Authors Note: Ok. So here I am again. Why am I writing this? Seriously I have a vague idea of what I wanted but I haven't quite reached that part yet. So this is a beginning…kinda like when you buy a book anticipating that it might be good enough to keep and not chuck at the most convenient jerk who comes your way. Sorry…I haven't written in a while, my inner writing self is cranky. Please help me soothe it.
Update: 11/29/13 – I finally achieved clarity as to how this story will unfold. I'm not saying everything's all done and dandy—seriously that will never be me. My Muse 'amuses' itself by dropping by and giving me nudges with the same frequency and consideration as a crackhead tripping on Kool-Aid.
What does that mean? No idea, really. But I do know NOW what the end would be like. How I get there and how many chapters it would take—well that's something not even I know.
I. Game Set
If you can smile when things go wrong—
You have someone in mind to blame.
In the usual mythologies and existing literature of the world, a harbinger of doom usually arrives with enough pomp, parade, and fanfare worthy enough to eclipse the mundane lives of the masses so that they could very properly express their awe, anguish and despair.
No decent portent of doomsday slinks in and sits to watch and wait until some unfortunate soul stumbles across its message of destruction. No self-respective herald of total destruction simply allows itself the luxury of being ignored. It wouldn't do to let the ones you intend to suffer to know the results ahead of time. It also wouldn't do for ANYONE to escape their intended fate unscathed. That's just being sloppy and unprofessional. So seriously, NOT HAPPENING. EVER.
You would think such ethereal beings would've remembered that. But no. As was their way and wont, fickle creatures as they are, this was not the case with the powerful and ever unpredictable Vongola Famiglia.
For this centuries-old family, their personal harbinger of doom descended upon of them like no thief in the night. Instead it passed through the front gates of the heavily guarded citadel known as the Vongola Stronghold with a nary a sign of opposition, waltzed through the front door of the mansion and straight across the grand foyer into the very heart of the Vongola Famiglia's seat of power carried there, knowingly and with obvious intent by the not-so innocent hands of someone most trusted.
7 Days before Doomsday…
The day started out in idyllic serenity. The warm Tuscan sun illuminated the white marble mansion, gilding every wall, nook and cranny that made up the impressive century old edifice known to all and sundry as the Vongola Mansion in liquid, shimmering gold.
Any other Saturday morning and such a scene would have normally commenced in an afternoon picnic, hastily planned, boisterous, slightly chaotic and messy but enjoyed immensely by all. Food and wine would be brought out from the kitchen amidst cheers and compliments—a passing comment on the selections presented followed by the unmistakable chink and clatter of china and silverware and the faint ping of crystal kissing in toasts of merriment.
Any other Saturday morning and a slight figure, clad in simple clothing might've been seen, lounging in the sun, surrounded by an enthusiastic trio of children, joyfully twining daisy chains as they laughed the day away, content smile painting thin pale lips and staining a becoming shade of red cheeks kissed by the warm summer sun.
Any other Saturday morning and snorts and screams could be heard echoing from somewhere in the midst of the impressive mansion, followed by the unmistakable booming sound of something exploding and the sight of pink smoke emerging from some distant window or another chasing after figures in various states of chaos and cheer.
Any other morning and one might pay more attention to the refreshing breeze that blew in from the mansion's great gardens, bringing along with its cooling caress the unmistakable perfume of hundreds of summer flowers growing in riotous profusion and the sweet tangy aroma of freshly mown grass. Anyone who came upon such a scene should've been charmed...held in thrall by the magnificence of waking into something akin to god's own paradise and reveling in the unbridled joy of the possibilities of days that stretched out into infinity, holding in its grasp the very promise of warmth and hope.
Anyone normal that is.
Anyone born with even an ounce of the famed Vongola precognition or even stayed long enough in the service of the Shadow World would have taken one look at the idyllic scene and battened the hatches in every direction and stock-piled guns within easy reach of an arm's length.
On this one particular Saturday everything else was different. Today the mansion stands eerily still and silent. An unmistakable frisson of tension pervaded the entire estate—wrapped as it were in the kind of silence that seemed to emanate...from within its very heart, freezing and rendering immobile its very core.
This Saturday morning there was none of the usual pealing laughter that used to make the old mansion come alive. Instead here and there all one could see are the serious, somber visages of men and women, clad in their signature black ensemble, standing a little too still, a little too stiff as they lounged and paced along one empty hallway to the next. Some were leaning against pillars and windowsills, hands held close to the body while others fiddled, idly tapping mobile phones, while others hung out in groups of twos and threes holding hushed snatches of conversations in a quiet nook and cranny.
