Chapter 3
"I'm sorry, what happened?" Dr Orazio asked through the phone, Silvestro leaning against the kitchen wall as she held it against her ear, coiled cord swaying as she fidgeted.
"I got held at knifepoint by a man in the park, and got a rock thrown at my head by some kids."
"...Giulio get the car!"
"Doc, calm down, it's fine! I'm fine," she stressed, regretting telling the man her latest involvements. "It's not like I'm dead!"
"You got a rock to the head!"
"She got what?!" Giulio snapped from far away.
"I'm fine- tell him I'm fine!"
"Well, I don't know that, now do I? I have to check for myself, as a general practitioner, before I can make that verdict," the man huffed, the sounds of his de facto husband searching for the car keys clattering in the back.
"I'm not going to be able to stop you two, am I?" Silvestro sighed, fixing her shoulder a bit.
"No. We're coming now. Would you like me to pick up something from the shop on the way?"
000
Silvestro sighed as she read through the newspaper with boredom, red pen in hand hanging uselessly. She was trying to find a job, rather urgently, for there were bills, but there weren't any paychecks to combat them, leaving her to grumble over part-time vacancies in places much too far away and pays far too low.
The ex-militant leant back into her chair with a groan and took a drink of some rather watery instant-coffee. It wasn't her best brew this morning, but it was better than what they got back in the barracks, so she was fine with it.
The little clock on the wall ticked away and tapped at her skull, the bump from Quinto's assault a week ago having finally gone down and depleted with the headaches. She sighed and rubbed at her nape before getting to her feet and stretching out her back, a grumble flowing from her throat as she looked to the time.
Silvestro knew she needed more clothes than the ones on her back, her uniform and two spare changes, so she whined to herself as she began gathering her things to head out. Her keys jangled as she shoved them into her pocket and stepped out into the street, the local 'gang' of boys, including Quinto, side-eyeing her before disappearing into an alley.
She snorted at their actions before continuing on without care, making mental reminders of her build's larger sizes as the colourful boutique signs peered out from the greyed Autumn sky. Her arm ached as eyes trained on her the moment the bell rung out, making her lips thin as she nodded in greeting to the middle-aged woman behind the counter.
A breath whooshed out of her as she began flipping through racks, looking for things that were not only comfortable and looked nice, but would be easy enough to get into with only one arm. In the end, she only grabbed two plain, pleated skirts and a pair of black pants, none of the shirts here fitting her shoulders quite right.
"Well, that was depreciating," she sighed to herself, stepping out of the store.
"Fancy seeing you here, bella," the lanky man hummed, emerging from the shadow of the building.
Silvestro jumped and snapped her head to the man who had fallen in stride with her, hands tucked into his pockets casually as he watched her from beneath the shade of his hat. It was the yellow-banded fedora that she recognised, rather than the man himself, and she had the good mind to take a precautionary step away from him as she tightened her hold on her new clothes, protecting them from falling to the puddle-riddled ground should someone bowl her over again.
The man smiled at her reaction, looking politely sheepish as he let out a smooth chuckle.
"Ah, I see you recognise me then."
"Your fedora gave it away," Silvestro uttered carefully.
He seemed pleased enough by the answer, tipping the rim with his fingers at her as if acknowledging its recognisability. His fingers then began to absently stroke his crescented sideburns, making Silvestro take a moment to observe them, before fixing her attention back.
"Are you going to make me drop my shopping again?"
"To be fair," he interjected, "that was my friend's fault."
Silvestro raised an eyebrow, expressing her scepticism through her expression.
"'Friend', yes, I'm sure."
She turned and began on down the street, people bustling about in a moderate crowd as a low roar filled the place.
"So suspicious, but I assure you, your actions against him yesterday showed him that his behaviour was unacceptable, and as such he has travelled to Bangladesh find himself and end his alcoholism. I must thank you, I've been trying to do that for the longest time."
The lanky man fell in step with her as she stubbornly walked on, refusing to pay him more attention than he deserved.
"I must say, if I were any less than of what I am, that kick would have dislodged my pelvis," he chuckled.
"And what a shame that would have been."
"Truly, I would have missed the opportunity to speak to you again, bella."
Silvestro frowned and turned mahogany eyes upon the shorter being, not liking how close he had stepped as they had progressed.
