a starter for @moriohsbastard
“Morioh?”
The town's name was repeated just to confirm not only pronunciation, foreign rolling off Guido Mista’s tongue, but to leave no room for misunderstanding. It wasn’t uncommon to be called into Don Giorno Giovanna’s office on a daily. Given recent events, it would worry him more to not be ordered to meet up.
‘Yes.’ the Don leaned into fingers, crossed together on his desk. ‘It seems our friend has fled just out of my grasp.’
“Lucky for you, your right-hand reaches pretty far.”
Mista could see the tips of a smile peak from behind folded hands. The play on words wasn’t for amusement, it was just facts. Freedom that the freest man in Italy could only dream of. It was left to the trusted Underboss to, as always, act as an extension of sorts to resolve any unfinished business.
The long plane ride gave Mista peace and time to think. This would be the first time in a long time he’s left Italy, left his home, and he prayed this time for different results. But starting on such a thought in a nearly thirteen-hour flight was ill-advised. His target would serve as a welcomed distraction.
Alessandro Ricci.
No one of true substance until he started attacking business associates of Passione, of the Don. When the finally managed to corner him, he escaped by sneaking aboard a plane. It took some time, careful planning, but through the organizations many resources were able to pin him down to an exact location. Idle hands might be the devil's work but to act rashly could send him on the run again. It was tedious and the Don already disliked repeating any sort of task.
Landing at night there was no sense in starting his search. It was an excuse, yes, but jet lag and lack of sleep on the plane left Mista craving the comfort of his hotel bed. As it were to have it, Don Giovanna spared no expense for his trip. Once morning broke, however, Mista began his search.
The town was...quaint. Nothing stood out and it was dull. As Mista made his way down the streets he already longed for him. The sights, the food, the comfort of familiarity. He had to keep a low profile, having dressed downed and looking more like he was there for something less strenuous. A vacation? He scoffed at the thought. Japan wasn’t a bad place but he had better destinations in mind. He reached up to tug as his lavender beanie that matched with his black jacket. The ammo in it pushed a bit on his forehead and--
He stopped in place.
“Wait...” his gaze narrowed forward at nothing. Looking down Mista patted his gray skinny jeans pocket. His pats grew more and more with the rise of panic. The realization hit him hard. “Oh, you gotta be SHITTING me!” his head slung around to see a sea of people walking around him. Eyes pinch with brows arching. How wonderful. Guido Mista, nineteen and acting Underboss of Passione for almost two years--
Just got his wallet stolen right under his nose.
