Author's Note : There were a weird number of eyelashes in the space under my keyboard keys. I'm not sure if I should read into that any or not.
Russian Roulette : Second Chamber
Chapter 72
(Sunday the 21st of November, 1971. Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
Post weird Italian week-long party thing to celebrate Ganauche getting possibly hitched in the future and to scope out the bride-to-be, Sonya wanted to sulk. They tripped over something left behind her fellow if now dead godparent had a hand in, his preparations to make a safe place for Shamal years and years ago before she came into the picture as full-time mom, so of course that made her think of the guy and any regrets she might still have about him.
It was harder than it should've been to get Skull's little sister to go find a quiet corner and grieve for her dead boyfriend.
He didn't remotely appreciate the difficulty much.
Not… not that he begrudged her for needing a bit of personal time after the revolving door of guests they had all last week or just because she missed the guy and his weird creepy manipulations. That Skull was totally fine with. Him having to convince her to go knit in a corner or reread a favorite book with a lapful of dog in lieu of 'responsibilities'… that he'd like to object to.
He could totally take Shamal to church on his own. Zinaida took her son down to one of three churches too, and Peter plus wifey Galina, all attended the same one. Even if he wasn't here the kid had company for the trek, it wasn't totally necessary. Lal Mirch could've taken the kid with her if security was the issue, she came along because like every other Italian they've met so far she too was Catholic. Likewise Cesare could go with, or Palaemon.
The castle mostly ran itself, there were enough people around that were familiar enough with what had to be done to do it all themselves and keep things clean and everyone fed.
Skull was of the opinion Sonya was doing… half of what she needed to be doing to take care of herself.
All the boxes were ticked, sure.
She went to sleep when she was tired, ate when she was hungry, stocked her 'home' with people she could deal with and had enough space to allow those she didn't to be far enough away for everyone's comfort. A couple friends he really liked, a couple friends he really didn't like, and she'd occasionally stick her neck out if enough weighed in her favor to help people like Andre or Bjǫrn.
Unlike with Crina, the old bat, R-guy didn't really leave Sonya much but a godson and lingering echoes of his presence. When there were things that went beyond the grave, she got caught flat footed by it. Instead of crying it out and dealing with her emotions, his silly little sister coped by suppressing what she felt about his death and just got sulky when it was shoved into her face.
Which, by the way, wasn't healthy.
He didn't really appreciate she went off for two years on her own and ended up with so many bad habits, and he didn't mean her smoking. She kept a residence she shared with Tatiana, sure… but they were probably going to split up once their older sister was married and it wasn't like she lived with the nurse full time even before this. Said older sister then wasn't always on hand to prevent their little sister from getting too far into her own head and compounding her issues.
"…I didn't know you knew about the shelf, zio."
Skull glanced down at his nephew who stuck with him for the ramble back up the hillside streets to home, who had his 'butter won't melt in my mouth' innocent face firmly plastered over his features. "Nya's little skull shelf?"
"Yeah." As they had a dog with them, and Marco could spend hours begging pedestrians for pets when they went anywhere around town with him, they had lagged behind the others a little. Shamal paused yet again, to let his massive friendly dog curiously sniff a bug crawling on the sidewalk. "We're supposed to keep it from notice, and I don't believe anyone thought to let you know. In fact, zio, I'm pretty damn sure none of us told you it was there."
"I wasn't supposed to see it?" News to him. "I knew it was there since I got here, kid."
"How?"
He shrugged, yes unhelpfully but Skull wasn't a Mist and had no idea how Construction was done. "Was the conditions to not impede anyone's awareness of it Cloud Flames?"
Shamal made a rude noise at him, huffy and not really thinking much of his suggestion. "We're not that incompetent, zio."
"I wouldn't know this. Or that."
The kid sulked… or tried to for a few seconds. Marco glanced up at the disgruntled noises just in time to see it and licked his face, dragging a broad doggy tongue right up and over the whole left side in aims to sooth his boy's upset.
Gagging, because he had his mouth open to snip something at him when dog-tongue was applied, Shamal regarded his pet with longsuffering resignation as he wiped his cheek clean with a sleeve. "Yes, thank you for weighing in Marco. Go back to your bug, I'm not really upset."
His beloved if overly friendly dog wagged his tail in acknowledgement and got distracted by a totally different kind of exotic looking beetle that landed on the brickwork they were passing. Forcing them to pause momentarily by jerking Shamal to a halt via leash and snuffling it curiously, to gain absolutely no reaction from the little thing.
Skull snickered at the pair of them, aware of but uncaring they had gotten so far behind the rest of the castle religious group that Lal had stopped at the next corner to wait for them. "Nya and I are two parts of the same whole, kid. Did you account for me technically having the same Flames as her, or the bond between us?"
He gave him a weird sideways look, and if he were a betting man the stuntman would put a significant amount of money on his nephew inspecting him in a way he'd never be able to perceive or process. Whatever he was looking for seemed to reassure the Mist somewhat, instead of going back to that half-false sulky and more sly interrogation he instead scowled as if the road had done him some injustice.
A slightly more honest emotion, there. Only slightly.
"That's not what's really bothering you, or at least the 'breach' of your Misty-mischief isn't."
"Are you going to talk to mamma about it? She doesn't know you know it's there."
…ah. "Nope."
This did not reassure his nephew one bit, and probably meant this was tangentially related to what he really wanted to know. "Why not?"
"Yes, I'm a pacifist." Skull acknowledged very dryly, putting his longer legs to use to catch up with the rest of their group already since it seemed Lal was entirely too polite to come back and drag them on so they could go eat breakfast already. "Problem is, Nya's not. Your mom also lives in a faction of the world that's murderous and violent, where I don't. I don't like people being hurt, I'd rather people just live and let live… but. There really aren't enough people that share my views on it for that to be universally possible. I live how I want to live, she lives how she wants to live. I'm fine with just that."
"It doesn't bother you? At all?"
