body connected into his and the stumble to keep balance; hands shot out to ground both of them . staring down at the man with amusement, although, skepticism was deeply settled . it wasn’t as if it was surprising to come across someone who knows of his face or the deeds he has done; it was the fact that the man was foreign .
❝ you recognize me, tell me, how do you know me ? ❞ pointer finger curling under the german’s chin, tilting it to make eye contact yet there was a tip of danger was apparent .
———THE QUESTION CAME WITH RISK BEYOND HIS OWN SKIN. it was the kind of thing that he wished would not rest on his shoulders, the fate which drove them together. steadying himself, the blond stared momentarily, finding the right words in the foreign tongue.
❝ not here — somewhere private. ❞ the chase, though slowed, still seemed to nip at the heels. he’d taken to italy by orders of the brotherhood, searching for the one who could help him in his quest. the city had its ways of complicating that matter.
Belphegor, still as a lurking cat in his position, stared back at the other’s face shield as if the faint reflection in it did not show his own complexion, but that of the man instead. If the demon had owned a tail to lazily swish from side to side with, the image could have appeared such a natural fit that it would not have raised an ounce of suspicion from unknowing bystanders.
“What a bold assumption.”
He did not think to further evaluate his cryptic answer. Peor had never been one to make many words where they were not necessary, even in his old days. Common conducts such as manners did not interest him. Whatever he did he would do without apology or explanation, and without asking or announcing himself first. Passion was about the only thing capable of loosening his tongue. Passion, and at even fewer times curiousity.
“Why did you kill him?”
———IT WAS THE KIND OF QUESTION THAT GOT STRAIGHT TO THE CORE OF THE ISSUE. the man was never the type to remain cryptic for long. instead, he approached with the kind of fearless grace a dancer would on hot coals. head behind fiberglass and padding, his voice only carried so far.
❝ it was not my intention to steal your prey. ❞ he began, this time much more sincere in his words. his quota was not exactly large when it came to killing, but it still ran the risk of outpacing his abilities. he was picky with his jobs, and the vigilantism only paid so well.
No answer came for the longest of moments. A lot of different sharp replies rang in her head, though. Don’t patronize me. What would you know? How do you know what it’s like?
None of them managed to make it down the path from her brain to her tongue. They stayed stagnant, bouncing around until they mixed together in her head to unintelligible noise. “I’m fine,” she finally told him in a voice that left nothing to be questioned. “I picked my own path this time. No matter what happens, I’ll follow it.”
———DESPITE HER QUICK ASSURANCE, the man knew better than to return the stone he lifted when there was something living beneath. like a festering wound, he tried not to pick at the skin. it was a hard day they’d had, most resigning to taking care of themselves before looking after each other. still, trish was young ; she hadn’t asked for this life.
❝ you forget that we all walk this path together. ❞
——— RESPITE AND REPRIEVE WERE NOT A LUXURY THEY HAD ANYMORE. maybe before all of this had started, when they were both younger, leone abbacchio being in the career that he had dreamed of being in since he was a child, and bruno buccellati… well. there were times before this. ones that were less stressful. ones that were more idyllic. now, it’s just saddening to think about. a thought he presses back. a thought he’s broken out of as buccellati taps the table and mentions the taste of the food they were having.
❝ i can have them send it back. bring back food that isn’t shit.
❞
———A SMILE THAT RARELY OVERTAKES HIM, subtle in its curve but entirely fitting for the comment. he wondered for a moment how they’d both been cornered here, the flow of customers in and out of the restaurant beginning to slow in an almost unnoticeable manner. he lowered his fork, beginning to twist the pasta around the teeth until he formed a proper bite. they were in danger.
❝ i’m not picky, but if you could flag down our waiter… ❞
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