A ship he didn't recognize sat in the harbor- a lumbering, powerful war vessel that could only belong to the military, or perhaps to a nobleman with far too much money and an ego to match. Ah, that must be him, Vincente noted- the man's velvet cape, in striking crimson, clashed against the dreary grey of the docks. Just as he suspected: a nobleman. He averted his gaze and forced himself to continue on with his work. Like most of the poor, he held a deep-rooted disdain for anyone who called himself a blueblood. For a moment, he considered knocking the man into the river. Certainly, he'd be whipped and hanged afterwards, but at least he'd be able to depart the earth with a smile on his face.
Instead, he merely shook away the frivolous daydream and climbed up the next mast in the line- a dull job, checking the sails, but it fell to him and him alone. After all, none amongst Vincente's colleagues shared his agility. It was a dull little joke amongst them- cats and Vincente always land on their feet. They were peasants, he pondered, and not particularly known for their sharp wits.
As he sat hundreds of feet above the ground, he locked eyes with the man in red. It was just a coincidence, he was sure. He didn't mean anything by it. And yet, he got the impression that the man wanted something from him. Perhaps it was his scrutinizing gaze, as if inspecting fine china, or perhaps it was the fact that their eye contact seemed to hold for years. He put aside the thought for the time being and attempted to focus back on the task at hand.
At the end of the day, however, he couldn't help but mention the strange occurrence to his fellow sailors. "Hey, Maurizio, did you happen to see that little peacock?" Vincente joked at the bar later on that evening.
"How could I miss it, the way he strutted about shaking his tail feathers?" The men burst into a fit of howling laughter, though they quieted themselves quickly at Vincente's request. He glanced around the room for the noble's presence before indicating that all was well and they could speak freely. Not as if a man like that would ever consider frequenting a shoddy tavern like theirs.
"He stared at me the entire time I was up there on the mast. I wanted to pluck his beady eyes out," Vincente mumbled as he took another sip of ale.
"Lucky you didn't try. He would have blinded you."
"A sorry little bastard like that? Nonsense! Just look at me- what makes you think I wouldn't be able to outmatch a nobleman who's never worked a day in his life?"
"You really don't know who he is?" The man's solemn demeanor cast a shadow upon the group's collective mood. Most of the sailors silenced themselves, and Vincente could only listen on as Maurizio spoke. "He's a weapons dealer- a powerful one. He may not look like much, but his bodyguards are everywhere. They would have shot you full of arrows before you laid a single finger on their boss. You're a sailor, not a soldier. They kill men stronger and smarter than you on a regular basis. Not as though that's saying much."
"…You bastard." He caught that insult easily enough, and he gave Maurizio a playful punch in the side as payment for the discourtesy. "So, does this merchant of ours have a name, or will he forever be known as Signore Peacock?"
"That might actually be an improvement. Calls himself the 'Merchant of Death,' he does," chimed another sailor from his drunken stupor.
"Merda, so scary! I think I pissed my pants."
"Laugh all you want, Vincente. I saw it too- the way he looked at you. Watch your back, alright? I don't want to have to haul your sorry corpse out of the water."
"I'll be fine- I did nothing to provoke him. If anything, he's only jealous of my height. He won't kill me. More than likely, he'll just cut off my legs and try to attach them onto himself. God knows that rich bastard has the doctors to do it. Probably has his own private room in the best hospital in Italy."
"You're drunk," Maurizio stated plainly. "You should get home- your family is probably throwing a fit by now."
"To hell with them. These fifteen, twenty minutes every week with the lot of you is the only time when I'm actually happy." Even as he spoke, Vincente pushed himself off the stained barstool and stumbled towards the door. "All I want is a feast in my honor and a line of busty virgins scrambling over each other for the chance to bed me two at a time- is that so much to ask?"
"Go home, already, Vincente." With sympathetic laughter, Maurizio threw an olive in his general direction to urge him out the door. "And if you have to pass out on the street, don't fall down on your back like last time. If Pietro and Giuseppe hadn't found you, you would have choked on your own vomit."
"And my suffering would have been over. Thanks for nothing." With a charming little bow, Vincente sauntered out the door.