in pockets, content with nothingness and still at home. It isn't him and never will be, but it's curious to think about. ] I don't miss it. [ It's more a lie than anything else he's said. It's a lie and it cuts him deep to say it. He misses Spain, he misses the life he once lived, and he misses the person he once was. He misses the idea of the man he could be were his parents still alive. A surge of anger rushes through him and he grits his teeth. ] Were things how I wanted, I would have never come to Verona. I would have never been a part of the Capulets — I never would have met you. To say this is what I wanted ? [ He scoffs at the ridiculousness of it — he wants to mock her simple idiocy. Instead, his voice softens, hardly more than a whisper. He won't repeat himself if she asks. ] Never.

Piero: [ It's strange. He feels the urge to apologize to her, to say he's sorry for the turn of fortune that disallows her from returning home. But what would that suggest ? That he cares ? That they are more than casual acquaintances ? It would be cruel for him to do that, just nearly as cruel as blowing her off is — ] What's here for you in Verona ? [ Does he care ? He doesn't think so. But he's curious, and perhaps that's the greater sin. He walks over to the only chair in his flat and he sits. He puts the phone call on speaker and sets it down. He rests his forehead on the table. ] Is there anything for you anywhere ? [ He's struggling to think if he knows anything about her, more than her name and of her girlishness and all annoying quirks. Perhaps in his distance, he's forgotten to learn, something that is important even if he does not care. ]

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: I think that’s the issue, don’t you? You keep everything bottled up because you have no-one to confide in. It’s quite sad when you think about it. [ Her words are sickly-sweet and they flow like poisoned honey. He speaks of parting ways with his phone and a crease forms between her brows. Who will he weep to in the midst of his loneliness? Who will he prattle to about the sorrows of his heart? She almost laughs. ] If you say so.

Heloise: I enjoy getting to know people, that’s all. It’s not you that excites me. Not particularly. [ He’s deflecting now. Heloise has peeled off the band-aid and Piero’s pouting in the corner as he tends to his wounds. She’s right. They both know it. ] I already know how to knit and this place is drowning in roses. Any other ideas? [ This time, she gifts him with a laugh, and it bubbles forth like the froth of champagne. He frustrates her incredibly, but there’s no place in her heart for hate. She’s not him. ]

Heloise: [ She’s rendered speechless. It doesn’t happen often, and in this case, she’s afraid to say the wrong thing. If she says something out of line, if she slips, he’ll secure himself in his little cocoon and deny her access. ] I’ve never been. To Spain, I mean. [ She slides across the wooden floor, her heart descending, eager to cling on to this moment before it passes. ] I understand. When I first arrived in Verona, I thought it was temporary. A home away from home. [ Heloise squeezes her eyes shut. ] It seems as though I’ll be here a little while.

Heloise: [ She treads lightly. ] Do you think you’ll ever go back? Will you visit?

Piero: [ Is she right ? He has to wonder when confronted so directly. He wants to say no, and it would be so easy to do so, refusing to accept or think such a thing with deflections. ] How do you know I don't have anyone ? [ He thinks of Katarina. Maeve flits into mind. ] Have you considered that maybe the list of those I would confide in just doesn't include you ?

Piero: [ His hand is resting on his face, covering his eyes. What does he wish to not see ? The earnest expression she's sure to be wearing, conjured by his imagination as a torment ? Or is it his own vulnerability ? He refuses to consider it being the latter. ] You will never know me. [ It stands that the person closest to knowing him is Katarina, and even then, she is being kept at an arm's' length away. Fears that he refuses to think about include someone knowing the marrow of his bones, being able to expose it and bring him to his knees with the basic truths of himself. If he starts to dwell on them, it will come to his realization that he fears many things. It's unacceptable, and so he does not conjure them to mind. In doing so, they do not exist. It's as simple as that. ] Maybe you could waste someone else's time. You're already good at it, just choose a new victim.

