Silvestro groaned as she scratched her nails along her scalp, tussling her short hair around and probably getting chalk in it. The dance rooms were finally clean even with Amelia prancing around rather than sweeping, and the sun was beginning to dip into evening. The woman grumbled a bit and idly cupped her neck as she stared at the clock.
"So where'd you go?" Amelia asked, spinning up beside Silvestro with a flourish, lowering her broom into a waltz's dip. "You're usually so quick going to the warehouse and back, what happened this time?"
"I ran into some kid," Silvestro grunted, trying to get that stubborn line of chalk dust to go into the pan. "Well, he ran his bike into a pole and completely wrecked it."
"I'm sorry, what? Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine. A bit scratched up, but nothing broken. I left him at Matteo's garage." Silvestro tipped the dust and dirt into the bin off to the side, and gathered up the forgotten water bottles and socks into the crate which she hiked under her arm. "I think I'll swing by there again on the way home. In case he's still there."
"He just broke his bike right? Matteo can fix that easy," Amelia reasoned, as they walked together along the cobblestone paths of their little town, the bustle of mid-evening flowing along.
The shorter woman pranced across an unevenness in the path before looping her arm through Silvestro's, who at this point had learnt not to bother to fight this.
"A motorbike?!" Amelia shrieked, gaping at the scratched-up motorcycle leaning on its stand.
"Miss Silvestro!" Skull greeted, his untamed head of purple hair popping up from behind the machine, grease and oil-smeared across the bridge of his nose. His short hair had been tied up into a rat's tail in the back, likely just to get those stubborn locks out of his face for the close work.
"It's looking better," Silvestro hummed, eyeing the machine, it was still scratched up to absolute hell, but the wheels no longer had ugly open gashes, nor were there whole panels hanging off the bolts.
"Silvy, he crashed a motorbike! You said it was a bike!"
"Same, same, isn't it?" She asked, scratching her ear absently, before yelping as the ballerina smacked the back of her head quickly.
"No! Oh, look at this poor boy, nearly died!" Amelia cried and crossed the distance to grab out her handkerchief and rub Skull's greasy nose.
"Amelia," Silvestro sighed, giving the woman a nudge. "This isn't Quinto, you can't jump on every teenage boy like they're your son."
"But Silvy, he's got dirt between dirt and potatoes growing behind his ears!"
"You're speaking in tongues, woman," she sighed, before grabbing Amelia around the waist and tugging her back before she could bust out the wet wipes. "Oi, Skull, have you had dinner yet?"
"Oh, uh, not yet," Skull admitted, scratching his ear as he seemed to check up on himself for a moment.
"You're eating with us tonight!" Amelia shouted, squirming in Silvestro's arms, almost climbing over her shoulder to get her hands on the boy's backpack. "We're having Chicken Cacciatore!"
"Amelia," Silvestro sighed, before releasing the woman who ran off. "Sorry Skull, you're not getting out of this it seems."
"Haha, that's okay!" Skull smiled, grinning wide. "I'm never one to turn down good food!"
Silvestro waited for the boy to finish packing up his tools and scraps, rifling through his pockets and finding random little M3 nuts and bolts. The sheer amount he was pulling out of his pockets made Silvestro sure that something was missing from his bike, but Skull maintained that everything was in 'rockin' shape' and while Silvestro felt it was dubious at best, she didn't fight his claim.
"Ready!" Skull exclaimed, wheeling his motorbike up to the two women, Matteo waving at them from the garage.
"Quinto will be home from playing with his friends now! I've told him to put the pot in the oven, so it'll be nice and warm by the time we're home!"
Silvestro paused and thought about Quinto at home and the boy who was currently urging on their bike. There were only a few years between them, maybe three or so. She wondered if they'd get along.
000
Silvestro stared at the mess of limbs on the living room floor, Amelia in the kitchen packing up dinner's leftovers. Quinto gave a wheeze as Skull kneed him in the stomach, before Quinto punched the other boy in the arse, both of them desperately trying to go for the face while also being held bay by their entwined legs, looking like some sort of demented ouroboros.
Dinner had been a...noisy affair. The second Amelia had stepped through the door and introduced the purple-haired boy as 'Skull', Quinto had immediately docked him high on his shitlist, and Skull had reciprocated in kind.
"What kind of name is 'Skull' anyway, you poser?"
"Just because you're not on my level? Dude, your jealousy reeks."