Poor kid almost looked disappointed as he trotted along to keep up, for all the topic had possibly been started out of concern he and his little sister might just get into a fight about her gruesome collection. He seemingly expected more… everything.
Well, far be it for Skull to disappoint someone in want of a reaction.
"I don't nag after my sisters and how many people they might've killed for the exact same reason they respect my desire to not be involved in their preferred parts of society." He had to get smacked in the face with it to realize his expectations weren't something either of his siblings could live up to without either making them miserable or getting them killed. A realization several decades in the making Lisa started walking him through without saying she was doing any such thing, and Sonya literally judging herself by his standards, for him to come to. "It's possible to live the way I do. It's possible to live the way they do. You can't keep a foot in both worlds, you have to commit to one or the other. You can switch, but only switch. Anything more, and you'll just end up hurting everything. Yourself, those around you, what you're doing. Everything."
Lal shot him a less than amused look, being in range to hear the end of his opinion.
Yeah, she was heading straight into that dingey underworld of society. Headfirst, even. With a guiding hand and some interested parties around that would likely ensure she landed on her feet with a good amount of momentum behind her, but it still was a seriously nauseating dive.
At least for him. The Rain might not find it totally as objectionable as Skull did, but that was something Lal had to figure out once she got what she wanted out of it. Then she'll either live with the consequences or need a hand out of there.
That was up to her.
Shamal followed him close enough for the woman to hear them, but eventually forced a stop with a serious little scowl on his face. Still not a totally honest expression, Marco wasn't remotely concerned by any emotion coming from his boy now. "Zio, there's human skulls turned into bowls on a shelf in the kitchen. The only ones I know of that didn't at least react to mamma's collection are Cesare and Master Tyr, and they helped her collect heads."
…and there was the actual reaction his nephew was looking for, Lal blanched and shot him a wide-eyed look of horror. When Skull failed to react that way too, the Rain spluttered out a somewhat mangled noise of inquiry.
"I bet you anything, I know why Nya has each one." He drawled out wryly instead of answering her, turning to the literal and actual kid seeking reassurance about something related to just this topic. "One's the one that almost blew up me and Ganauche a couple years ago. One probably is the guy that attempted to kill Fiorella Vongola and instead put a knife through Nya's foot instead. At least one or two from her rampage in Moscow when a sick bunch of assholes attempted to capture her and sell her to old creepy perverts. One for your godfather's death, and then probably the guy that shot her in the chest. All people that outright intended harm or to ruin her or the people she likes."
If she had thought about it or come to the realization she liked grisly trophies like that years ago, Skull was sure there would have been a collection of knucklebones from their childhood to also freak people out with.
Not just any knucklebones, the fingerbones of people that attempted to drag him down into their filth or the mutilated parts of those that targeted Tatiana for bullshit.
His little sister, and his nephew's mother-figure since ever, was not a very forgiving woman. Usually, her forgiveness was bought in blood and broken bones. That had never changed, probably would never change, and it was as much a part of her as her Flames.
It was a good thing Sonya hadn't come to that realization until well after their childhoods. Galina wouldn't be perfectly at peace with the other thief to find her husband and start an entirely legitimate business using what she learned from the younger blonde, if she were missing fundamental parts of her hands. No matter how good of friends she and Tatiana still were.
"What human heads?" Lal demanded, mildly affronted they were ignoring her.
"There's a shelf in the kitchen. Now you know it's there you'll be able to see it." Turning back to him, his nephew scowled adorably in very serious concern. His dog still didn't react to it as he would normally, by licking the kid to death to 'help' him, so while it could be what Shamal felt about this subject and he just didn't want to get interrupted again or it was total bullshit. "I thought 'pacifism' was to object to any violence? The results of it, the reasons for it, everything?"
"Sure. There's also civil pacifism, moral pacifism, to go with the absolute pacifism you just described." Which Skull very nearly totally committed to, himself. Old man Yaozu didn't suffer fools gladly, and pointedly poked all the holes in his arguments until he came to some particularly important realizations. "But, and here's the distinction between me and others like me, kid, I'm a pragmatic pacifist. I believe in defending yourself, but wholesale slaughter of another free-thinking human being isn't the answer for less individualized conflicts. My views on it is not the norm, my beliefs are not widely shared enough for a fundamental difference to come about and be possible. I entirely believe there should be a better way, that violence does not make for a 'just' or 'moral' victory over anything… but expecting everyone else to behave as I wish regardless of how they think or believe is arrogant bullshit. Without others that believe as I do on the 'opposite side', I'm aware of the futility of my beliefs or trying to impose my views of it on others."
Shamal blinked at him, absolutely blanked-faced.
Yep, this was what his nephew wanted to nail down.
Someone either got informed on the 'unreasonable absolute rejection' of 'pacifists' via his school or from some asshole attempting to lecture down to a highly intelligent child. A child who had already lost one whole family, half of his current one, and probably worried late into the night that something or someone would happen to the rest of it.
…or that Skull would reject his own nephew because it was highly likely he'd follow in said dead godfather's footsteps and be a violence-inclined criminal that he supposedly wouldn't support. His sister's grisly trophy collection was just a convenient method by which to know it was coming beforehand.
"I know better than to impose the way I see everything on other people who don't see it as I do. I don't have that right, it helps nothing, and only would hurt me in the end. I don't want to hear it, and maybe that's a fault to reject or ignore that lifestyle Nya and Tats and probably you too in time live in. Nothing but the murder of the innocence will have me condemning you, my siblings, my parents, or my own friends. You be a good Mafioso like your godfather, and I will continue to be here and love you as you are."
His adorable little shit of a nephew suddenly inspected the old pavement under his little leather loafers instead of continuing to watch him warily, earning himself a nudge from a tri-colored dog almost bigger than he was. "Okay."