"Don't call me that, thank you," she huffed, making space between them, before zeroing in on a shop she had often frequented before her discharge.
"You're shopping?" he hummed, following her leisurely as she stepped into the store.
She grumbled and tried to close the door on him, but he managed to slip out of the way and come back up beside her without trouble. Her eyes rolled with exasperation as she watched him begin to flick through the racks, a kind of distaste in his expression as he felt the fabrics in his hands.
"Silvestro! Welcome back!" cheered the woman who stepped out of the backroom, her arm draped with cloths.
"Hi, Margaret," she smiled, walking up to the desk. "How have you been?"
"Good, good," the woman smiled, glancing to the empty sleeve and back, her expression saddening. "Oh, you poor girl. I told you no good would come from going out there."
Silvestro bit her tongue and forced herself to shrug noncommittally, before leaning against the counter and explaining to the woman her new clothing restrictions. She got a nod before she stepped back and turned to the rest of the shop, startling as the fedora man was found to be immediately behind her.
He glanced between the militant and the clerk with dark eyes, before focusing on the tall woman and offering up a rather pretty yellow dress, making Silvestro blink before taking it.
"How do you know my size?"
The lanky, string bean of a man smiled coyly, like he had some sort of secret.
"I estimated. I got it right then?"
She narrowed her eyes slightly, suspicious, but nodded slowly, "Lucky guess."
His lips pulled in an amused manner before he turned and returned to the racks, off to probably search for another item no doubt, making Silvestro sigh and properly observed the dress, finding it actually quite nice. She kept it on her arm and went off to find more, flicking through tight waisted blouses, before humming and picking out several of varying colour and style.
"What about this? This has a rather nice pattern?"
Silvestro raised an eyebrow at the man who had come back with a floral skirt, again in a flattering shade of pastel yellow.
"Remind me, why are you picking out clothes for me? Especially since this is only our second meeting?" she asked bluntly, but took the skirt with a begrudgingly appreciative eye.
The woman turned back to the rack and pushed the startlingly vibrant polka dot button up out of the way to try and find something less...eye-catching.
"Oh?" the fedora man hummed from behind, "haven't you heard? It's because I so happen to be Gustavo, World's Greatest Personal Shopper!"
Gasps and exclamations of shock and glee rattled the shop as women swarmed the newly dressed man, Silvestro blinked rapidly in bafflement as the once suit-clad man brushed his brown designer jacket of imaginary lint and lowered gold-tinted sunglasses at her in a manner that dripped with confidence.
"Gustavo! I have a wedding that I need to look amazing at!"
"Oh, please Gustavo, could you style my wardrobe?"
"My boyfriend just dumped me, help me make him regret it?!"
Silvestro opened and closed her mouth, not sure if she wanted to agree that this situation was one she was in the vicinity of, and skirted around the swarming mass of women patrons to head to the checkout, waving her hand to get the clerk's attention.
"You should have told me that you had been chosen by the legendary Gustavo!" she gasped absently scanning the tags. "But, where did that young man with you go to?"
The ex-militant paused, before shaking her head and fleeing the store, deciding not to banter with the woman.
"Now that we're out, we're going to Prada," the man in the designer jacket chimed, appearing beside her as he waved off a man with an over-excited camera.
"Oh my God!" Silvestro yelped, stumbling a bit at the sudden materialisation. "Stop that! I thought you were still being mobbed in the store."
"Getting out of such a little crowd of fans was easy, there were barely a hundred," he tutted, twirling his ever-present curled sideburns.
The large woman pursed her lips before loosening herself and moving on, hearing the light tapping of polished shoes following after.
"Prada's too expensive, I'm not going there...Gustavo?" she uttered carefully, not entirely sure if she should buy into that name; the change had been too dramatic for her tastes.
"But bella," he urged, stepping closer to her with a persuading pout, "let me style you, I'll give you clothes that will amplify your already iridescent beauty!"
"Okay, now I know you're talking out your ass."
"Ah, ah," 'Gustavo' reprimanded, golden sunglasses flashing with a camera flash. "Modesty is attractive, self-depreciation is not. Now, since we're already here-"
Silvestro snapped her head up and gaped at the bright sign of Prada, wondering since when there was such a mainstream, high-class store in her area as she tried to back out of the situation.