Piero: [ Her silence doesn't bring him the comfort he thought it would. He expected to feel some sort of glee at rendering her mute. Instead, he feels like he has presented her his heart on a plate, peeled layer by layer, completely exposed. ] You're missing out. [ His chest aches. It's an unfamiliar feeling — no, it's instead one he's refused to acquaint himself with. Grief is no friend to Piero. He thinks he should hang up. He stays on the line. ] I knew Verona would be home [ — the word comes out in a stutter. It is not home and it never will be, but there is nothing else fitting to call it — ] for some time. It would have been remiss of me to consider it only a stepping stone.

Piero: [ It takes a long time for him to answer. When the words finally reach her, there is a sense of finality to them. ] When I go back, I will never leave again.

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: That isn’t true. You type all the time. You’ve practically become one with your home screen. [ She’s almost positive that’s the reason for his lack of manners. Frustration rises like a wave in the deepest pit of her stomach and it crashes along the shore. ] Is that really how you want to spend the rest of your life? Staring at a screen?

Heloise: [ He sounds so sure of himself, that much is true, but it sounds practiced, rehearsed, almost as if he had looked into a mirror, recited the words over and over, desperate to convince himself. ] If you say so. I think you have a lot of feelings that you haven’t dealt with, so you use your arrogance as a shield. You know, so no-one ever questions you about it. [ His heart rests upon a sheet of ice, frozen and beaten black and blue. How long will it take to thaw? ]

Heloise: No, of course not. It was polite of you to ask though. At least you didn’t hang up on me this time. [ He says he forgives her. She doesn’t believe him. He’s tangled in a web of uncertainty, it’s clear from the way he speaks, and she doesn’t fault him for this. She has bruised his ego and it matches the contusion that marked the flesh of his eye. Heloise wonders which of two has caused him more pain. ] I’ll drop it then. No more apologies. No more gifts.

Heloise: [ Silence pierces the room as he speaks and her heart shatters into a thousand pieces. She shouldn’t have said it, but she struggles to maintain civility when it comes to Piero. Still, the familiar prickle comes, and there’s nothing she can do but apologize. Again. ] I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. [ A beat. ] Do you miss it? Home?

Piero: You know nothing about me, Heloise. You wish you did and you think you do, but really, you know nothing more than I've let you. [ It's true. No one knows the true depth of his ambition, how he sees himself becoming in ten years, then twenty. He will twist himself into something masterful, something no one will ever see coming — he will laugh in their faces when they realize they need bow to him. ] The screen is just an idle escape for me. It always has been and always will be, but I could give it up easily, I assure you. [ He huffs again. ]

Piero: [ He is quiet for a long time. He doesn't like being analysed like this. Heloise isn't here with him now, but he feels like she's peeling off layer and layer of his skin, looking at how his muscles move and how his heart beats. ] Do you spend a lot of time thinking about me ? Is that what makes you happy ? Psychoanalyzing a stranger only to tell him all of your thoughts ? I'm going to suggest you get a hobby. Maybe knit or learn how to make a flower bouquet.

Piero: I'll thank god for that small mercy. [ He rolls his eyes but he is grateful. The sooner she stops apologizing, the sooner he can forget about his black eye, the sooner he can pretend it never happened to begin with. Can he avoid her in Verona forever so that he'll never be reminded ? He's sure sympathy will leak into her expression the next time they meet, no questioning what for — to avoid her forever is surely the best option. ]

Piero: [ He knows what he said and he knows what it's done. If she didn't pity him before — and of course, she must have, and he loathes the very idea of it — she must now. He lets the buzz of the phone call hang between them for a long time. ] Of course, I do. I miss the home I grew up in, all of the streets I roamed before I knew what freedoms the world had to offer me. Italy is fine, claro, but it's no Spain. It will never be my home, no matter how much time passes and the world tries to wear me down. [ It seems like this is the first time he has been open with her. The thought makes him gag. ]

[ruizes]

KATARINA

Anger is easy, some people say. But, is it? Is it easy, when it is your truest nature? When it neither ebbs nor flows, but remains constant: just at the tip of one’s tongue, flinty glare but a blink away? Is anger easy when it takes all of your energy and is tied to your very soul? She’s always been like this, ever since she’d been a young girl. And, even though anger is what keeps her heart beating, is what forces the air into her lungs— even if she’s embraced her anger for lack of love, for fear of emptiness, Katarina would never say that anger is easy. It takes everything to make sure there isn’t emptiness beyond the anger, after all, and she’s been ruined by snippets of love and acceptance along the way. 