They had snarked and snapped at each other all through dinner like two lions shoved into the same cage. Amelia had had enough of their testosterone by the time the plates stacked in the sink and pointed them out. Skull had shoved passed Quinto on the way to the living room and finally, it escalated to fist fighting, then grappling, and now the two teenaged boys were squabbling on Amelia's rug, making potshots.
Silvestro sighed, even at twenty-seven, she still never understood the mechanics of pubescent boy's brains.
"But weren't you surrounded with them at the barracks?" Amelia asked as she joined her in the archway, handing the woman some white wine as they continued to mindlessly watch the boys scrabble.
"Yeah, but they were all too piss scared to cause a ruckus, or I was their sergeant and too busy breaking them in. I just know too much about their dick contests now."
"Hah," Amelia scoffed, taking a long sip. "I'm glad I stuck with the ballerinas. But, I am glad that Quinto's made another friend. Those other boys are a bit too rough for my tastes."
"I think they'll be good for each other," Silvestro agreed, before putting down her drink. "Uh oh, they're getting a bit close to your mother's vase."
"Stop them please, Silvy," Amelia sighed, rubbing her temples before covering her ears.
"Ok," the groundskeeper hummed, before fixing her posture and taking a deep, diaphragm sourced breath. "OI!"
The one word was a boom of a sound and both boys snapped their heads around to the source.
"On your feet! Hurry up, don't make me wait! What are they just for, decoration!? Up!"
Skull and Quinto struggled to untangle themselves from each other, flustered and confused as they shoved each other in their rush. Silvestro hadn't forgotten how to yell. By the time they were on their feet they were piecing together what had happened, Amelia smiling from behind the ex-militant, still happily sipping on her wine like the most innocent little shit.
"Now, now, boys," the mother smiled patiently. "A bit of roughhousing is always good, but please be careful of the rest of the room. Wouldn't want to break anything."
"Quinto, be polite to our guests," Silvestro scolded, and Skull gave his peer a shit-eating grin riddled with piercings. "Skull, don't bait him."
Quinto's turn to mock.
Silvestro rolled her eyes before grabbing her bag and shoving it across her shoulder. She turned to her friend and said, "Thanks for the dinner, Amelia. I'll walk Skull back to the main street now."
"Already?" Amelia pouted, before looking at the clock that read just after 7 o'clock. "Oh fine. Skull, how long will you be staying in town?"
"Uh, not too long? I need to get back to my caravan for the next show. The great Skull De Mort cannot disappoint his fans!" He grinned, piercings flashing on his lips.
"Keh, 'Skull De Mort'," Quinto scoffed, "Like some American punk rocker."
"Eh, don't know if I'm American, but I'm certainly a rocker," Skull smirked and flipped his hair, not-so accidentally smacking the younger boy on the forehead as he did so.
"You-"
"Come on, Skull," the ex-militant called, seeing them rile each other up again. "Let's get you home in one piece."
Skull graciously thanked Amelia as we stood in the doorway, before being forced to juggle his helmet in one hand and three tupperwares of leftovers in another as Amelia fussed over 'a young boy all alone-'
"He's survived this long, I imagine he'll be okay for another night with all this," Silvestro assured, taking another container from the boy before the stack could topple onto his head. "Goodnight, Amelia."
"Goodnight, Silvy, goodnight Skull. Oh, you should come back on the weekend, we'll be having a big meal to celebrate Quinto's birthday! 17th of March!"
"Don't invite him!" They heard Quinto scream from inside the house.
"I'll be sure to come!" Skull grinned, devious. Anything to piss off Quinto, it seemed.
"Come on," Silvestro huffed, grabbing the boy before Quinto could get around his mother and bite him.
"You really don't need to come with me, miss Silvestro, I'll be okay."
"I'm just walking you to the main street, it's not like I'm dropping you off at the door," she huffed as she walked alongside his wheeled bike. "It's not even five minutes, it won't kill me."
"But then you'll be walking alone," Skull continued to resist.
Silvestro blinked before she let out a short bark of laughter, her hand coming out and tussling Skull's purple hair. The boy let out a squawk, but grinned as he waved her hand away, piercings flashing in the streetlights.
"You don't need to worry 'bout me, kid," she assured.
"I'd hate to keep you out, don't you have someone waiting at home?"
Silvestro blinked, before she said, "No. I live alone."
"What?!" Skull gaped, staring up at her with aghast. "But you're so nice! And buff! Who can refuse the buff!?"
The woman let out a startled burst of laughter, "Apparently quite a few people."
