"Did my heart love till now?
Forswear it, sight!
For ne'er saw true beauty
Till this night." - Romeo Montague 1.5
Romeo sees her at his friends party, his heart enamoured at the sight of her. Her hair, Poudretteite, rare as the gemstone whose colour it bares, glimmers under florescent lights and eyes dance with knowledge, a curiosity begging for release from its suffocating confines. One look and Romeo wonders whenst such beauty graced Earth and under whose audacity this gem, purer than any Jeremejevite stone, was so wrongfully hidden from the world. So selfishly hidden.
His eyes, azure in its darkest shade, lingers, follows her every move. The swish of her ever flowing dress, the painfully beautiful, creamy skin that teases him when her steps become larger, the slit running up her leg revealing more tantalizingly sweet skin. Music, talk of trades and odd familial politics fade, the room blurs until the only thing, the only person he sees is her.
A sweet, deceitful melody, a waltz perfected by time. A woman so divine, 'I ponder upon notions, of love and greed.' Romeo thinks himself a fool at his own thoughts, because he pondered no more and with certainty, found love in the scorpions steely gaze.
Noble fathers and their children watch her too, but as her sultry smile is oh-so-softly pointed towards him, he knows he shall win this game. A game of love and woes, weaving in the crinkles at her closed eyed smile and the poison that speaks four tongues. A smirk graces his lips and the challenge is clear. She shall be his, to love and to keep, to cherish for an unnumbered period of time.
So was the begging of the tragedy, that was the love, of Romeo and Bianchi.
Bianchi has two priorities in life, to protect her family and to live long enough to see her little brother grow up. These were the thoughts that the fifteen year old repeated as she strolls around the ball, a polite smile on her face as she parades around like eye-candy. Her stomach flips at the thought and if she were not depending upon the money of this mission to survive independently, she'd be gone in a flash of jeans and tank tops, but because she refused to grovel to her uncaring fathers wishes, she is here.
The people dance and ploy, the more intelligent giving polite smiles while subtly fooling most of these pampered fools into false security. Bianchi's disgust wells deep in her being, these people were too easy, they moved with arrogance and leered with lustful eyes. Etching that prim smile on her face once again, Bianchi slowly raises her hand to brush her a stray strand of hair from her face.
"I haven't heard a whisper of dread," she whispers soft and annoyed. She thinks her code word is ridiculous, but doesn't question Federico, lest she's forced to suffer through his annoying passive-argessive lecture.
"Chances are the information's compromised, your objective for now is to scope the area, an enemy to the Vongola is planning to attack, or so we've heard so stay vigilant," came a rustic reply, a small, barely there buzz in her ear.
Smiling coyly, Bianchi merely dips her head back. A seemingly seductive gesture, the only way she could reply to her partner without moving her lips once again. This is how they speak in her world, never words only actions and blood told the tales of an assassin. Scanning the room slowly, she's tries not to grimace at the blatant, perverted stares coming her way. Then she sees him, his eyes imprinting her in to his very being.
Bianchi smirks at the teen, obviously only an acquaintance judging by his innocent eyes. She lets a smile, seductive and oozing sex appeal grace her face and becomes surprised at the fire that lights his eyes, expecting arrogance and hope, but getting instead a challenge. Her smile widens, a row of perfectly white teeth, bleached and bleached over and over again to attain such a gleam, shine. Though, for a half a second, her eyes lose that brightness that he gave to her, then her smile dampens, because after tonight, she will be lucky to see him again, much less entertain the challenge he sets.
She thinks vaguely, that his eyes reminded her of a distant tango.
"Love looks, not with the eyes,
but with the mind"- William Shakespeare
Her eyes, too rare as to mistake for a common emerald, Tazernite more befitting of such beautiful orbs, dim and the thirst pushed, politeness and manners replacing amusement and craving. An annoyance so deep pools within and he resist the urge to do something, anything to calm her down. Only because this is Stephano's house and there isn't a slight chance, that he'd ever do anything to bother the man he calls a brother. So, he cools his burning rage and slowly, lazily walks towards her.
No one sees him, too enthralled in notions, politics and nonsense that most definitely bores him. His smirk, a barrier between the world and himself, raises higher and those azure eyes droop lower. At sixteen, Romeo has more than enough experience controlling his body, especially after he lived under his father's influence for so long. He feels a hand touch his shoulder and he trails it back up to the face of his brother, a warning is in his eyes and with a light shrug, Stephano's hand is back at his side. Romeo worries not of the warning, though he heeds it, anyone whom worries his brother is definitely a someone one must be cautious of.