"I don't have a problem with Nya's skull collection because she didn't start anything to get them. They're all situations that ended in their deaths because of the damages they sought to cause or did harm to her. They knew the likely price of their bullshit, and the heads were taken in self-defense." At least, that was what he'd prefer to believe. The number of skulls coincided with his admittedly sketchy count of really painful situations for her, and him, so unless one magically appeared without a corresponding incident of pain he wouldn't be asking. "They all believed violence will solve their issues, and in a way they're right. Now, those people are dead and there's no more issues. How much could they care if their skulls got repurposed as soup bowls? That's not even the weirdest use for dead bodies I've seen around the world or for sale in certain marketplaces."
Lal palmed her face in exasperation, either choosing to ignore the whole 'skull bowl shelf' thing for the moment or in the reaction of a non-pacifist to pacifistic beliefs. "Really? The human skull soup bowls aren't the weirdest, creepiest thing ever?"
"Your religion puts bits of 'saints' in shiny ornamental boxes to be admired long after they stopped rotting." Skull shot at her in amusement. "Not exactly rare, mind you. Hindus do the same thing. There's also ground up Egyptian mummy, once used in medical compounds or in brown pigment paints… which is still available to purchase to this day. Paintings and pigments, not so much as medical compounds anymore. Human skull bone bowls are nothing compared to intentional cannibalism for little to no real benefit, the use of dead bodies as a decoration or to make a pretty painting even prettier. Shrunken heads, anyone?"
The Rain spluttered again, this time with more affront and less flabbergasted-ness. "Reliquaries are holy."
"Yeah… sure they are Lal. It's totally not creepier than putting to use the fallen foe that harmed you in a utilitarian way, putting ancient and dead bits of 'holy men' you have no connection to or were never known by in shiny boxes and worshiping them long after their deaths."
Shamal sniggered at her expression to that claim. "It's all weird, Miss Mirch. Even I can admit that much."
"You've been infected by the opinions of those that are raising you, your views are obviously more in line with your family's." She scoffed in irritation, which had the opposite reaction than intended and made the young Mist quite pleased instead of causing an equally irritated reaction.
"So!" Skull derailed everything with a little too much glee, refocusing on his suddenly wary nephew. "Shamal… who tried to pass that bullshit off as what I'd believe and would abandon you?"
Lal glanced between them, an eyebrow rising the guiltier Shamal squirmed under the direct and on-the-spot attention rooted on him. "So. Which brat are we going to ruin the day of?"
…that was a thought. Skull assumed an adult, there were a whole lot of them that passed through last week. Could entirely be one of his little school fellows.
(ooo000ooo)
(Sunday the 21st of November, 1971 continued. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
"…why are you suddenly in such a good mood?"
"Why can't it just be a good day?"
Because her brat didn't start out this gleefully cheerful this morning, so something must have happened between then and now for this to be his attitude.
Sonya contemplated her lapful of godson that joined her for a quiet evening in as a late-fall rainstorm swept in to hammer against the windows, sprawled all over her thighs on his little tummy so he could read his book 'comfortably'. The wicker couch affair moved into her bedroom wasn't any larger than the last time they did this, but at least Marco and Alek had lost their fear of sudden 'scary' storms and weren't lodged up against her ass.
Her bedroom door had to be left open at least a little, in order to not have one dog cheerfully if vindictively eating it to get it out of his way. Marco eventually got bored of waiting around and wandered off after Alek to do whatever doggies did, one of the many times her dog checked up on her to be sure he knew where she was.
She then wondered if she should inform him Tyr had already called to lodge a 'formal protest' against her godson's vindictive actions against his ward/apprentice. Not that the Master Assassin really cared, if Ottavio did something Shamal found that objectionable to strip the other kid to his underwear and leave him in a quiet corner of another town to find his own way home… then his apprentice had to learn how to not come under fire from hostile attention duly earned by his own actions.
It wasn't harmful to life or limb, just really embarrassing. Tyr was totally fine with that limit to retribution to childhood scuffles, and given they were raising two different if clashing Flame users… more lethality on offer was entirely possible.
…Skull and Lal had also gone with Shamal to Sestri Levante for 'reasons'. Ill-defined reasons. She hadn't cared at the time, but it could totally be her brat used either one or the other for help or just to be given the range to torment his childhood nemesis.
Sonya thought about it… but decided it wasn't really her place. The boys had to work out their issues themselves or they'd never learn how to handle this kind of shit later in life, and hell. She stripped and stranded assholes that pissed her off by doing or being somewhere she didn't like.
It was entirely possible he learned it from her… whoops.
Sinking her fingers into his hair, if he was going to sprawl out over her then she got the right to muse up his 'looks' because mom said so, she went back to her own book.
Soviet science fiction was really absurdist, but she kind of found it nostalgic.
…this book was still Lisa's, she should maybe return it to her mother.
Later. Much later.
(Monday the 22nd of November, 1971. Bjǫrn's Apartment, Mafia Land.)
"Could you not leave me behind?"
Bjǫrn irritated eyed his unexpected and unappreciated 'guest', here before he even got home himself. "Ward… I didn't think you wanted to spend more time in Dama's company. Besides which, you have a job to do."
The uninvited hitman lurking in his living room outright sulked, unwilling to admit he was hiding behind a teenager's back. When that was literally what he was doing, especially spending his free time hiding out in someone else's home.
Rolling his eyes, the Lightning-Storm finished divesting himself of his luggage and the coat that was only useful on the rare times he was landbound. "Did another group attempt to murder you?"
"The fact we can have that asked casually…"
"This all is your fault. The reputational linking that will keep you safer will take time to cement in place." He reminded the other man pointedly, starting in on peeling off his suit jacket and undervest as there was little reason to stand on ceremony in his own home. "Which also reminds me. Dama is now aware you've attached yourself to me."
"Obviously." Huffed the sulky Englishman from his couch. "Since I'm not dead yet, I take it she doesn't care?"
"…not quite correct."
Sonya did care, greatly. An almost shocking amount, when before she wasn't remotely interested in what company he kept.