"-We might as well go in, come!" he laughed and shoved the woman headlong into the Devil's purse.
She gave a yelp as she tried to find her footing, nearly barrelling into a rack of gold-seamed handbags, 'Gustavo' chuckling at her expense as he sashayed into the shop, heads turning as if telepathically alerted to the man's presence. The woman huffed and straightened herself out, feeling her arm ache as she fell under scrutiny from women and their husbands, eyes dissecting her where she stood beside the 'fashion icon'.
"Gustavo! Welcome, welcome, how can I be of service?" the man who oversaw the store gasped, scuttling over to them with a sheen of sweat on his brow despite the cool weather. "Are you after something in particular? A jacket? A bag? Or - or would you like to see our newest releases?"
Silvestro watched as 'Gustavo' brushed off the grovelling man, pretending as if he wasn't even there as he began to glide through the shelves of money-laced items. She bit her tongue as she was regarded with a side-eye, before the sweaty male followed his idol, not at all interested in the one-armed middle-class who had literally stumbled in.
"Bella, come here!" the designer called, waving her over with a delicate curling of his hand.
"Didn't I just tell you not to call me that?" she gritted out, but found herself moving across the store to him anyway, rathering his odd company to the suffocating isolation of this place.
"This Floral-Jacquard Midi Dress would look stunning on you, the dark purple and gold design, and the waist will conform to your figure-"
"No," Silvestro denied bluntly, making the man stop.
She could feel the eyes of the store watching them, critiquing them, and the sweating man fidgeted awkwardly beside 'Gustavo' who had a gleam in his eye as he gazed at her unnervingly. Her lip was chewed lightly in her stress and withheld aggression, and 'Gustavo' smirked like he had succeeded in something secret, spinning the item in his hand and observing it with professional scrutiny.
"Very well, tell me, what is to your taste? Loose-fitting?"
"Affordable," she grunted, eyeing the ₺31, 252.65 tag with near outright disgust. "I honestly don't care if it 'conforms to my figure' or just hangs off me, as long as it's Lira well-spent, and I'm not going to get that here."
"And if I said I was going to pay?" He asked, raising a brow.
"I will kick you. Again."
'Gustavo' smiled brightly after she said those words.
Silvestro narrowed her eyes in distrust as he began to slowly saunter away. She thinned her lips and shifted her weight on her feet as the fashion king placed the dress down on the counter, black eyes sparkling with smug glee as the nervous manager fumbled with the register.
"I'm warning you," she called out down the store, fixing her bag until it was further up her arm, freeing her hand. "Don't do it. It's not worth the pain!"
He grinned, making full eye contact with the ex-militant woman as he handed over a gratuitous amount of lira. He was obviously baiting her, and slowly, Silvestro began to nod, understanding the situation that had unravelled.
"Okay," she began, beckoning the man over. "Come here a second, yeah?"
'Gustavo' bolted from the register and Silvestro chased after, vaulting over display tables as low chuckles escaped the man who led her around, ducking between racks and mannequins where her large form couldn't easily follow.
"Come on, I promise to make it hurt a little less than last time!"
"Oh, how generous," he laughed.
The man rounded a table, stacked with expensive shoes that would torture the feet, before giving a choked yelp as his throat came to be hooked around the solid bicep of the Captain, her feet crashing down as she landed from her speed vault. She sighed and put her hand on her hip as she stared down at the winded grocery-ruiner, then gaped as she was roughly grabbed from behind and yanked back three steps as the clerk dashed from the register to assist her victim from the floor. Hands kept her from moving as two large men glared dispassionately down at her, no real hate in their expressions, just near exasperation.
"Out, out!" The sweating man shouted, face a shiny white in his oily panic. "Leave woman, this is a place for those of etiquette and class, not for ruffians and viragos!"
Silvestro rolled her eyes at the scathing term, pulling her lips out of the upward turn they had taken while she had hunted 'Gustavo' in their cat-and-mouse in Prada. The burly men escorted her out with gentle gesturing and grunts, seemingly pleased by her bored cooperation. Honestly, she had suffered words from stronger men in her time as a cadet.