When a door quietly swung open, all of them tensed, hands automatically reaching into pockets and all eyes trained on the figure that appeared from within. The level of tension in the room kicked up a few notches higher when they saw a figure that seemed to simply emerged from the shadows come just a bit closer to the edge of the light…waiting as if for some unknown signal. It didn't lessen the tension riding high among the gathered black-suited throng especially as the figure nodded meaningfully towards one of their numbers—a tall, muscular man in his prime, cool blue eyes and blond hair, dressed in the same impeccable and ubiquitous black suit. The summoned young man came with gracious alacrity and gave the figure a short, respectful bow.
"Buongiorno Eminenza."
"Artemisia…how dost thy mansion's denizens fair of late?"
The old-fashioned words, as always brought a sense of nostalgia to the gathered members of the mansion. They were both familiar and reassuring—even here in the midst of the tension none of them can belie.
"They have been stout of heart and strong in spirit, Eminenza. But this morning has proven to be a tad more lively than most."
A small smile painted thin lips. With an unspoken but clearly well practiced signal known to both, the two figures started walking towards another hallway, the gathered throng parting very much like the proverbial red sea in the wake of their strides. The figure cast a glance at the intent young man following his even pace and gave a slight smile once more, watching as even more tension flooded the blonde's frame and a spark of unease darken the pale blue eyes before quickly fading away.
"A lively one indeed, Artemisia. Thou have mobilized our forces very quickly as expected of thee."
The one addressed simply inclined his head deferentially to acknowledge that he has heard the statement but his eyes still alert, sharp and ever mindful as he spared a glance at figure walking beside him while keeping most of his focus on the quiet goings on around him. When he spoke, his voice unlike his thin wiry frame could have hinted, was deep and gravely.
"My men and I owe much to the Famiglia, Eminenza. Our very lives—more importantly, I personally owe my life and that of my family to my lord's kindness and compassionate disposition. We would not have the Famiglia feel any cause for shame or complaint."
"Indeed. Be that as it were, our lord is not one to find fault so easily in others."
Again, a faint smile and a few words were all the reaction Artemisia received for his words but he didn't find the fact offensive. The man he was speaking with was notorious for having one the best poker face in the entire mafia world. Nothing, not even the threat of any upcoming situation no matter how troublesome, beneficial or apocalyptic could've altered this man's control over his emotions and reactions. After all, an earnest smile from this man was more frightening than any shouted threats from anyone else. Only men who no longer value their lives wish for this man to lose the smile that he normally wears.
"My lord is the most compassionate of men Eminenza. No one else comes close to my lord's benevolence."
"And whither dost our fair lord and master been sequestered away? Neither hair nor hide of his has been seen since last night."
Artemisia wisely caught the thin thread of worry that laced the teasing words and gestured towards a shadowed hall they were fast approaching. His words, this time around, was obviously earnest—the plea in them clear for those discerning enough to know where to look.
"My lord has been in his study, Eminenza. He has been there since early this morning. His steward said he declined breakfast."
The young man spared a glance towards the figure walking beside him before stopping altogether. Pinning the man with an imploring look for a few seconds before looking away, he murmured softly as if afraid his words might inadvertently cause some fiery reaction.
"I-I know that this is highly improper and I will gladly accept your reprimand Eminenza, but I just could not help but worry—is the young Don worried over something? Is there a matter we could perhaps help him with?"
The figure beside him gave Artemisia an assessing look from beneath the fall of ash-blond hair, blue eyes serene as the calmest of seas.
"Hmm…dare I ask from whence such worry spring? Speak freely Artemisia and reveal to me what has brought such frown to thy fair-minded sentinel's face?"
"Eminenza, he—when he spoke to me yesterday—he was not like his usual self…he seems, sad, I think. Troubled. There was a faraway look in his eyes and he was holding on to a card as if it was something both valuable and dangerous. He—Decimo wasn't smiling the way he normally would. He looked—melancholic. "
"Thy concerns are not completely unfounded Artemisia—thine fears no foul product of false imagining. However, the matter that calls upon our lord's attention is one we can do but naught. It is a burden that he alone must face. A trial he must overcome as this Famiglia's head. I bid you wish him well for he doesn't much like doing things like these."
Artemisia nodded and for a second longer his eyes lingered on some vista in the distance—an image of events that he could only wish would not come to pass before he once again focused on the figure walking beside him. His eyes closed for the briefest of moments—a heartfelt prayer sent to the powers that be, before forcing his own eyes to open and do once again do its main task of keeping track of every men, women and structure they've come across.
It didn't matter that Artemisia has lived in the mansion practically since he was a child and could map out the interior even on its darkest night. It didn't matter that he could recite the name, race, age and preference of everyone his eyes met on route to their destination. All that mattered was that he kept his awareness sharp and he kept abreast of where everything and everyone was. That was his task as the mansions main man of security. It didn't matter that the figure that walked so calmly beside him was a man whose office held greater influence and esteem than his.