Half the reason he got the order to accompany her home or at least follow as soon as realistically possible before Tatiana's situation sort of blew up, the thief wanted to ensure Bjǫrn was alright with the man clinging to his coat tails. Out of Ward's reach, in a more secured space just in case the Lackey wasn't perfectly fine with things going on right now.
It wasn't entirely out of the question when taking her usual behaviors into account. She did the same thing for Galina and Peter before their wedding, double checking individually that they both wanted the same thing before they committed to something permanent.
Bjǫrn, being her longest-serving minion-type from a rather younger age than most but the actual children she also tended for them, was obviously due some consideration he hadn't yet needed. It appeared he might need it, she checked to see if he wanted it, then accepted his answer.
The Lackey discarded his removed clothing and went to the kitchen to get himself a stiffer than usual drink. Ignoring Ward's slightly freaked-out stare nailed to his back.
It hadn't occurred to him until recently that cupboards that had groves and cutouts in the shelving to hold glasses or plates in the general right place was unusual. This island was untethered to any land mass, free-floating in the ocean, and the slight but there rocking motions he had long since become accustomed to would have knocked all his glassware to the floor had those minor alterations not been there.
The kitchen cupboards at Death Castle had no such safeguards. They weren't required on land, where everything didn't get gently to slightly more vigorously get rocked from side to side every second due to the motion of the ocean's currents.
It really seemed as if he spent his whole life in Mafia Land, and the years being a runaway from Iceland were all a bad dream. There were other slight inconsistencies between island living, especially on a mechanical island, and land-bound living he hadn't really contemplated before.
…like almost everything not required to move being bolted to the floors, braced against the ceilings, and otherwise not entirely guaranteed to remain in place overnight.
Which reminded him, the old apartment would require reflooring before either his patron or her sister could 'formally' move out of it.
Carpets weren't really popular here, easily cleaned surfaces remained the design option of choice. Rugs were slightly more popular, to prevent the furniture from sliding around by providing more friction or just preventing scratches.
"Are you going to finish that sometime soon?"
"I just poured it." Bjǫrn countered in a mild protest, taking his glass of whisky back to the living room to finally just not be moving for a while.
Noah gave him a pointedly exasperated look. "I will pick up dinner, just please tell me I'm not on borrowed time right now."
"It'd be hilarious if the last thing you do would be to get me dinner. Though, it'll probably be curry again."
"I'm an Englishman. I like my curry."
Sipping his whiskey, mostly just to annoy the older man, the Lackey finally shrugged. "Dama is not fond of the idea of you working for me, but she will allow me my way. You're safe enough… until next year."
"Oh thank fuck…"
"Now, get out of my home. And bring me dinner before your shift at the boutique."
"Can we please call it something else?" Demanded the hitman, whining about everything because he could and Bjǫrn wouldn't smack him for doing so. Just snark back. "Boutique makes it sound like I'm working the night shift for you in a lingerie store."
He pondered the differences for a second. "Would you object to 'boutique' if it was a lingerie store instead?"
"Hell no."
…what a gentleman. Rolling his eyes at his 'pity project', the Lightning-Storm regathered his luggage and apparel back together to put away appropriately.
(Friday the 26th of November, 1971. Porto Venere, Province of La Spezia, Italian Republic.)
"Isn't it like… five hours between here and your old place?"
"Exactly." Lal Mirch informed her Mafia Home Tutor very dryly as she followed the other woman around random streets for whatever she was looking for. "I was… kind of really pissy when I was court martialed. So I put a mountain range between us to cool off."
"I don't blame you." Sonya offered more absently and as an afterthought rather than because she was engaged with the idle chatter, scanning pointedly on the glass of the windows of the various bars they had already marched past. "You still going to start on the eastern side of the peninsula? It sounds like you spent more time on this side."
"Between you, Tyr, and Nilda's family?" She shrugged, though the other woman wasn't facing the right way to appreciate it. "I don't think it started here. I believe it started while I was on the other side of the country for a past war game I was the Commander for. COMSUBIN against Croatia's HOS. Luce kind of confirmed it for me, though I don't think she intended to. I'll eventually work my way over here, but only if I strike out on the other side first."
Nilda Superbi was enough of a fellow hard ass that Lal had just come right out and told the other Rain what and why she was looking for an 'incompetent' Mist. Maybe not everything, but enough to make clear her motive was revenge only that the Mafia Lady outright informed her that her husband's Famiglia hadn't gotten word of a military-linked possible Rain being nearby in the last couple years.
She would've handled that herself, if one of them was so at risk to Vindice interference. Not send an entirely different, notoriously finicky, and sometimes maliciously cruel Flame type after an 'innocent'. Though Nilda tentatively confirmed it wouldn't be entirely out of the question for a Mist to be decided as the only way to 'painlessly' separate Lal from COMSUBIN, if one was limited on options or the sighting was farther out from a territory than comfortable.
Obviously one of her own Mafia Home Tutor's friends still might just pass on a warning or find said incompetent Mist and interfere still. Being another woman that handled her own damn shit, it was more likely Nilda would just check to be absolutely sure it wasn't her group at fault then go find some good quality beer to watch it all go down.
Fuck, that would be what Lal would do.
Then again, that was assuming what she thought of Nilda Superbi was what the other Italian Rain was. She was more like Lal than the kiddy Rains at Death Castle, so there was the possibility Nilda just was a damn good liar… or it was Rain-based passivity.
Larion 'the Rain' and Mingxia were noticeably young, yes… but even still she could see what her Tutor called 'Rain-passivity' between the three of them. Even aside the differences in her being an 'Inverted' or 'Soft' Flame Rain, and the kids being Classically or Hard Flame Rains.
Opinionated like all Flame users, but both teenagers would instead go behind backs and get things handled themselves if they thought something was important enough. Something Lal herself might do, not an avoidance of conflict but a disinclination to engage in it unnecessarily.