“It’s not as though I don’t already put my life on the line every day,” She immediately snaps, throwing her coat over the back of her couch before she fixes her icy gaze on him once more, hands tightly curled around the ornate wood carving that glints warmly in the day’s golden hour. His mocking tone immediately reminds her that though she tries to treat him like an adult, tries to treat him the way she does Mikael, or Everett, or Bernadette when she’s meant to take her little sister seriously, he’s a teenager— and there are times when even the brightest nineteen year old is simply just a nineteen year old. 

With a rough exhale, Katarina makes an attempt to rein herself in, even if only by a small degree. She wouldn’t be acting this way towards Lillian, would she? What about Delphine? Delphine knew how to drive— “If you’d prefer a different teacher, then that’s your decision. I could ask Everett if he has time,” Stepping back from her place behind the couch, her tone is significantly lighter, but there’s still that edge— “The sooner you learn to drive, Piero, the better off you are.. But what you might not learn from someone else is the best way to hotwire a vehicle.” She picks up the remote of her television to toss it at him. “Pick something, I’ll order food.” Translation: you have approximately five minutes to get yourself together before telling me what’s bothering you.

menzionato: @evcravens​

he has nothing to say to that comment because she shut him down so easily. what is there to reply with ? he knows for sake of their own lives, everything they do bears risk breathing heavy onto their necks. it’s the price of being a capulet ; it is the price of living in verona. but he does respect katarina, that is undeniable. he may not say it, he may hardly ever show it, but at his very core, he knows that he envies her poise and control. she is strength incarnate and he admires her fully.

piero catches the remote and points it at the television in the same motion. he begins to flip through the channels without saying another word to kat. she’s annoyed, so is he. perhaps silence is best for them right now — at least until some other feeling or thought catches both of their attention, twisting their mind and psyche into some semblance of peace or at least idle distraction. he stops the television on a spanish broadcast. it’s some soap opera, nothing he would ever care about in a thousand years, but he finds a comfort in familiar words, the cadence of spanish soothing.

“ order pizza. ” it’s not a question. it’s a demand he’s in no place to be giving.

something is simmering within him. it is not only rage, what he thinks composes every fiber of his being now often. there is a sick sense of grief that has been bubbling up within him for the last few days, perhaps even longer. he hasn’t realized it, no — he has swallowed his emotions for so long that anything that isn’t pride or anger or some mixture of the two doesn’t register. to admit he feels sad ? it’s impossible. he won’t admit it ( — it’s childish, but when has piero been anything but ? )

he might combust sooner or later. sooner, surely.

a few moments pass. “ are you going to be pissy for the rest of your life ? ” he could have asked more tactfully. he shouldn’t have asked at all.

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: You don’t like it? [ She didn’t expect his praise, but her heart still weeps, a cloud of thoughts plaguing her mind. His lack of enthusiasm is a bit disheartening. Heloise sighs, shattering the silence. ] That’s okay. I’m not upset. [ She presses her forehead against the wall as she tightens her grip on her phone. ] How could I be upset with someone who doesn’t even know what they adore and what they detest? You hardly know yourself. I was the same way when I was nineteen. [ Her tongue loosens and delicate words are getting harder to maintain. Why does he have to make things so difficult? Why can’t he just accept her gift and say thank you? Where are his manners? ]

Heloise: Yes, it did happen, but I would take it back if I could. [ She feels awful, truly, but in this moment, she thinks that unintentionally introducing her fist to his face has done Piero some good. Perhaps he’s afraid that Heloise will tell everyone he received a black eye from a girl. Perhaps he’s afraid that Heloise will tell everyone that she happened to be that girl. She’s sure that Piero fears the latter more. ] Would you like me to stop apologizing? I will if that’s what you want. As long as you say you forgive me, I’ll drop it.

