Francesco had his own room. That was something completely new to him. There simply hadn't been enough rooms in his mother's miniscule apartment back in Naples. The Archbishop had left him there and told him to stay until dinnertime, which wasn't too far off. His rutsack, which contained all his possessions, had been brought up and was sitting on the bed.

He had just started to unpack his few material things when there was a knock at the door. He opened it. Katarina was standing there. The thought never crossed his mind to deny her entrance and he stepped aside to let her in. She hesitated and he snapped, "Well are you going to come in or not?"

She stepped into the room gingerly and he moved back to his unpacking, pulling his clothes out. She blinked as he pulled out his patched and threadbare shirt and asked, "Are those your clothes?"

He looked sideways at her and furrowed his brow before murmuring, "yeah."

She swallowed, "Oh."

He looked at her, "Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

She shrank black slightly and said, "Not particularly."

He turned his back to her and moved toward the dresser that was against the far wall, "So why did you come." His voice was surprisingly void of accusation.

She looked down at her hands, "Since you're my half brother, and we are going to be living together as brother and sister for the foreseeable future, I thought it prudent to…"

"Get to know me?" he finished, straightening up from where he had bent to tuck some of his clothes into the bottom drawer.

"Something along those lines," she said. She turned to look up. He had made his way back to the bed. There was a moment of silence, as neither of them was quite sure what to say next. Not liking to keep still, Francesco reached into his rutsack to pull out the last four things. He gestured to the bed, and she lowered herself onto it gingerly.

The first thing he pulled out was his Bible. It was one of the cheap paperback copies that were widely distributed throughout the Holy See. Katarina frowned when she saw it, "That's a book?"

His eyebrows knitted together, "Yeah, it's a copy of the Bible." He moved to put it on the night stand.

She frowned, "I've never seem a book bound like that."

He shrugged, "Father De Luca gave it to me for my birthday a few years ago." He paused for a moment, "My birthday's March 23rd."

She blinked and said, "Oh."

He continued, "You said you wanted to know me better. When's yours?"

"June 18th," she replied hesitantly.

He nodded, and set the book down, adjusting the corners carefully, "And when's Alessando's?

She thought for a moment, "November…2nd."

His lips twitched upwards, "The day after All Saint's Day."

She inclined her head, "That's true, but it doesn't say anything about him, and knowing your birthday tells me nothing of consequence about you."

He turned back to his bag, "I guess that's true." He pulled out his rosary, a simple wooden one his mother had given him and draped it over his bible carefully. He looked thoughtful, "I'm an alterboy. That might reveal something about my character."

She frowned, "You mean you're one of the ones who assists the priest during Mass?"

He ran his fingers gently over the cross on the end of the rosary, "Yeah."

Katarina had noticed those at the altar before, but she'd never actually met one. They were boys from the nearby village who she did not associate with. The thought had never crossed her mind that she might actually meet one of them. "I've never met an altar boy before."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, "And you live with a fucking archbishop?"

Katarina gasped, "You…you shouldn't say…that." Francesco snorted. Katarina glared at him, "I'm serious. It's an affront to God to use such vile language."

Francesco rolled his eyes, "More of an affront to polite society. God created all the words, didn't he? And the only thing in the Ten Commandments is 'Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain.'" He reached into his bag and pulled out the last two items.

She frowned. He actually had a point, and it started to make her head spin. "I…suppose," she replied hesitantly. She avoided eye contact by looking at the two items he was setting in front of his bible on the nightstand. One was a worn looking wooden comb, the other was…"Is that a knife?"

Francesco looked at the closed blade for half a second before replying, "Yeah. 'Cenza said I should always carry one."

She stood up, "I should head to my room." She started to make her way out. He was just too different for her to handle anymore of their conversation right now. I was making her head spin.

"Wait, Katarina," he said suddenly. She paused and looked back at him. He wanted to promise that he would never in a million years stab her. He wanted to say that he didn't want to be alone in the house; he wasn't used to it. He wanted to protest that he she still didn't know anything about him, or he about her. He swallowed, "I'll see you at dinner, right?"

She nodded and hummed her agreement before she continued out the door, leaving Francesco to stuff the empty rutsack into an empty drawer.