If the shit could be handled without a drawn-out production, then fucking do it.
When Lal had questions about being a Rain Flame user, or what tricks the kids figured out to give her an idea of how to mimic certain abilities the other 'Arcobaleno' used like it wasn't reality bending, asking Mingxia earned her more help than Larion.
Don't get her wrong, the whole last week told her a lot about the previous condition of the Zolotov clan and just why so many former members had followed another thief right on out of the whole Soviet Union entirely. She understood that Larion got shoved into a position of power he didn't appreciate over other Rains, that he had a whole lot of ingrained 'Rain-passivity' to bullheadedly power through barely over a year ago.
He was a snarky little shit on the topic of Rain Flames because of it. Fair enough.
She wasn't trying to be difficult, and as Skull told her it was a mindset she just didn't have enough experience in yet. Being one of the lowest heat-producing Flames, she didn't realize that was still warmer than baseline human normal by a few degrees and therefore just drying herself off was just one of the features of that ability.
Rains had some issues self-regulating their own temperatures when it was cold out, but they could. A little more energy intensive for them than for the others, just like 'boiling' off water or melting things in one's bare hands.
All Flame users were immune to the heat they produced, regardless of how it was applied. Nothing else was.
Therefore, yes. Lal could likely take a hike through the mountains in a tee shirt and jeans, without freezing her fingers or nose off. It would be exhausting, but possible.
The reverse was true as well, if she was overheating then flooding her own body with the heat from Rain Flames would neutralize it to a safer or just more comfortable temperature.
Once Larion pointed it out for her, it was pretty damn obvious in hindsight. Didn't mean thinking that way was obvious.
You learned pretty early on that hot things were ow, tossing that entirely out of the window now she had an inner blue Flame that couldn't hurt her was not common sense.
"Lal, I need you to pay attention now."
"Found what you were looking for?"
In lieu of responding, the thief gestured to the wide paned front window of what looked to be a sailor's bar in this section of the city. "What do you see?"
"Someone seriously needs to wash this thing." Two women standing in front of a rowdy bar crowd in a less than reputable section of the city also was so fascinating to said drunken sailors.
Her Tutor sighed, pointedly. "A bit more serious now. I need to teach you how to find these places, before you go off poking hornet nests. This is the best way to keep an ear out if anyone notices you at it, before you end up walking into a trap."
"The brickwork, not the window. High up, but as far from the door as possible without being on the edge of the wall. There's something deliberately scratched into one brick."
"Good. This is the third such smuggler's den we've passed." Sonya seemed to belatedly notice the same amount of attention Lal couldn't ignore, and a second to ponder things the Soviet Storm-Cloud let her eyes light up purple. The sheer amount of scattering that then went on inside the bar ended up almost emptying it as everyone found something more important to do right that second. "Which means, I believe I've found the underworld watering hole for loose crooks. Back this way."
She eyed the little triangle etched into brick, but followed the other woman quickly enough to remain within earshot. "What does it mean?"
"I'm Russian." Sonya needlessly reminded her absently. "Not a local. No local would tell random foreigners what their variation of thieves' cant is or means, just like I wouldn't tell anyone what Fenya mark gives out our safehouses. You might learn, but that'll be on your merit."
"But just wandering down a couple shitty streets, you can find these 'dens'?"
"There's graffiti, then there's deliberate marks put in less than obvious places." Glancing over her colorful shoulder, the thief tilted her head back almost as if to indicate the bar they were leaving behind. "Everyone seems to put them about the same spot in a society, and unlike graffiti it's not made to be eye-catching or colorful. What you find more of would be whatever the more popular crime around is for, ports means smugglers. Hence, a smuggler's den. We've passed three so far in total."
She glanced backwards, at the lit bar window they stopped at not yet out of sight. "Could you be wrong about what it means?"
"Possibly. I'd normally go right in to see if I'm right or not… but right now, I won't be taking you into those cesspits." Lal glanced back at her just in time to catch the slightly unwilling hunch of her shoulders. "We're women, after all. It's annoying enough just being a slight blonde woman entering an unruly bar crowd of locals, you and me… well. You're pretty enough, it'll probably just compound the entire issue to lethal amounts."
…should she take that as a compliment?
Amused by the probably unintended backhanded compliment phrased as a slight complaint, the Rain strolled along in her wake to go see what northwestern Italian criminals marked out their 'safe-places' with. "Is that going to be a theme? Even if, supposedly, we're all armed and willing to use it?"
"Annoyingly enough, I understand why it keeps happening. We'd be new faces, unknowns to the locals. Who's to say why we pick any specific bar to drink at?" Here the thief stopped, in front of shops that had already closed for the night so presumably not for further showing of how to move around and find your way as a criminal thug so Lal could learn. "There's law enforcement trying to find them that need to be carefully run off or misdirected, random uneducated tourists that might think their place is 'quaint' that need placating to avoid attention, and furthermore other locals that need to think nothing interesting happens at these places."
"So at least the first two or three times." She concluded tiredly. "Per location."
That would be getting old fast, and probably meant certain criminals would only bother with a set amount just to not be picked at or bothered. Given what she needed to do to find the asshole that set her up, Lal would be visiting multiple places and would just have to deal with it.
Sonya shrugged. "If you want to move around freely and not just build up a locational base that will come to enable you, then that's your choice. However, this will be critical to keep yourself informed if anyone cottons on to your hunt while you're still working on it. Both for larger syndicates and freelancers, we all use the same underworld watering holes."
"Should we… like, not talk about criminal activities on a local street?" Lal asked curiously, because it really seemed as if her Tutor did not give a damn who was all around. Admittedly this late into the evening there weren't a whole lot of people passing them by, and currently the street was basically empty of anyone but them and the men already drinking heavily in the bars.
The younger Cloud sibling pointedly looked around the very empty street. "Right now, in public is probably as close to 'private' as we can get outside of my home territory somewhere you can learn how to do this. While yes, also technically no."