Heloise: I thought it was a very good gift. [ If Heloise happens to be the equivalent of a swarm of buzzing gnats, then Piero’s the equivalent of a honeybee, with their vicious stingers and unprovoked attacks. ] Well, I hope you aren’t thinking of tossing it. If you need somewhere to put it, why not find a space for it on your desk? You do own a desk, don’t you? [ She’s teasing now, but she’s certain that he won’t find it funny. ]

Piero: [ He hears the change in her voice: a softer man would have felt something because of it, but not him. ] I don't have use for it. It's 2019, like the rest of the world, I have a laptop. [ A part of him, however, has begun to wonder what he could use a typewriter for it. His mother would have adored it. She was a cold, hard woman, but she held love for beautiful things. She would surely have typed up letters to his father were she alive now, as in love with him as much as they'd been in the earliest flame of their relationship. ]

Piero: [ He exhales sharply, the sound of his breath loud into his phone. ] I know myself. If there's one thing I'm sure of, I know myself. [ He says it with a surety that cannot quite be understood over a phone call, not without seeing his expression. His chin has raised up, he's folded one arm across his chest. For once, surprisingly, he doesn't seem petulant. So often, he slips into childish antics that cause him to seem small and more youthful than he is. This time, though, it's not the case. It's because of her he's beginning to wonder what people see of him. For so long, he's pretended to not care, and that was enough to ignore sidewards glances and pointed words. She's caused him to begin to wonder. He doesn't like it. ]

Piero: If I say I forgive you, can I hang up without you calling me back immediately ? [ He waits for an answer but — ] I'm not stupid enough to think you wouldn't. But fine, I forgive you. It's fine. [ Fine is long and drawn out, suddenly too long of a brief word. ] I'm not mad and it's water under the bridge. Completely and utterly forgotten — está bien. [ It's not. He's too proud. It's a character flaw. He isn't working on it, though. ]

Piero: [ He glances around his apartment. There's a bed, a table and a chair, then his things lying about wherever he tossed them to fall. He understands that she's joking but he sees opportunity to make her feel bad and he cannot let it slip away — ] I had a desk back at my home in Spain. Left it with the rest of my things when I fled for my life. [ His voice is cold and his words hang in the air. They leave a mark on him but he'll never show another soul when he's begun to bleed. ]

[ruizes]

📞 phone call  / heloise ⇆ piero

Heloise: [ Her patience begins to thin as she drags her feet across the floorboard, a sea of questions lingering on her tongue with burning anticipation. Piero sends her to voicemail twice. This does nothing but intensify Heloise’s unbridled curiosity, and she wonders how he could be so foolish. He didn’t truly expect her to yield, did he? She’s persistent, he knows this, but it had been obvious since their first encounter that Piero wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Heloise tries to find it endearing. She fails. ]

Heloise: Did you get it? [ A beat. ] I hope you like it. I know I’m a few weeks late, but there’s been a lot going on. I’ve apologized incessantly, I know, but I truly am sorry, Piero. [ Her words ring with sincerity. It would be difficult for him to doubt her. She means it. Every word. ]

Heloise: Do you know what a typewriter is? [ She sounds a bit patronizing and she hopes he doesn’t take offense, but it’s hardly her fault that he can’t concentrate without a screen pressed against his nose. In truth, she thinks the typewriter will be good for him. It’s clear that he’s fond of typing, and with a little bit of practice, Heloise suspects Piero will be able to spell "ambidextrous" without the help of auto-correct. ] They’re not common, not anymore, but wouldn’t it be amazing to find a place for your unspoken desires? To listen to the words that stain your heart and put them down on paper?