"Ah!" Was the aborted shriek of scandal that lurched from the boy. "Don't worry miss Silvestro, I, Skull, will introduce you to an array of brilliant and worthy people! "
"Will you now?" she hummed, then she tilted her head back to stare up at the cloudy night sky and slowly said, "Well, there is one person. Who I may be attracted to."
"Really? Tell! Tell!" The boy urged, nearly clapping his hands in excitement.
"It's just some guy that pops up now and then, at first he was just kind of weird but...you know, he grew on me. Like a fungus. Also, he's a complete dumbass who plays dress-up way too much for a grown-ass adult."
"He sounds great," Skull grinned, "I know someone who loves to dress up too. Maybe we can get them to meet?"
"Oh God no, if he met someone like him he'd destroy half of Italy in a fight for dominance screaming 'there can only be one'."
"Haha, what a fun guy!" Skull cackled.
"'Fun', yes, that's one way of putting it," she snickered, unable to help the bit of fondness she felt when talking about that fedora cryptid that had all but waltzed into her life. "And well, there's another guy who does appear in my living room sometimes, but he's more there for my cat than anything."
"Ah, well, no one can beat cats."
"True, even if that Ruggine is a little shit."
"Haha," Skull hooted to the night sky before stepping up onto a curbside, the lights of the main shopping district illuminating the square. "This is my stop, then."
Silvestro scanned the area with her eyes quickly, there were barely any stores open in the late afternoon, but light still poured out their windows and lit the area. She comforted herself with the knowledge that most hotels and hiker-houses were less than a ten-minute walk from here, and the boy seemed to know how to carry himself.
"Goodnight, Skull. Get home safe," she sighed, before giving the bright grin he sent her a bit of a look. Then she reached across and ruffled his hair up, the purple teen spluttering as his hair and chains got in his face. "Don't start any fights while I'm not looking."
"That was Quinto's fault!"
"I saw you throwing plenty of punches back there," she snorted, before giving him a light shove, "Now go, do the front desk a favour and check-in at a reasonable time."
"Okay. Goodnight miss Silvestro!" Skull waved before he scooted his bike deep into the square.
Silvestro shook her head as she watched him go, then a soft, familiar yowl made her turn. Ruggine trotted along the footpath and made a greeting 'mirr' as he looked up at her with a big, yellow eye.
"Hey, Rugg," Silvestro greeted, and the cat proceeded to wrap himself around her ankles, nuzzling his chin against her knee.
The clap of shoes against cobblestone approached along with the erratic, unending scratch of a pencil against paper and the Russ woman barely had to raise her head to know that Ruggine had dragged along his resident stalker to the town square with him. Verde made a light, absent-minded noise of acknowledgement as Silvestro waved at him, busy scrawling down his latest findings.
"Anything interesting?" Silvestro asked.
Ruggine sat on the cobblestone and opened his mouth in an extended, nails-in-a-can scream, staring up at Silvestro demandingly. She raised an eyebrow down at him, and he paused to take a breath before screaming again, this time at a high pitch.
"You're a cat, Rugg, you're meant to walk on the ground."
"Myaaaaagaaaaggagagagcgagcgaaaaa!"
"You see those feets of yours? You have four feets. You must use them feets."
"Subject 007 seems to have engaged in bargaining," Verde murmured to himself, checking his watch before noting down the time. "Potential for hostage situations?"
"Don't make Ruggine kidnap people for you, Verde."
"Not for me, but for the highest bidder for the service. And what could the authorities do? Throw a cat in prison?"
Silvestro looked over her shoulder and smiled.
"You admit he's a cat."
Verde ripped his eyes from his clipboard, "No."
"It sure sounded like you did to me, what did you say? 'Throw a cat in prison'?"
Her smile only stretched as she watched him divert his eyes, shoulders bunching as he clutched his dear clipboard tighter.
"Subject 007 is a marvel of genetic bioengineering and technology."
"You're right," Silvestro sighed. Verde's head perked up. "He's a fancy cat."
"Mrrrrraaaaagaaaaggagagagcgagcgaaaaa!" Ruggine screeched impatiently, demanding attention be brought back to his apparent injustice.
Silvestro let out a laugh as Verde sputtered in indignation, the man trying to show the stats on his clipboard and how 'these percentiles obviously contradict your claim as an average cat's mean BMI is far below that of 007'. She ignored him as she crouched and let Ruggine jump up onto her shoulders, his claws kneading at the tweed coat, finally returning him to his rightful position, head and shoulders above everyone else.
"Ready to go home, Rugg?" Silvestro hummed, her boots clopping along the cobblestone path home.
"Mirr!"