"…alright then. Lay on, Macduff."
Sonya pointedly peered at her semi-suspiciously. "Did you murder a Scottish king recently, Lal?"
"Ha. Ha. Hilarious."
(Tuesday the 30th of November, 1971. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
"My baby sister's favorite PI!"
The poor guy gave him a slightly awkward grin, seemingly mildly surprised all over to have been brought to him instead of his significantly prettier little sister. "Hello Skull. Fancy seeing you here."
"Yeah, well… she's got the space." Under the stuntman's fingers were the 'winter-season health checks' needed by the various members of the staff around here, basically some busywork to fiddle with while Mauricio got things arranged to go see Aziz and Nahum 'officially'. "If it was just me, I'd probably end up living out the back of my trailer when I'm not working. But she's got a castle, why not?"
"…ah." The French detective side eyed the moderately disapproving butler pointedly not leaving yet. "Did your sister tell you why she hired me… well, more recently?"
"I even got the story of you two getting 'coffee' at a police station after the KGB took a shot at her head while in your office. Which she's pretty sure you already got, but it's turning into a rather convenient habit to keep up." Skull gave up on trying to be responsible, getting up from behind his baby sister's office desk to entertain Rémy Sartre instead. "Did you find something on Hawk's mysterious past?"
Rémy the French detective glanced down at the file in his hands he probably showed up with then gave him a very wry little smirk. "I should probably talk to the man himself, and the woman that hired me to do it all, before I talk about it."
"Fair enough." He gave the only slightly less reapproving butler a smirk of his own, jerking his thumb to the work left undone on the desk. "Winter dental and health checks, what we've gone through already and who all needs them still. Shamal needs to visit the dentist either this month or next, and that's it for all the ones I know need to be done. Finish it up for me? Oh, and add yourself to the schedule too. You're missing from the list."
"Of course, Master Skull." Palaemon shot Sartre another suspicious look, but did replace him to sort out the stored receipts for various health bills to work out who needed what and when.
Taking three steps backwards, out of Sonya's office and into the room currently used as either an indoor gym or otherwise a storage place, the PI plastered a polite and totally not curious expression across his face. "Suspicious butler you've got there."
"He was rescued from an Italian Famiglia." Skull mocked whispered, ducking the pen said kid hurled at the back of his head in revenge for the 'public story' over why he was here at all. "And we're currently… kind of under investigation. For some reason."
"…really?"
He shrugged innocently, even if he knew full well it was Cesare's fault if not exactly how. "Little weird, and since no one's said anything we're kind of clueless on how to deal with it. Anyways… well. I can't pay you for your work until someone knows what you've got for us, and Nya wants to sound you out about maybe figuring out why we're under investigation and how to get it to stop."
Rémy gave him a strange look, tapping the file stuffed full of papers against his thigh. "I'd… like to start from the top of that. I'm sorry, deal with a police investigation?"
"Well, if this was Moscow… bribery would work. Generally why an estate like this would be under KGB investigation would indeed be the fact we've got capitalist members that preferred to be paid money here. Or they want to shake us down for protection money." Skull shrugged philosophically, faintly amused at the Frenchman's instant face-palm with his free hand. "We, and by 'we' I mean my little sister, were pretty sure they'd either lose interest in spying on the illicit Soviet influences eventually or pack it in themselves… but it caused a few of the people here some nasty flashbacks to their old KGB paranoia so it's a problem she wants passed by you to see if anything can be done about it."
"Yeah, give me ten or so minutes." The Private Investigator slapped that file into Skull's stomach, turning on a heel to march right on out of the castle. "I'll get why the hell they're 'investigating' you real quick."
…and now Skull had a ten or so minute window to check what Rémy got on Hawk before they officially had a meeting about it. And got the Frenchman to help them without the long-drawn-out conversation to dodge around the dubious-natured Mafioso that earned them the attention.
Take that, bratty little sister who left him behind.
Sure, he had business pending and Lal needed to be trained to move through underworld taverns to keep herself informed on local movements. It made more sense to leave Skull behind arguably 'in charge' since he was here for now, since they were expecting guests and reports to filter in the whole damn month.
Rémy Sartre was only just one of the many people expected.
There was some American Don and his wife plus men who were apparently coming by for their ten-year wedding anniversary, which was the surprise sweet and wholesome end to Sonya and Lal's adventures in America. Dimitri eventually, on his way through to the Superbi Famiglia. Don Superbi, who was supposed to come by once home again to let them know their parents were safely back on solid ground. Then their parents, since Christmas would yet again be held at Death Castle to allow Lisa, Tatiana, and Sonya all to get 'prepared' to attend the Vongola Ball at the end of next month.
Fon was supposed to come by, and be delayed too so Sonya could have a talk with him. Reborn might come by, if he got suspicious one of the others was behind the slight shift in Checkerface's bullshit and wanted to check on their own 'interviews' with the Ancient Asshole Mist.
Fuck, even Verde had some kind of guest pending. His silk moths apparently reached the point of laying eggs all over one of his labs, and he needed someone more experienced in how to 'move' silkworm eggs to not damage the second generation of Flame-imbued silkworms.
Skull thumbed through the PI's file, but there wasn't a whole lot of alarming information within it. There were five possibilities of who Hawk might be, pulled from missing person files and Switzerland Immigration records about the right time frame and generally matched his features. While some of the possibilities had some legal troubles pending, if Hawk was any one of them, the fact there were multiple possibilities being presented likely meant it'd be hard to narrow down any to be admissible in any court.
Good.
He wouldn't have to send the Storm off on some bullshit errand to keep him out of law enforcement hands.
Closing the file carefully, so it wouldn't be obvious he took an early peek, the stuntman wandered to the kitchen. Ruslana and Zinaida were carefully positioned next to the French doors leading out to the patio, and neither bothered to conceal they were there specifically due to their most recent guest.