'Gustavo' hummed as he popped up beside her out on the cobblestone, her steps making the loose gravel jump as she tried to literally stamp out the last flames of her temper. A virago, she was perhaps, indeed.
"Here you go, bella! It fits you perfectly, so you can wear it without trouble!"
"Did that whole situation mean nothing to you?" She grunted, eyeing him out of the corner of her eye, making way for a woman with a pram.
"Oh, it was convivial! The most fun I've had in a Prada shop in years, I assure you, principessa," he chuckled smoothly, golden sunglasses flashing with sunlight as he tipped his chin back in pride. "Now, take the dress~!"
"No, give it to someone else."
"You don't like wasting money, right?" the stylist tilted his head with a coy smile and pressed the bag to the woman, the two coming to a stop near a fountain. "Bella, take the dress or I'll burn it. I bought it with you in mind and seeing it on another woman would tarnish it!"
"Do you realise how expensive that is!?" she gaped, ₺31,000 pushed up against her front. "Don't burn it, you...Give it here, you bastard."
Silvestro spoke several choice names for the stringbean of a man before her as she snatched the bag from his grip, glowering at his smug little smirk. She eyed the bag for a moment before fixing her hold on it, then turned her attention back to the victorious looking man.
'Gustavo' gave a shout as the ex-militant's shin smashed into his ribs and sent him sprawling across the cobblestone market square, a groan wheezing from within him. His assailant huffed as she gazed at his splayed out form, gasps and quiet murmurs jumping about the shoppers around them as they watched the woman stand over the downed man.
"I told you not to call me 'bella'," she grunted, before turning on her heel and trudged home.
000
"That sounds amazing!" Amelia beamed, Silvestro groaning as she slumped back into the woman's couch.
"No, Amelia, having that guy buy me a dress was not amazing."
"At least he has good taste," she hummed, pulling the pricy piece up for display with an appreciative 'ooh'. "What was his name? Gustavo? I should see if he has a newsletter or a magazine. Famous, was he?"
"Enough to get me in trouble," the mountain of a lady sighed, reaching for a biscuit and let it crumble between her teeth. "Take it if you like it."
"You're four sizes bigger than me, it would never fit. And besides, it was 'bought with you in mind'!" she grinned, lowering her voice to a mocking masculine as she leant against the larger woman.
"Shut up!"
Amelia cackled with her head thrown back as her friend whined in misery, a hand scrubbing her face as she yawned between complaints.
"Why is she here!?"
The two women turned and murmured greetings to the spluttering Quinto, the mother waving at her son with the dress. Quinto glared at the ex-militant in indignation, before storming out of the living room and up the stairs.
"How was your day at school?" Amelia called out.
"It was fine!" he snapped back, before slamming his door shut in a show of anger.
Silvestro blinked at the interaction that seemed to pass as the norm within the house, her biscuit still hanging from her teeth as she stared at the happily humming mother. She shook her head before snapping the rest of her treat into her mouth, crunching down on it as she sipped her small shot of coffee.
"Hey, Amelia, do you know of anywhere that has a job opening?" she asked, breathing softly over the rim of her cup.
The older woman looked to her for a moment and smiled as she shuffled over and poked her patched cheek gently.
"Is that why you look like you haven't slept well? Looking for a job?"
"Yeah, part of it," Silvestro sighed, relaxing back into the couch. "Some other stuff too, but mostly the jobs. Not many places want to hire a woman, let alone one with only one arm."
Amelia gazed at her for a moment, before leaning forwards and opening her arms insistently. She made to grab the militant, making her jump and squirm away with open confusion.
"What- Why are you doing that?"
"Shush and let me hug you," the mother scolded before dragging the larger woman to her chest and squeezing her arms around her.
Silvestro spluttered, before slowly calming down and staring over the other's shoulder with a half-contented expression.
"Okay," Amelia began after a few moments getting to her feet and pulling out a pen and paper. "There's a place I know that is hiring, go to this address tomorrow, and someone will talk to you about it."
She wrote quickly onto the notepaper and handed it over to the other woman, before giving a reassuring smile at the low-simmering doubt that she saw within.
"You'll be fine, Silvestro, they're a good place. Just be prompt, and try not to stomp too loud."
"I don't stomp," she grumbled.
"You do, darling."