His job was to secure and facilitate the mansion's defenses both external and internal. His one proviso was the safety of the famiglia's head and the residents of the mansion.
Artemisia stopped at once when he noted that they have arrived at an ornate pair of carved double doors. He gave a brief rap and waited for the murmured response from within before turning once more towards the figure that accompanied him.
He cleared his throat and told himself that what he was about to say wouldn't get him killed. The words needed to be said, that is all. He is a loyal vassal to the famiglia and as such, there are certain duties that must be upheld.
"Our lord, he is very gentle-hearted Eminenza. Too much, we think, at times. He has always mastered even the most arduous and challenging tasks with the most enviable of ease. We have every faith that in this matter, he will do quite as well."
"And yet?"
Artemisia weighed the question with the same gravity he would've done had it been posed by the famiglia Head himself. He knew that there was a leak particular to this information—even as he wondered how such a matter could occur. With a sigh, he consigned himself to the punishment he knew his ineptitude deserved.
"There have been whispers now…some talks. Naturally the other famiglias have already made their intent to assist known—shall we send word to them? This is after all a direct challenge to the famiglia and therefore the alliance—!"
He waited anxiously for his companion's response and when it came, it was all he could do not to show his disappointment and disbelief.
"Nay. Belay any other to that effect. There will be no need for the famiglias to become involved. By the by, what need should there be for their interference? It is but a trifling matter that must be attended to personally by the rightful head of the famiglia. "
"Eminenza-!"
"Leave it be Artemisia. For the moment, we shall abide by his decision and that of his guardians. They expressed no desire for any meddling in their affairs and pained as we are we will maintain the status quo."
"Eminenza-!"
"Our lord does not wish for any aid from the other famiglias. It is a matter of personal nature to our lord and we shall—to the letter—defer to his judgment until due cause is established to think otherwise. Should matters fare badly for our lord, then we shall deal with it as we see fit."
The figure reached out and clasped the younger man's shoulder with a comforting hand. Blue eyes stared intently into an equally blue if paler pair of eyes and willed his conviction to be heard and followed.
"Artemisia, thine judgment is sound and thy intent pure. However, thou wilt obey my commands, is that clear?"
He truly wanted to argue but this was not a man he could, would or should willingly defy. This was the man whose very reputation alone could swing the tide of many a battle. He, despite his own feelings, knew better than argue with the man that stood nonchalantly in front of him
"As you command, Eminenza. I live to serve and obey."
The ash-blond head nodded decisively and turned to open the door but before his hands reached the beautifully rendered brass knobs, he spoke without turning.
"By the by, Artemisia, has HE been in contact with the Famiglia?"
The emphasis alerted Artemisia of exactly who it was his companion meant and he tried, futilely, to repress the shiver that crawled up his spine. He was well aware that he didn't succeed fully and his eyes shifted nervously as he gave his report. It didn't matter that he was revealing his own sense of unease. It wasn't the easiest of facts to deal with and try as he might—the nature of the matter he was being questioned was not one he was ever going be comfortable with.
"H-he…the Peerless One only left a short message, Eminenza. The content, as we have been informed, is intended for the leader of the CEDEF."
"Is that so? Then mayhap thou would best tell me the message. What dost this missive perchance state?"
"They're here."
Artemisia's eyes widened in consternation when his companion suddenly gave a short bark of laughter and a delighted grin settled on his lips. A veteran of many fights and a product of a less than blood-free past he nonetheless couldn't suppress his own body's reaction when it shivered in trepidation and alarm.
Nothing normal or kind should induce such a reaction from such a man.
"Ah…"
If the sudden urge to bolt wouldn't have been deemed so unmanly, Artemisia surely would've considered the act but unfortunately he was bound not just by his own honor but his own sense of duty as well. Squaring his shoulder, he forced cold lips to part and speak once more.
"E-eminenza?"
"Mayhap it would be wise to inform your men to prepare fully Artemisia. I fear we might be facing a tempest sometime soon."
"As you command, Eminenza."
He gave a short, sharp nod and started to turn away when the man's voice called for him once again.
"And Artemisia?"
This time, he didn't try to deny that the tone of his companion's voice did nothing but chill the very blood in his veins. He tried valiantly not to gulp and show any outward sign of fear but it would've been easier to claim he was deaf and mute and pass it off successfully than to deny the fear and agitation that holds him now in thrall with just the magic of those two words.
"Y-yes, Eminenza?"
"I am assigning you to coordinate with him when he arrives."
"Eminenza, I-I was hoping to survive my services enough to see my first child being born…"
"Do not cause yourself undue concern. If thou wouldst but follow plans and not get in his way, thou just might."