Cesare was not remotely as bothered. The Mafioso shot him a mildly challenging look, deboning a chicken while Larion carefully cut up the vegetables to go with lunch.
"Try to keep the creepy factor you put off under about fifty percent, so I can pull most of this off."
The other man snorted, bringing his big knife down harder to cleave through a bird thigh bone cleanly. "I shall endeavor to attempt so."
The Rain right next to him snorted softly too, shoving the roughly chopped onion slices to one side of his cutting board to make room for the potatoes needed to feed the entire castle. "Good luck, Cesare. You're pretty creepy on a regular day."
Reaching over to cuff his 'apprentice' upside the head, chicken blood all over his hands or not, Cesare flipped the chicken corpse over to cut out the spine of the bird next. "Do I not get a convenient excuse for my behavior and existence like Palaemon got?"
"There's nothing we can think up that would excuse you." Skull announced bluntly, but the older assassin was only mildly amused by that claim to his face. "So no. You are the murderous weird uncle from the other side of the family. Which you are, so… there's that. Nya put down that our official stance will be if it can't be proved we're not giving you up. If only for Shamal."
"…the 'official' stance, hmm?" He gave the Cloud a viciously cutting smirk over a shoulder. "Really now. Not happy with that decision?"
"It might shock you, but I don't have a problem with you. With what you do, or who you are." He was kind of annoyed that his position of 'uncle' had to be shared with this guy, but that was petty superiority bullshit he tried to not indulge at all. "I just really don't like you personally."
Cesare paused in his butchering, mildly thoughtful now if the expression on his face was a real indication. "I don't mean to overstep. Sinclair brought me here to cook, and cook I do."
"And we all appreciate you're here to cook, Nya's kitchen skills are… interesting." Skull temporized, but by the bark of laughter he could assume the Mafioso had already had a chance to witness that firsthand. "But we all know better than you just being here to be the chef. You're here to be Shamal's first Mafia teacher to guide him into your circles, once he's old enough."
Yet again, that dead ex-boyfriend of his sister's mere echo upset someone. The assassin was entirely too self-controlled to give away his thoughts easily, but that chef's knife left suspended in the air had blood on it that quivered slightly.
…Skull really hadn't liked the guy when he was alive, and he was rapidly becoming annoyed by all the grief left behind him. Might not be entirely fair, but no one said Skull was a fair person.
He tried to be, sure. Didn't always reach that goal.
"…quite." Cesare put the knife down on his cutting board, and finally turned from his counter space to actually face the stuntman for this conversation. "Is 'be less creepy' your only requirement?"
"Can we use the fact you were brought in by the godfather without harming anything, or would you prefer to just have been 'hired' for the official story?"
"Being Sinclair's 'friend' would afford us more leeway."
"Yeah, it would."
Leaning back against his counterspace, the Mafioso crossed his arms without touching his spotlessly white sleeves with his bloody hands. "Any investigation will reveal that connection and the failed investigations into my past jobs. We were known associates to a degree, known criminals to another, and we occasionally traded favors. You may make use of that information how you wish."
"But," Skull countered pointedly, "where and when that gets revealed could help or hinder future situations. I'm not totally sure what Nya was planning on when it comes to you and this situation, so you're the one that needs to make that decision right now until she's back."
Cesare unhelpfully shrugged. "Sinclair is dead. It doesn't matter anymore."
…sure it doesn't.
He wasn't in the mood to verbally chase the assassin around and nail down what exactly the consequences in revealing information early might be, when he knew full well the whole little group pointedly and repeatedly denied any connection or fondness for each other to this day. Possibly to protect the remainders of the group, possibly to just protect themselves.
Whatever, it wasn't Skull's headache.
If it happened, then it happens. They'd just have to deal with it.
(ooo000ooo)
(Tuesday the 30th of November, 1971 continued. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
What Skull attempted to 'save them' from ended up encroaching on half their little number anyway despite his best efforts, and to be frank Mauricio wasn't surprised.
The Mafia.
Not just a mafia, the Mafia. A shadowy, violent, and foreign culture lurking just under the thin veneer of civilized society. Networked criminal types, reaching far past their natural borders and deep into basically everything they could corrupt. Governments, businesses, actual full cities, to tiny little seaside towns.
Yes, Skull once long ago belonged to a criminal syndicate. Quite frankly, it seemed that in Moscow you either were part of one, looked to one, or looked to a law enforcement branch that wasn't all that better than the vory. Now he had spent a little time there in the thick of things being taught better about his own Flames, the Rain from Spain could appreciate that fine distinction.
It was his family's inclination to be part of a Moscow syndicate for thieves, therefore Skull was sympathetic to them to know just enough to 'save' Mauricio from a similar fate his family prevented him from suffering.
Highly networked, bizarrely far reaching, and in desire for the rare faction of humans able to utilize their 'Dying Will Flames' to any appreciable degree. Unlike the stuntman, he had only a few fellow circus freaks that would've known he had no wish to be 'collected' by any means necessary.
Without the stuntman, he likely would have come to a miserable though possibly short end with his 'plans' on what to do after pausing to help Aziz. These people did not accept refusal easily and would resort to downright inhumane options if need be, as Miss Mirch found out for herself.
As did Master Verde.
And so did young Larion and his parents. Afanasii more than Ruslana, he ended up physically beaten instead of gently taken hostage to attempt to control their young son's actions.
Instead of all that or at least one incident of criminally induced distress behind him, Mauricio… had quite the comfortable little niche here at 'Death Castle'.
By no means was it personally comfortable. Sonya de Mort still freaked him out at a base level for little to no reason he could figure out, even when she was attempting to be non-terrifying for his own comfort when they needed to pass one another down a hallway. For that matter, Cesare terrified him in a similar way and was less accommodating to his instinctual reaction to him.
None of the food the chef-assassin served him had been poisonous so far, and now Larion took over delivering plates to the Rain from Spain which he much appreciated. He still wasn't ever going into the kitchen himself ever or bothering the stuntman's little sister for any reason.