When he's but a touch away from his target, she turns, twisting, weaving, dancing her way through the crowd. He thinks perhaps she hadn't seen him, but for a second, her steely orbs are his. A soft smirk. A dangerous challenge. Romeo's eyes drop lower, nearly a blink, but not quite. Calmly, he follows her lead, twisting in and out of the crowd. Gracefully, he bends, leans and turns, barely anyone sees him and the ones that do don't wonder of his doings. Romeo is too enticed by Poudretteite hues to notice anyone.
The challenge she presents too obvious to deny, Romeo shan't lose to her. Nor lose her.
Innocent eyes follow Bianchi and she is more than surprised by the grace in his movements. The soft, fluid moves speak of years dancing, an anomaly as far as she's concerned. With every two steps she makes, he's only half a beat behind. Soon enough he'd catch her, unless she wanted to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Slowing down, she steps out to a balcony and the moon shines on her.
Her smile flickers too fast to stop, when she hears the soft footsteps. She cannot find it in herself to rid the smile, it's the happiest she's felt since Hayato ran away.
Instead of turning to him, she watches the night sky and hears the coo of Mother Earth, it has been far too long since she'd ever been this comfortable. Again, his footsteps draw near and she expects him to tap her shoulder, to look down on her and ask her questions in condescending tones. Expects of him, just as any other teen she meets, arrogance. As she hoped he wasn't, expects that her interest in him will leave soon.
Apparently, this man didn't like anything expected of him, because, first he's behind her, then right next to her. Immediately her thoughts flow differently, but this doesn't throw her off course. She knows what he'll do now, he will 'accidentally' brush his skin against her and proceed to apologise, then claim her beauty unmatched. He won't surprise her any further, he will try to pursue the nice guy act, maybe he'd succeed, then he'd try to claim her. Claim her as toy, not with the love she so earnestly desires.
Again, this man doesn't know when to follow expectations, because he doesn't dawdle near her, instead he remains some two feet away from her. Then, she hears some rustles and her annoyance is peaking, she turns to scowl at him, but he's looking straight at her and she's well and truly confounded. He is on the balcony fence, teetering towards the end, she feels a strange sense of panic and wants to scream at him to get down but her words die in her throat. Because all he does is sit down, legs dangling over the edge, only his back is towards her, face turned as to meet her, navy eyes capture her.
Eyes reminding her of a tango, no longer distant, but right in front of her. Bluer than the night sky, forceful and demanding attention. Soft and precise, while also being fast and untamed. She no longer knows what to expect, because that precise, untamed tango danced by passion and respect. Respect, Bianchi thinks distantly, is not something men give to her often and she is too flustered for something like fear. Someone that she doesn't know respects her, cares for her.
Gulping down the surprise and flustered emotions she has, Bianchi carefully puts her polite façade back on. His eyes flash with disappointment, but he says nothing and stares at her. Just staring blankly, not looking for anything in particular, but seeing everything. Bianchi feels naked, as though he can see the poisons strapped beneath her bust and around her upper thigh, can see the blade hidden in her heel and the small gun in her bags secret compartment.
She waits for a word, a signal, even a too loud breath but gets nothing. Only dark blue eyes looking at her. Annoyed by everything he stands for, mystery, wonders, anomalies, she speaks, managing to keep curse words out of her, doubly polite and hidden with malice greeting.
"I wonder perhaps, if Signor has forgotten his manners,"
"I see no Signor out here, Signorina,"
Bianchi tries hard not to twitch at the way he speaks, his words have no insult hidden within, but his tone is mocking her. Daring her to explode, but Bianchi is an assassin, she trains a polite smile upon her face and dreams of shoving a poison cake to his face.
"Bianchi, you are heading off course, remember, vigilance," a voice shouts into her ear softly and Bianchi struggles not to rip the stupid ear piece out.
Bowing her head lightly, Bianchi looks at the infuriating man through a veil of hair.
"As pleasuring as your company was, Signor, it seems I must take my leave."
And of course, this is when he jumps down, head bowed to her eye level in a horribly, comforting way.
"Signorina mustn't look upon me, I do not take to it well," his voice was deeper than she expected and his eyes blank.
"I do apologise, Signor, I bid you well," came her forced, robotic reply.
He gives a grunt in agreement, before standing up, jumping towards her and looking into her eyes. Their height is similar, him being taller by only a few centimeters, yet somehow there gaze is equal. She could see herself clearly in his eyes, and abruptly Bianchi realises something with a trembling horror, she is feeling attracted to him. To the way he looks at her curiously, but said nothing as though waiting for her to open up. The way he saw her, through her, and everything in between as though only she mattered, the way he was slowly creeping in to her defenses doing absolutely nothing. Transparent as glass, he read her so.
With this revelation in mind, she runs from him. Only looking back to see him, when she heard his mirroring steps. He says nothing, so she moves forward and she notices with waning frustration he was following her. Bianchi didn't doubt she could lose him, Bianchi did doubt whether she could lose him and keep him lost long enough to lure the enemy familgia into a confrontation. With this in mind, Bianchi walks forward, a grim smile on her face.
