Cesare spent the majority of his time trying to press off the frustration that was plaguing him, plaguing his mind about everything, not just the stubborn inventor tucked away in the corner of the castello. He couldn't stand still long enough to read letters or maps, dinner tasted like plaster, everyone got on his nerves asking countless questions, and not even the cold water splashed on his face dulled the ache behind his eyes.
Outside in the courtyard, even so early in the morning, he sought refuge in the quiet peace of cooler Roman air. Dressed merely in a flowing, white undershirt and trousers, he looked a lot younger and a lot more vulnerable than he did when he was encased in Papal armor and high-necked frills. He was a commoner now, as he was before being a soldier, a Cardinal, long before the robes of God.
On the other hand, Leonardo sighed heavily to himself when his attempt at sleep was in vain. His brain was alert and buzzing with ideas, his hands restless and antsy. It was as if he was having a kind of creative withdrawal, something only Leonardo would be familiar with. Swinging his legs off the bed, Leonardo unhooked his red cape and laid it absently across the desk's chair. He stretched, but soon noticed a flash of light outside. Leonardo frowned to himself and went to the window in curiosity.
The wine probably wasn't the best idea, seeing as how he was practicing waving a sword around, but Cesare couldn't be bothered with water. Water didn't alleviate anything. The wine relaxed him and, so far, he had only drunk enough to flush his cheeks.
Each jab of the blade was a strict confirmation of every problem Cesare was facing, and Leonardo recognized the glint of the sword even from the window; however, Leonardo didn't recognize the sword's wielder at first. It was true enough that Cesare looked different in his 'free hours.' Cesare looked almost relaxed, although Leonardo knew relaxation couldn't have been further from the truth. Leonardo knew his refusal to cooperate couldn't have helped any.
Each slice and the grunt following, the soft twist of leather boots, was as if Cesare were fighting back metaphorical adversaries which kept him from the seat of Italy's throne. And now that Leonardo had something to entertain himself with, the polymath took a seat more comfortably in the window sill, one knee raised to accommodate a leaning arm. Outside, Cesare stopped and then paced around in a tight circle while sweat rolled down between his shoulders, down his neck. He turned sharply, eyes dark, as if he were a fencer, as if he were a torero and Italy's blockade was a bull. Cesare raised the sword and pointed it, pointed at nothing in particular, his expression saying, I will conquer you.
Jumping back into a skid, Cesare brandished the sword up as if parrying the downward blow of an attacker. Sweeping it around, he sliced and then jabbed forward, but froze in that bent-knee position to realize he was now more tired than he had been before he started. Slowly straightening, Cesare jerked the sword idly down by his legs and made his way over to the elaborate center-piece fountain of the courtyard.
Yawning, Leonardo watched the display of sword practice before Cesare suddenly seemed to give up. Rubbing a hand over his tired blue eyes, Leonardo thought that if his entertainment for the evening had given up, he may as well do the same. It wasn't like he was especially sleepy, only bored. Leonardo lacked current mental stimulation and the more he ignored it, the antsier he became.
At the fountain, Cesare reclined the blade against the edge of the stone and lifted, instead, the uncorked bottle of wine waiting for him. Being parched, he downed a good portion of it in one go despite how it would have the opposite effect on him regarding thirst. Cesare didn't much care, obviously.
Setting the bottle back down, he braced his palms against the edge of the fountain and lowered himself to his knees. With hands cupped, Cesare scooped up some of the water and then splashed it across his face. Repeating the action, he covered his head and his neck with cool water, letting it trickle down him and soak his clothes. Much better against the humid air of Rome.
He put his palms back on the stone, went to lift himself up once more, but the water made his grip slick, and he unsteadily toppled back down into the fountain up to his elbows. The sudden slip had startled him, but embarrassment soon burned through his cheeks, and when he scrambled back up from the water, he slapped it angrily.
As Leonardo stood up to cast a final glance outside, he couldn't help but laugh when he caught sight of Cesare suddenly slipping into the fountain. So, even Templar leaders have their clumsy moments? Still smiling to himself, Leonardo went about lighting a candle here and there. At least, he thought, he'd been locked in a room with plenty of books. It would make up for the stop in his sword wielder's practice.