Piero: [ He wonders what about her makes her so gnat-like, buzzing in the ears of all who do not wish to hear, always able to avoid the blows that would cure their suffering. Heloise calls once, then twice, and he only answers the third time so she doesn't end up calling him a fourth — ] What ? [ His voice is harsh, the word somehow both clipped and drawn out with his annoyance. ]

Piero: [ His eyes flicker over to the box that he'd left on the ground by his front door. He had opened the package, interest mildly peaked, but once he saw what was inside he realized there was nothing for him to care for. A typewriter. Where were they ? The 1880s ? ] I didn't get anything from you. [ It's a lie — he's sure they both can tell. It's not serious enough to tell the truth about, or to lie well for. It should be noted too that he doesn't care, and so the words drop like lead in water. ] I got it.

Piero: [ A choked noise escapes his throat, a protest and objection towards her question. Of course he knows what a typewriter is. Maybe some would find it surprising, but he can even type, too. ] My unspoken desires, as you put it, will fortunately remain just that — unspoken. Whether you're sorry or not, I really don't care, Heloise. It happened. It's over. Now I need to find something to do with this glorified paperweight that's taking up space in my flat.

[stlapin]

OF MOTHERS AND MONSTERS ft. @ruizes —LE 12 MAI (LA FÊTE DES MÈRES) À 15:00, KATARINA’S PALAZZO

Tragedy is not always fair when it strikes. It does, however, make good on its promise to always choose its victims blindly, though those lucky enough to be spared will never know how close its pointer falls on the wheel of misfortune; instead, they take comfort in the knowledge that they are safe, and then they convince themselves that they were never once at risk to begin with.

Such is the inevitable security of retrospection, and it is for these reasons that Bunny so easily mounts the steps to Katarina’s palazzo in a white smock dress with puff sleeves, seemingly unperturbed by the ghosts that have since taken up residence in her home. Today isn’t a designated day for sisters, after all—not that Katarina would warrant any form of gratitude, even if it were—and there are better places to go and more exciting things to do, not to mention far more important people to see. So she knocks impatiently, only for the door to swing open as soon as her hand reaches it.

The person standing in front of her is decidedly not Katarina. After a beat, Bunny blinks up at him through her lashes. “Looks like Kitty really has let herself go these days,” she says sweetly, her words far too sly to be innocent. “We don’t usually let the help work out of uniform, Pietro.” She’d made it clear to Cyrus that she had little patience for such petty grievances; if she wanted to be bored to sleep, she could do so well enough without him. At such a vantage point, however, she would be remiss if she didn’t take a closer look, and so she smiles at the boy who has somehow earned both Cyrus’s ire and Tiberius’s guidance. Neither feat is insignificant, but as she searches his face, her interest wanes. Even a disgraced soldier’s assistant still trumps an initiate, do they not?

Personally, she doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. Bunny slips gracefully past him into the interior of the palazzo, her cotton sleeve just barely grazing his arm. None of it explains what Piero is doing here. She collapses onto the nearest divan and props herself up against its upholstered headboard, chin overtop the back of her hands, looking for all purposes like a delicately crumpled calla lily. Katarina herself is nowhere to be found.

“I don’t suppose you know where she’s gone?” Bunny glances at him over her shoulder. “I said I’d be home for dinner.” Some people willfully forget their mothers; as the Du Ponts’ darling, dutiful daughter, she most certainly does not. “You understand,” she sighs. The Ruizes have become something of a cautionary tale, and yet she toes the line between accidental thoughtlessness and deliberate impertinence all the same, ever the perfect funambulist. “Don’t you?”