"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. "- Romeo Montague 1.5
He wishes to kiss her hand, but finds a blush in such sinful thoughts. Instead, he hums softly and hopes she faces him, she does, her eyes burning unabashed and he cannot help but think he's already won. He knows not of why his head inches towards his brother, nor why she makes his heart beat like no other. All he knows for sure, is his want for her desire, her curiosity, which doth burn brighter than sun, faced towards him. For a second and no more, his eyes shine brighter than the sun and Bianchi complies without knowing what she complies to and he happily takes her outstretched fingers, loving the shock it gives him, reminding him of lightning.
Romeo hears her sigh in discontent, but still her returning grip never falters, so he leads her over to his brother, not thinking to utter his name or ask of hers. In fact, such a thought only strikes at the question in his brothers eyes.
What to do you think you are doing? Stephano's amethyst eyes peered down at him warning so obvious within.
He answers in words, his voice taking on the polite manner he only used with them, struggling to keep his normal speech pattern at bay.
"Pápá, Stephano, I would like you to meet a friend of mine,"
"Yes, of course Romeo, it is lovely to be of acquaintance, Signorina Bianchi, I have heard plenty of your wondrous endeavours," Romeo ponders lightly at the malice steeling his Pápá's voice, though he decides to instead think of the Poudretteite's name.
It rolls smoothly off Romeo's tongue when he whispers it inaudibly. Stephano looks amused and knowing his brother, he hears the whisper. Smiling genuinely at his brother, Romeo focuses again on his father.
"Thank you Signor, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest over you though."
"Ah, excuse my lack of manners, I am Romeo's adoptive father, André Mercassi,"
"Pleasure to be of acquaintance," She mimics and he watches her smile, fake, polite and nothing like the barley contained anger that prompted him to talk to her.
Nothing like the torches that her light outshined, more like a caged prototype. His anger invoked, he slants his eyes, he wasn't going to lose the woman who replaced his sun so suddenly. He intertwines their fingers and squeezes her wrist lightly, her only response was to claw her nails deep into his skin. He smiles thought the pain, this is the woman he'd been attracted too. All passion and barely restrained anger. A storm brewing slowly yet surely.
A conversation lulls him into a state of boredom and he wonders if he should leave, only to remember he now lived in this house. The thought that a week ago, he'd been squashed under his father's thumb, unable to enjoy life was ironic, because a week later he felt far safer and far more content than he ever had with his father. He mentally thanked his brother once again, for saving him and, like always his brother could hear him as he send a microscopic smile towards him. Romeo relished the night, for Bianchi had yet to release him and his brother starts a light bantering conversation, it all feels pretty unrealistic.
Bianchi doesn't know why she lets this boy, Romeo cling on to her. Why she feels a blush creep up her neck when he inches closer to her or even why she doesn't shove him off her shoulder when he decides to lean on her. All she really knows is her heart's beating faster and her breathing getting shallower. What was wrong with this picture? She wonders, when had she last let someone hold her so casually? Why did she feel so calm, despite being forced to converse with a geezer?
Trapped in these thoughts, Bianchi never noticed the buzz of her ear piece disappear. Didn't register the chill in her neck or notice the sordid joy in the aforementioned geezers eyes. By the time these were realised, Bianchi was already in a lip-lock so passionate and yet so soft, that it took until the first explosion to realise something was very,very wrong.
Caution to the air, Bianchi pushes Romeo away and screeches into her ear piece. No reply. Throughly annoyed, Bianchi forces herself to relax and acts instinctive as possible. Her blades are pulled from her heels, one thrown to the side the other used as shielding dagger. She has no reaction when she hears the gasp of pain, judging her poison to cause more damage to her than it's worth, she feels frustrated at being blind. A hand quickly shoots out and grabs her, she turns, feet moving into a quick sweep.
"Uggh, Bianchi!"
Frowning, Bianchi holds back her continuing barrage.
"Romeo, can you see? What's happening?"
"I can not, nor do I know what's happening,"
"Stick to me until we know what's wrong."
He does it without question and they move in synch. Begrudgingly, Bianchi admits that he has talent, though very raw. He fights back with strength and instinct, not quiet reading his opponents as absorbing them, assuming their potential attacks from what he's taken. It's interesting, his fighting style, she thinks when she'd delivered the knock-out hit on one of many brainless fighters. It's like school-yard brawling, pure power behind his hits and mostly reflex, but his power is balanced, he knows when to hit a certain spot how much or how little force to put behind it. Stealing a gun from one of her now unconscious opponents, Bianchi surveys the area, nearly cleared from the previous debris and sees something unexpected. More than three-quarters of the original house guest, are fighting. She notes with a twinge of annoyance, that the only people being targeted by multiple people, are allies of her famiglia and some rare unknown faces.