Cesare wondered what God in Heaven was tormenting him, and why? He sat back on his calves and heels by the fountain then pushed himself up so he could sit on the edge of it with his arms thrown across his thighs. Cesare buried his face in his hands irritably while Leonardo was exploring the bookshelves.
Silently, Cesare wondered what time it was. It felt like the sun would be shooting up above the castello any second, but the fatigued and weighted air settling in his mind made his sense of time off. He raised his head and, after gazing solemnly at the sky, he stood up for the sword and bottle of wine.
When Cesare turned around, however, a solitary flicker at the top of the building caught his attention. He paused with sword in hand, narrowing his dark eyes and mentally counting each room, the spatial layout pulling through his mind. Leonardo. That blasted artist was still up. Cesare watched himself twirl the blade in his hand.
Some time later, booted feet echoed down the hall, signaling Cesare's return to the artist's room, and, at first, Leonardo wasn't sure whether or not there were actual footsteps or if he really was tired enough to be hearing things. The doors were pushed open for Cesare by armored guards, and he stepped in the room like he owned the place, clutching that same bottle of wine and the sword. Leonardo had jumped, startled, and he hurriedly got up from the desk.
"You cannot make me blueprints if you aren't sleeping," he said as the doors closed. He didn't look angry, and his voice twinged on the edge of fake irritation, fake force. He looked curious, and when he narrowed his eyes at the room, it was tired confusion and not annoyance. Evidently, Leonardo wasn't the only one sleep deprived. When Cesare spoke, Leonardo noticed how fatigued the man really looked as well as sounded.
"I think you'll find that it'd be even harder for me to make them if I was asleep, Signore," Leonardo said quietly. Glancing at the nearly-empty bottle of wine in Cesare's hand, Leonardo's dark, sapphire eyes soon flicked back to the bottle's holder. "Did you wear yourself out, or did the fountain prove too much of a challenge?"
That snark. Cesare didn't know if he admired it, or wanted to slap the man for it. Leonardo could always ripple his skin with agitation, somehow, by popping off a retort to whatever he said. It was challenging, even though Leonardo had only meant his snark in a playful way as he did with most things.
Cesare's eyes darkened. The wine-induced flush to his cheeks grew a bit redder, but the only thing that moved was his hand tightening around the hilt of the sword. "You saw?" he asked lowly.
Immediately, Leonado held his hands up with a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. "Don't worry, I won't tell a soul what I saw."
Cesare thought, at first, that maybe he should cut the artist down for spying his blunder, but no... After an exhale, Cesare propped the sword against the wall and turned back with the bottle. "Do you want some?" He held the wine out, though he didn't move toward the artist at all. "Perhaps it will wipe what you saw at the fountain out of your memory," he said pointedly.
As Leonardo lowered his hands back to his sides, he raised a brow in curiosity. He hadn't had any food or drink delivered to his room that day, probably as payback for his resistance to join the Borgia side. As a result, the offered wine looked more than a little appealing, but, he was still wary. "...Yes, I would." And he approached Cesare to take the bottle from the Templar at arm's length. "Grazie."
Once the artist took the bottle from him, Cesare brushed by and seated himself at the desk near the window. There, he promptly buried his face back in his hands, elbows rested on the desk's surface. Meanwhile, the wine became a sweet relief to Leonardo, although it wasn't exactly thirst quenching. It was better than nothing. The wine tasted expensive and smooth, and Leonardo had to stop himself from finishing the bottle. He let the taste wallow in the back of his throat as he stepped towards his desk and picked up the book he had been reading before.
After Leonardo sat down in the window with the book, a long silence passed between them in the room, but neither appeared to be bothered by it. Actually, Cesare seemed to welcome the quiet peace that Leonardo offered, even if unintentional. As the minutes ticked by, Leonardo glanced up, assuming Cesare had just fallen asleep. With a gentle smile, Leonardo closed the book softly, and went to blow out the candle that burned silently next to where the other man was sitting.
Suddenly, Cesare said, not lifting his head, "Your designs. I have seen them." And when the seemingly sleeping form spoke up out of the silence, Leonardo suffered a small heart attack.