[ruizes]

it’s easier to spend time at katarina’s home than his own little flat. perhaps it’s because it is not his tiny apartment — it’s grand and familiar, something akin to his family’s once-home in spain. he tells himself he doesn’t miss it. he tells himself that there’s little else bringing him to katarina’s than distraction — but he is demeaning the woman and her worth to him in doing so. somehow, somewhere between a blink and a breath, she has become important to him. he doesn’t want to believe it. he doesn’t think he’ll ever admit it. but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. somehow, someway, kat and her cars and her cats have gripped a string of his heart, winding their way into importance.

he still scoffs and is rude and is more childish than he needs be. it’s better that she doesn’t know.

there’s a knock on the door and he looks around briefly. no one besides him is there but it’s still instinctual to check. he’s half-tempted not to answer. if it’s katarina with full hands, that’s her problem and not his — but if it isn’t ? curiosity has never settled well with piero — it’s a little too dreamy, a little too ... tempestuous — but he stands and is quick to go answer it.

seeing who it is, he doesn’t bother to conceal the roll of his eyes. bunny du pont. of all the people he could have thought to expect, somehow he didn’t think of her. he’s disappointed. of the two du pont women, his favorite is the elder, obviously. most of the time, he doesn’t quite have care for bunny. but that’s fine: he tells himself he cares for no one else, after all.

the annoyance written across his features drops to a bland expression at her remark. it cuts deep, but he won’t let it show. so to combat that, he feels nothing, he shows nothing. he doesn’t bother to comment ( but ideas of what he could say flit through his mind — he’s allowed here, more importantly usually earnestly welcomed. the idea of copping a blow towards cyrus is appealing — could the pair of them function without the other ? ). instead, he swallows, his lips pursing. “ good afternoon, bunny. “

he stands by the door as she walks in and he considers briefly just walking out and shutting the door behind him. it would be no skin off his back to do so. it’d probably save him some exasperation. instead, he closes the door and turns round on his heels. he walks back to where he previously lay and he’s annoyed to see she’s taken his previous seat. he says nothing, and takes seat in an armchair. he looks around. maybe katarina’s cat will come to eat the younger du pont. it’s a pointless thought — he would never be so lucky.

there’s nowhere to look but at bunny, so he stares at her with deadened eyes. he doesn’t like her. she doesn’t like him. in another life, perhaps he’d hold some admirance towards her. in this one, though ? he isn’t fond of her. he could absolutely not care less. she’s annoying. strike one. she’s arrogant. strike two. she’s a friend of cyrus’. strike three. the list of things he doesn’t care for about her could go on. he doesn’t want to waste his time or energy in giving thought towards her.

the idea of sitting with her, saying nothing, while waiting for kat to come back and bring him some reprieve is agonizing. talking to her ? also agonizing. it’s a lose-lose situation.

when she speaks, he resists the urge to sigh. but he does respond. whether or not he seems interested ? it leans towards not. “ i don’t keep tabs on kat. “ piero gives a little shrug of his shoulders. “ sometimes i’m here and so is she. sometimes we’re both here. sometimes neither of us are. ” he’s struck briefly by how often he is there compared to how often he isn’t. “ maybe text her and ask. she usually answers me quickly. ”

her next comment — the meaning slips by him briefly, and then it stings like a slap to the face. it’s mother’s day. he hadn’t realized. barely, his spine straightens, and the corners of his mouth tug downwards. it’s getting closer and closer towards his parents having been dead a year. how has it not even been a year ? in an avalanche, somehow he’s overwhelmed by thoughts he had done his best to suppress. for a second, he’s gripped by grief he refuses to address. his widened eyes glance around frantically, but when they land on bunny once more, they still. he takes a breath, he shrugs again. “ perhaps once, what’s there to understand now ? i have no one to please anymore, none but the capulets. thinking of them versus my parents ? díos mio. incomparable. ”

he locks eyes with her and stares. it’s a challenge. it’s a warning. don’t press those buttons. but he cannot let her have the last word and so he’s carelessly flippant. “ having dead parents just means there’s a needless weight off my back. perhaps one day you’ll get it. ”

[ruizes]

heloisem​:

Heloise only looks at him and swallows back words that rest upon the tip of her tongue. She falters as it is unkind to scold those who offer their assistance, even if they are reluctant to do so. There’s no denying that Heloise does foolish things, but she’s not brainless. She sees through him like a sheet of ice, transparent and glass-like, almost delicate. No, she won’t scold him today, but perhaps when they see each other again, Heloise will do him the honor of introducing him to himself. “I don’t want to fight,” she reminds him and makes a mental note: he isn’t the best listener. Heloise tucks this information away and decides to deal with his faults another day. But then his expression falters and she’s a familiar look in his eye– “You’re resentful.”