Knives, gunshots and screams engulf the room. All stopped by a burst of thick, suffocating Sky flames and an explosion dead center of the room. There stands André and Bianchi feels dread creeping up her back. As she suspected, this was arranged by the Mercassi familia, that was why barely anyone targeted Romeo. Turning back, Bianchi turns her rifle towards Romeo and clicks it into place. He looks completely a loss and Bianchi sighs, but she keeps her gun poised and her fingers brush over the trigger.
Ivory fingers shake, she can't shoot him. In one pitiful night she'd fallen so effortlessly in love, how unbecoming of her,
"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Poison Scorpion."
Bianchi tenses, she doesn't know the voice. Sky flames are covering a thin, sharp wire pressed against her neck. It feels harmless, but she knows one press and her neck and head will be separate entities.
"Fratello!" Romeo's voice sounds cute when he worries, she thinks eyes focused on the weapon in front of her, it's a passing thought, because soon after all she thinks are strategies to leave Stephano's grip, none in her advantage.
"Romeo, this, I'm sorry I brought you into this, but it needs to be done."
Romeo looks ready to protest, his face aghast and Bianchi lets herself hope for a fraction of a second, that he is. He is as warm and solid and kind as she thinks. Is lazy and as sarcastic as his small muttered quips insinuated, is more than another person just playing her. Then, André smiles smug and arrogant, his hand resting upon Romeo's shoulder and maybe, if Bianchi was completely honest, it hurt a little. A lot.
"By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I written it, I would tear the word "- Romeo Montague 2.2
"Pápá, hath thou no shame? Doth treachery mean naught of thee," Romeo lets his silent fury take over, taking no note of the drop of his voice nor the change in speech pattern. He thinks not of his adaption to Shakespeare, the poet whose work he'd been following so vigorously lately, all he really thinks of are these terrified faces and Poudreitteite's down cast gaze.
Romeo's eyes turn hard and he notes the displeasure, a mild annoyance at most, pass through his Pápá's gaze. His Pápá lips move and Romeo strains to hear his utterance.
"Stephano, you haven't yet told your brother of our affairs? Tch, son, all shall be revealed in due time, you must only know that these people hold sin greater than many, their death is but justice."
Romeo yearns to argue, to moan and berate his Pápá, because all he saw was blood shed unnecessarily and down cast looks, with bloody fingers. But he can't, because compared to the tyrant that was Romeo's real father, Pápá is a cute little bunny, who took Romeo in, because he took Romeo in for no reason, other than the fact Romeo was friends with his son. Romeo bristles and watches his Pápá, whose hand is on a simple gun and some bright purple flares around him, Romeo can't find his surprise.
His Pápá raises the gun and points it at someone Romeo has never met, he looks wealthy and strong, if the blood-thirsty grin and scars on his face said anything.
"Tch. Trash," killing intent fills the room as the dark-haired teens guns flare with orange flame.
He points it at his Pápá and Romeo stifles down a disgruntled sound. But before the trigger is be pulled, a shout sounds and gunshots whizzed through the air. A group of élite people run in, a hazy cacophony and all Romeo really registers from it, is Stephano pulling him. His feet stumble trying to keep up and suddenly, they're outside. Romeo takes a look back, before his legs precede his mind and his calves quake in protest, lungs heave, breath shortens and his heartbeat is erratic, but he doesn't mind because running felt more comforting than staying. He'd rather run a thousand miles than stay there. Stay and watch the betrayal, the anger, the hurt flicker through Poudreitteite eyes.
Romeo's legs burned, though his pace didn't slow by much, thoughts of self-hatred, of guilt over took common sense and before long, everything was a hazy blur. Pain coursed through his body, but the thought of Poudreitteite silk hair and Tazernite eyes force his movement. A phantom kiss brushes his lips and upon the stars and moon, the sun itself, he swears to return to her.
I wrote this months ago, around the time when my Furihata's facts fic was released and it was my intent to release it as my first fanfic, but alas, I couldn't actually find an ending which fit in properly with cannon, so I altered it and made it based just on the night they met. Originally they were gonna become enemies enticed with each other and coincidentally meet each other all the time causing problems since their enemies. They take a photo together, by him planning it of course not by choice and like the dutiful assassin I imagine Bianchi is, she kills him and places her affections on Reborn, because he happened upon her killing Romeo. This develops into her fooling herself into hating Romeo and Romeo fooling himself into hating his murderer and we reach cannon. Alas, that took a sense of control in writing which I, incidentally lack.
Also Poudreitteite is a pinkish gem, Tazernite a greenish and Jeremejevite is one really rare gem, like extremely rare gem. If my adaptation of Shakespearean speech is incorrect, then I'm not surprised.
So yeah. Thank you for reading.