No, he meant being attached to Skull as a manager and hype man gave him job security. A rather marvelous and novel thing for him to experience, since he had spent most of his life since becoming a stage magician scraping together everything he could to make ends meet.
Instead of being 'recruited' against his will for an ability few possessed, Mauricio was instead utilized for his skills that he wanted to live off of. Setting up a show, even if it was now a stuntman's high-octane and adrenaline-fueled defiance of death instead of a showcasing of sleight-of-hand or staging tricks, was still based on the same skill applied slightly differently.
Calling venues and talking the owners into allowing a performance to be held at their properties was the same process for them both. Slightly different in some details, more the same at the back end haggling for cuts, some things that remained the same despite the slight change of aims.
He had come to the somewhat recent conclusion he would never be a world-famous magician as Skull was a world-famous stuntman. He just didn't have enough of that mysterious unnamed quality to him that turned good entertainers into famous stars.
What he had managed to do on his own, was survive as a magician on his own for some years. It had evolved to assisting other entertainers, with the side option of exploring fewer regular shows of his own.
Less regular shows where how much money he might earn was no longer a concern, and Mauricio fully believed that might have improved his work just that little bit into something even more enjoyable.
Both to perform and to watch.
In the end, he had managed to complete his childhood dream of being a magician and make a living from it. Perhaps not a great living, but he had paid his bills by magic shows for several good years. Changing his job description slightly, less 'stage performer' and now more 'stage manager', was no great hardship.
Skull still attempted to prevent Mafia-related news from reaching the Rain from Spain, halfheartedly now than how he would carefully guide a less understanding Mauricio away from certain individuals during his world tour. Those that also lived at Death Castle more regularly than them both had no such inclination and would inform him of salient points as they came up.
Learning Aziz and Nahum had practically gone straight into the same violence-inclined society, with only a slight delay to allow the snake charmer's health to recover and decide how to even start… was slightly unsurprising.
Mauricio had known Aziz's fondest wish was to be able to return home. Formally and legally or not, it would not matter to the Mauritius native as long as he could just go home. Long-resigned to the impossibility he might have been, he retained the desire despite how illogical and impossible it was.
The moment the snake charmer learned there were those around the world with Flames and skills that were beyond most people, the moment he learned from Skull there were 'sanctuaries' and 'safe places' for those individuals around the world… of course he went straight for the stuntman's mother to find his other sister.
The younger 'not nice' one.
Having met and now lived with Skull's younger sister, Mauricio could appreciate how Aziz described her just in case the Rain from Spain hadn't yet had the chance. Over a phone only limited them slightly, the snake charmer's voice was as soft as ever but still expressive.
It sounded like Nahum, Aziz's best childhood friend ever, was less content with the massed security they were under for the duration of whatever they were awaiting to be done for them. There didn't sound as if there were any personal issues with what the two of them had dove headfirst into… but he and Skull would have to see when they went to go visit them before heading off for Ipswich.
With the details, date, and time for a visit to the two being jealously guarded by the largest and most influential criminal syndicate of Italy nailed down, Mauricio went down the many staircases of Death Castle to join his employer for dinner.
Only to find him entertaining a French Private Detective.
…the Rain from Spain wasn't exactly sure what this was to the younger sister, the start of her own criminal syndicate or just a place to stock her people safely at. He and Skull used the same castle as a wintering berth and a home base, and as such their information on what went on and what was important was somewhat seasonally limited.
He was moderately certain that she would want law enforcement involvement to be limited or be nothing if possible.
Obviously not.
"Mauricio! You remember Rémy Sartre, right?"
"…from Montreal?"
"Ah… I was visiting family there." Corrected the PI with a shrug, tapping his fingertips on a folder placed between the men on the table. "I live and work in Marseille, myself."
Mauricio nodded slowly, ambling over to join Skull at that table. "That would indeed make more sense for how you would be here, I believe."
"Nya hires him occasionally. Mostly when she's feeling lazy." Teased the stuntman cheerfully.
Detective Sartre coughed sheepishly, though he seemed more amused than any degree of indignant. "She pays very well for petty work. Though this time it was less petty and more just ticking a box in an official way."
"Speaking of, could you go get Hawk?" The stuntman made a broad rotation of a wrist, their 'secret' signal that the situation was both safe and in need of some clandestine handling. "Nya should be back soon, and this is all about who the poor guy could've been."
"You would think a man with yellow eyes would be easily found in written and logged descriptions, given how rare that is." The Frenchman shrugged, spinning the folder around with a finger and nudging it back in front of his seat. "Strangely not, apparently. I've only got a handful of suggestions, for half a year's worth of searching. Hopefully your sister won't mind."
"His sister doubted anything would be found, suggestions are perfectly fine to start working through instead." Sonya de Mort announced for herself, peeling off her jacket and followed closely by a white-furred dog anxiously sniffing her over. "Rémy, lovely to see you again."
Somehow utterly charmed instead of instinctually wary of her mere presence, the PI politely rose from his seat to greet the lady.
Mauricio could then sneak right on out of there without attracting attention from either, though Skull shot him an amused look for doing it.
He was going to ask Larion if he could have dinner delivered instead tonight, the younger Rain was never very appreciative of needing to go up five floors with a heavy tray but hadn't yet protested the request. After alerting Hawk his presence was desired before dinner in the dining room, of course.
Skull was always amused and slightly sympathetic to his unreasonable instinctual terror of his little sister. Sonya never made an issue of the same, seemingly understanding and at least willing to try blunting how he found her terrifying in some way if it could be done. No one else seemed to share his difficulty… but it made him wonder if his reaction to her was somehow normal.
…or at least, if not normal then not particularly unexpected. None of the other Rains in this castle had the same reaction to the thief, but one of the maids did have an unreasonable and not understood terror of her employer too.
Hmm… perhaps Mauricio needed to chat up the maids and maybe figure out just what that was.