It isn’t a question. Heloise leaves it at that, but a multitude of questions cling to the roof of her mouth. She decides to save them for later. Chin up, head back, posture pristine, she’s eager for the transformation to take place. It will be magnificent, won’t it? She can see it now, no longer a sluggish caterpillar, but a blossoming butterfly, one so delicate and graceful that everyone that surrounds her stops to take a peek. She’s filled with joy, it’s warm and sweet, like honey that sticks and you can’t wash away. She will impress Tiberius, and he will no longer treat her like a vapid, little creature who struggles to comprehend the words that leave his mouth. “I am optimistic, more optimistic than most, actually. I’ve been told it can be quite annoying.”

Her finger twitches and Heloise forces a smile. Piero has insulted her many times today, but he decides to lecture her on optimism? It’s become quite apparent that he isn’t her cup of tea, but she refuses to turn her back to him. If he keeps the insults to a minimum, Heloise thinks she’ll even put in a good word for him with Tiberius. It appears as though he enjoys her company far more than Piero’s, which strikes her as odd, but she decides not to question it.

At last, he begins to demonstrate and Heloise watches him with a birds-eye. She begins to reconsider as she observes his stance. What if she gets dirt on her dress? What if she stumbles forward and scrapes her knee? Will Piero lend a helping hand and whisper words of sympathy, or will he snicker in her face and leave her high and dry? Her expression dulls as she looks into his eyes. In her heart of hearts, she knows it’s the latter, and she doesn’t wish to make a fool of herself, but she realizes that Piero has already done that. Perhaps it’ll make him feel as though they’re on even ground if she slips up as well. Heloise mimics his stance, tucks her chin and wavers from side to side. In truth, she knows little about bobbing and weaving, but she’s witnessed such movements from Tomas Sabello in an action film, so she decides to go with it.

Piero pays her no mind. It’s clear he’s having a difficult time taking her seriously, and she doesn’t fault him for it, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t have a courteous bone in his body.

She teeters on the balls of her feet and strikes–perhaps with more force than expected–and the swift collision of Heloise’s fist against the tender flesh of Piero’s eye causes her own to widen. The dull thwack echoes in her ears, and although the weight behind her jab severely lacks (by Tiberius’ standards, anyway), she thinks it’s not a bad start, but soon after, she notices tenderness around the knuckles. “Ouch! Piero, this feels wrong. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Heloise focuses her gaze on her own hand and cradles it as if it was built from glass.    

mentioned: @tomassabello· & @tcapulets·

“ sometimes you have no choice but to do so. ” perhaps piero is thinking of himself. there was a time where he considered running, fleeing from responsibility and the life he’d been born to — fate gave him no choice, dragging him back into the midst of the mob and his parents’ world, cement blocks on his feet keeping him there. “ sometimes what you doesn’t matter. ” he could never admitted but he wanted his parents. he missed the comfort they had provided him. it’s selfish and childish and — he hardly ever gives chance for intrusive thoughts of wishes and wants to cross his mind. somehow, being in the presence of heloise has allowed his normal stoicism to weaken.

he narrows his eyes as he looks at her before he shakes off the expression, a look somewhat close to relaxed replacing it. he doesn’t like being read by others, but it is no hard thing, not really, not when his face is a page and emotions stain themselves across his features like spilt ink. “ i have a lot to resent. ” he says it carelessly, flippant, tossing the phrase as if it has no weight. he wishes it didn’t. he’ll pretend and he’ll pretend otherwise — and god help him if this girl gets under his skin enough to cause him to crack.

