#vindictes

[darkestaken]

speaking of girldad gio // @vindictes

[ladylvck]

Picking up the placed alcohol, Lucia saucily took a sip from the opposite side of where his lips had touched. No indirect kisses in this house, but she knew she was one of the few people in the world who could so blatantly do something like this. Not every day someone sipped from the same cup as Giovanni.

"If you keep making a face like that, sugar, I'm going to think you want someone to kiss your wounds," Lucia drawled with a chuckle, swirling the ice around in the glass. If she held it up to the light, it'd almost have the same colour as her eyes. Smirking, she put the glass down back on the table. "But I doubt you'd be wanting that. C'mon...what's on your mind? Did some fool of a man dump you? Tell Lucia everything~"

[missingstarter]

@vindictes

[ yearly dad-son meeting going well ]

His first instinct is to roll his eyes. The second is to do what he's ordered, moving hair from his face to, indeed, lift his head and look up at Giovanni.

"You know what I mean."

Appearing out of nowhere, bothering him, maybe order him around just like he just did and then leave again, hidden in plain sight as usual. Frowning, Silver kept eye contact as much as he could, shaking his head slightly.

Still more tired than angry, for once.

"You'll have to explain to me why you keep on pushing me around. I thought I wasn't your problem anymore, we... discussed about this. And yet every single time I think I'm doing okay, that you're finally gone, you just-- reappear.

I can't forget about you or your lackeys, you know?"

[intcrpol]

[altarfates]

(hi archer hi) the cigarette is picked from between his lips, dark eyes settling down on the man currently tied up into a chair before the two of them. there hadn't been nearly enough useful info that they could pull out of him. a shame, truly. the annoyance that had arisen from the realization is barely noticeable on the stoic man's face, as most emotions tend to be, proven only by the subtlest downward quirk of his brows.

" i suppose we have no further use for him, " the words are faint and calm, and the injured man's frantic pleas for his life go unheard. giovanni turns his back on him, remaining standing beside archer before lifting a hand to place it on his shoulder. it's a silent permission.

" would you get rid of him for me, executive? "

That was the thing about pain; inflicting it with progressive intensity, fastidiously dismantling even the most impenetrable of facades, all of it returned to this pervasive weakness. Initially his insistence had been irksome, an authoritative tirade which eventually subsided into plaintive whimpers. Archer’s infallible indifference persists no matter how desperately he pleads, his one-sided attempts at negotiation destined to achieve little else than sharpening the disdain in his eyes. It was futile, Archer’s intentions had been laid bare from the beginning. With surgical precision he tortured the pittance of information he stubbornly withheld out of him, disappointing, considering how worthless it ended up being. How shameful to posture at confidence, boldly proclaiming he would tell them nothing, only to yield with such urgency that it felt as if he had wanted to be compliant all along. Answer when first asked, avoid the initial incision. The blood that bloomed across his skin terrified him, that much was evident in the way his eyes widened, tensing against that invasive, glinting silver. Pain followed in fierce undulations, perspiration beading on his forehead in thick, tremulous droplets. He had resisted all but four minutes and thirty seven seconds before he dissolved into imploring him to stop, shaking so violently it verged upon convulsing. He wouldn’t die, the wound was deliberately shallow. It was more about the pain, about the blood, about the ice cold dread that towed him under. Thus his hand retreated, hovering just close enough to remain a threat. The next time he opened his mouth he began regurgitating every piece of intel he had ever been exposed to whether heard in passing or being shared explicitly. Archer’s expression doesn’t falter, casting a minatory shadow across his pale skin, a tacit promise of the penalty that awaited him should he choose to lie.

It was the truth, that too became disappointing. Summoned to Giovanni’s side his footsteps echo through the sterile room; a knell of death. It took much more out of him to resist the persistent needling of ire, his patience abraded upon until it was raw, bloodied not unlike the white shirt plastered to the man, his skin slick with blood and sweat. Because he witnessed the subtle traces of annoyance in the boss’s expression, that alone validated his feelings; any punishment was insufficient for that transgression. Giovanni’s voice cleaves through the palpable silence, punctuated only by the man’s ragged breathing and occasional choked sob. It is his hand that releases Archer, that implicit permission guiding his hand to the sleek gun, a promise that his assiduously kept self-restraint would be awarded. The man must know for once again he begins struggling in earnest, writhing against the restraints carving red furrows into his wrists, his eyes bulging in putrid, white terror. “ Boss.” He had lowered his head a fraction, as subtle as the minute shift in Giovanni’s expression, what remained unsaid is clear between them. Archer would do it without preamble, his efficiency as impressive as his forbearance. Once again the steady cadence of his footsteps descended upon him, the legs of the chair scraping against the tiles in a strident wail. He was speaking, or screaming, desperation so conspicuously etched into his expression that Archer needed no such context. For a moment he appraises him, disgust furrowing between his brows as the gun is raised and levelled toward the slick, glossy forehead of the man who argued how he was different, how he would resist the boss and triumph over his will. A single, definitive shot fractures that inconceivable notion and fills him with a sense of aberrant satisfaction. If it had been his decision alone governing this interrogation, if his restraint had been faltering, he would have shot him several times the moment he began spouting such vile nonsense. The room is once again bathed in an oppressive silence, Archer returns the gun to its holster and says one thing, quietly, his stare perforating the man’s chest as he slowly dies. “... How disappointing.” 

[allthingsglittergold]

"How can I find you, Silver? Its not as though you are publically in a relationship with the Champion of Johto and live in his house."

"Giovanni's attempts at sowing mistrust are about as vapid as someone tell you that water makes you wet."

[tranquillitates]

@vindictes said: what a way to greet old friends :)

"i don't see an old friend here."

[chounaifu]

Proton's poryphone beeps.

"Very cool notification!"