Cesare paused, raising his head up enough to cut his eyes over his fingers at the artist. "Well, I have heard of them, seen a few. You did the weapon the assassin has, yes? The pistola. Cannons. Also a flying machine, if rumors prove true?" Slowly, Cesare fingers twined themselves together and he propped his chin on them as Leonardo sat against the nearby wall.
So, Leonardo's designs had been 'leaked'? Did that mean his workshop was in pieces now? Leonardo hoped that wasn't true, but then again, the Borgia weren't known all for being 'all bark and no bite.'
"You draw all of this from your head?" Cesare asked curiously, intrigued by the genius of Leonardo's mind, the one everyone else marveled over. "All of these designs, they come from inside of you?"
"The flying machine is greatly flawed," Leonardo responded, "but it has been shown to work. And yes, my designs are unique to me. All from in here." With a smile, he tapped his temple lightly.
"Why?" And Cesare didn't even wonder about whether or not the artist had ever been asked that question. Maybe how, or when, or no words at all other than brown-nosing remarks, or stunned compliments. "Why do you make these things, design them?" Personally, Cesare never had a full mind, in that sense, a mind that was ready to explode because there were so many ideas twirling about inside of it. He had no clue.
The artist had to admit he was surprised at the question, though, he didn't need to think long about his reply. "It is like... If I do not create and design things, I come to a halt. I have a constant flow of things entering my brain, ideas and the like, so if I do not make at least some of them, they either get lost in my head, or I forget about them, or they simply build up and drive me mad!"
Some time passed, and Cesare was leaned back, sideways in the chair, arm dangling down the back of it. He was studying Leonardo thoughtfully, but other times he was looking past the man, off into his thoughts. For some strange reason, when Cesare was tired and relaxed on alcohol, he was much easier to talk to, Leonardo thought. Hell, like that, Cesare was easier to be around period. It was almost as if Cesare's armor was a different personality entirely, one that could simply be pulled on and off at its master's will.
"They say you are a genius and not just with the paint brush," Cesare finally said, quietly. A pause, and then he asked, "Do you like puzzles? Games?" A smile curled Cesare's lips up.
When Cesare proposed a game, Leonardo had to admit he was wary if not curious. "Sí," Leonardo said, "very much so…"
Cesare rocked forward to straighten correctly in the chair, arms quickly going out to grab some parchment, a quill, and the ink. "I will test you," he said to Leonado. "I will see how good The da Vinci's mind really is." And on the paper, Cesare began to draw. A two-dimensional maze. "See how quickly you can solve this."
Leonardo got to his feet, wandered over beside the chair, and took the quill from his challenger's hand. Looking down at the paper for about some seconds, Leonardo started to mutter to himself, possible solutions running through his mind. Leaning back in the chair, Cesare crossed his arms while the artist got familiar with the maze. At first, Cesare watched Leonardo's face, even if the staring was blatant because of their proximity. He watched the lines in the other man's forehead, the twitch of muscle in the man's jaw while thinking, the fluttering lips of concentration, the blue eyes that seemed to read though the very heart of the paper maze. Something had to be there, an answer that told him how Leonardo had this gift in the first place.
Another few moments passed, and a smooth, black ink line was running the course of the maze, correctly linking A and B. And Cesare was watching the artist's hands when the man began drawing, dragging the quill across the paper. It's as if the line was already there, already on the paper, and Leonardo merely had to trace it. There wasn't an unsteady mark etched once, no squiggle of uncertainty. To say the least, Cesare's mouth was open by the time the black ink bled through the exit of the maze's walls. Leonardo slid the paper back across the table, a devious smile matching the one Cesare so often wore.
When it came to puzzles and games, Leonardo couldn't help but pride himself on his ability to solve.
"I'm impressed," Cesare said after a moment, but he took the quill from the other's hands. "Another," he added, not one for giving up. He wasn't the best at complex puzzles, but he had practice to enhance his battle tactics.
This time, it was a spatial puzzle. A flat, two-dimensional figure that could be folded into three. "If you built this design," Cesare said, "what would its figure look like put together? Draw it."