“ that doesn’t surprise me. ” her very presence caused his skin to prick with disinterest, and the moment she began to speak he was struck with annoyance, desire to be anywhere else filling him. other people finding her annoying ( he doesn’t pay mind to the fact that she referred to a specific trait of hers, and not her entire being — but it’s all semantics in the end, and he cares little enough to note a difference between a habit and being ) is no shock. in fact, it’s reassuring that his judgement and quick assessment of her personhood was no mistake. she’s a fly buzzing around his head. if she becomes enough a bother, he’ll surely have to swat her.

he watches her with a carelessness — he notes her stance, her positioning. he makes brief comment on how she can fix it but he still seems disinterested. maybe that’s why what comes next is his fault. he’s not looking at her when she strikes. if he was, maybe he would have avoided it. maybe he would have ducked or blocked or stepped back or — it doesn’t matter. he isn’t looking, and her strike lands hard. immediately, he steps back, his fingers rising to his face. “ dios mío ! ” he exclaims in a breath. 

“ what the fuck was that ? ” he looks at her with a fire in his eyes. “ i didn’t tell you to swing — i didn’t tell you to hit me. ” but isn’t that what they were doing ? surely, it was bound to happen, wasn’t it ? it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t care. what matters most is not the blossoming pain under his eye but instead the blow to his pride. he is shaken, he is rattled, he — “ and of course it hurts. you hit something. it hits back. it’s like fucking newton’s law of physics or whatever bullshit. ” the smile he wore earlier, cocky and sure, no longer exists. now, he scowls. he’s upset and it makes him look younger. it makes him seem green and uncertain.

he steps back from her, shaking his head. “ the fuck is wrong with you ?” 

[ruizes]

VIVIANNE

Rovine del Regno || ft. PR

Date: May 15th, 2019. Time: Late evening. Place: Outside the Cathedral. Availability: Closed to @ruizes​

Vivianne shakes as she exits la Cattedrale.

Spine ever straight, in case any of Damiano’s puppets are watching – but it takes only a glance at her hands, balled in fists, to catch the tremors that run through her.

She’s fortunate to be alive; having escaped yet another brush with Death, and one more encounter with the infamous Guerra-Segugio belonging to the Montagues. But if there’s any gratitude that Vivianne feels walking faintly, weakly out of her own Kingdom, it’s for the simple fact that she happens to run into Piero in the parking-lot.

The rest of them can all go to Hell right now.

“P-Pompey… Drive… Drive me.” The sluggish speech that leaves her takes Vivianne aback. She was fine exchanging barbed words with Mercutio, weaving her web around them with that same polished, silver tongue they’ve come to fear and hate in equal measure. But no, even then, towards the end, speech had left her thickly; like cotton stuffed in her mouth. But now, mere minutes later, the words don’t seem to come at all, and the frown that creases between her brows betrays the Underboss’ trepidation. She glances at the Cathedral over one shoulder.

A lost cause, another day’s fight.

Her head’s pounding. Blood trickling lazily down her temple, a black eye blooming – she can’t defend the Capulet Fortress alone. Take me home, she wants to instruct the Initiate as she turns to follow him. “Home… Add-address, I’ll give.”

In this case apparently, it’s easier done than said.

night settles over verona like a blanket, and piero was not surprised to see the city come alive underneath a star-cloaked sky. people skulked down streets, wearing secrets like sin, and sometimes it seemed that more happened once the city turned dark. he’s one of those who prefer the evening as well. it’s easier to think in the dark, unfettered by the restraints that the buzz of the day hold.

when he first catches sight of vivianne, he dips his head respectfully — but it quickly becomes clear there is no time for pleasantries. something is wrong. it’s in the sound of her voice, and once she’s close enough, he sees the blood and bruise that mar her face. he doesn’t questioned what happened. if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him. so he bites his tongue.

she gives the order to drive and he listens.

he unlocks the car quickly so there is no moment to pause before she can get it. he turns the key in the ignition and the engine purrs to life. he has slight worry that if her injuries don’t off her, his driving will. he doesn’t speak this fear aloud.

instead, he clears his throat. “ i’ll drive you wherever you need, “ there’s moment’s pause, a trepidation in his speech, “ but are you sure you needn’t get medical attention ? i don’t mean to question — it’s only a worry. “