Chapter 7
Silvestro tinkered angrily with her pencil, the shaky font printed onto the lined paper making her temper bubble beneath her skin as frustration welled in the base of her spine. Her name was scrawled again and again in a Primary School practice, her pride receiving a booting as she failed to control the length of the letters, the tails of I's and L's extending past the lines. Her scribing was either too crammed together or too far apart, each attempt making her feel more backwards and cramped than the last as her hand refused to accommodate the pen, like her right used to.
She brushed her hair back from its shaggy drape for a moment, feeling an unsatisfied tension in her phantom right arm as her brain tried to force nothing to move like it was something. She let out a growl and chucked her pen away; the thing clattering loudly on the ground before it was quickly descended upon by the rusty beast that was the cat that had dragged itself in. The woman huffed and leant back in her chair, hearing it groan beneath her weight as she watched the thing play.
"Oh, you're back."
Silvestro stared as the cat flipped the pen around before pinning it with its paws, eye blown wide with interest as its little rat-tailed stump twitched beneath the reddened skin. She pursed her lips as she continued to examine the injury, not quite liking how the feline's fur stood on end now and then when it was stimulated in any sense.
"What exactly happened to you?" she murmured, making the rusted creature pause and turn a single gaze upon her.
The inflamed eyelids made her frown and look to the clock, the hands showing just past four and provoking her to get to her feet and shrug on her coat and boots. Her keys jangled as she unlocked her door and shut it behind her, plans formulating in her mind as she trudged through the light snow covering the footpaths.
Fish is what she'd need to get first, she could probably get something canned from Aurelio's, and if she played her cards right, she could slip the thing something like the cat equivalent of Nyquil as a light sedative. Silvestro could probably wrangle that cat with her one arm and drag it off to the local veterinarian herself, but she knew that she would do the thing more pain in the process, and bumping its tail of no-doubt near exposed bone would be a catastrophe in the making.
"Can I drug it?" she wondered aloud, touching her chin in a motion of inquisition.
"Oh, what could you be plotting this time, bella?"
The ex-militant bit her tongue in her fright, hissing in a moment of pain as she whipped her head to the fedora-donned man who was making a rather weak effort in withholding his amusement. She glared at him as she nursed her tongue within her mouth, wondering just where he had come from.
"Oh dear, bella," the man hummed, stepping closer to examine her face, making the woman draw herself back a slight bit. "Is that a new patch? Whatever happened this time? Did you brawl in the park again? A deadly standoff?"
The cut on Silvestro's brow stung and though she thought she had gotten used to it, the single stitch Dr Orazio had sewn in place tugged at her skin.
"No, I don't randomly fight," she snipped, "Could you step back already?"
The man raised his hands in a show of apology and submission under her anger, though there was an obvious smirk of amusement that played on his lips and made his cheeks cave in the slightest of dimples, sideburns bouncing at the minute retreat.
Silvestro paused and looked to the dual-limbed man for a moment, then an idea snapped in place within her mind and she let a conniving grin pull her lips. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forward, leaning towards him with enthusiasm.
Their closeness allowed her to see how the man seemed to waver between coy and confident, like he wasn't quite sure which to express to her as he narrowed his eyes slightly to convey some kind of smoulder. Silvestro was too busy being proud of her problem-solving skills to bother with this Giovani-Andrei's weird mannerisms, fully ready to use his abled-ness to her advantage.
"Brilliant! Come with me!"
She didn't give him time to respond before she whipped them around and began dragging the lanky bean of a being at full speed back to her apartment, ignoring his spluttering as he tried to save his hat from disembarking from his head as she yanked them around a corner. The woman made sure he was standing firmly beside her before she released his wrist to key open her door, quickly tugging him in and shutting it behind her, a victorious look displayed on her face.
Fedora man looked about the place before turning back to her, head tilted to the side slightly in a manner that statistically increased visual attractiveness. He let his lips curl invitingly and made steps to close the space between them, but was quickly abandoned at the door as Silvestro started making clicking noises with her tongue.
"Kitty, come here, kitty!" she called and was met with a meow that sounded like nails being shaken in a tin can, along with the tapping of claws in hardwood as a rust-coloured cat emerged from her bedroom. "There you are!"
Then the cat proceeded to retreat back into her room without further investigation, leaving the woman to drop her arm with a huff.
"He knows something's up," Silvestro turned to face the man who had stood mutely behind her, "But that's why you're here, Giovanni-Andrei-whatever. You're going to use those arms of yours to catch that cat."
The stringy man stood there for a moment, slowly buffering what the woman had said to him, realising that this ex-militant had actually not brought him to her little apartment to seduce him - but to instead...help her grab a cat.
He felt his lip twitch despite himself and reached for the brim of his fedora to conceal the ripple in his veil.
"Why of course I can help you, bella! For I am," Silvestro turned from chasing after the feline and had no time to control the guffaw that burst from her throat as she took in the sudden change of gear. "Maxwell, the World's Greatest Animal Catcher!"
The corks in his brimmed hat swayed as the man posed, pole-net that was slung over his shoulder just barely missing the ceiling light. A pouch of supposed anti-venoms clung to his hip, tags containing the names of 'Redback spider', 'DeathAdder', 'Black Mamba' and others clinking as the strange being assembled himself to follow the creature, his mysterious didgeridoo theme that seemed to materialise with his dress only slightly overpowering the hysterics that he had left Silvestro in, who had taken refuge on her couch.
"Knock yourself out, 'Maxwell', just try not to get too beat up by the cat," she snickered, watching him go to battle with foolish confidence. "I'm gonna buy some canned fish for it to chew on, I'll be back!"
000
Silvestro rolled her eyes as the box in the man's hands rattled with violence and vengeance, the shrieks of the creature barely fitting within making people look at them with variants of disapproval and confusion. He was scratched up, to say the least, and had spent the time she had snuck canned tuna into the box smoothing out his poor sideburns, one of which had been chewed on by the beast.
"It didn't cause you too much trouble, did it?" She asked, glancing to the quietly brooding man, who had re-donned his normal gear of fedora and suit.
"No, no trouble at all~!" He laughed, face lighting up as if flipping a switch, which made Silvestro's expression portray one of deadpan.
"...I'll ask for some disinfectant when we get to the vet," the woman sighed, making the strange, stringy male strangle a chuckle from under the crisscrossing scratches on his face, hands reddened from the nips and claws.
The cat in the crate continued to fight his confines all the way up to the animal clinic's door, the young girl behind the desk looking on with wide eyes from beneath her large frames as Silvestro came to loom over her desk, expression closing up as she regarded the youth.
Large eyes dropped from her bandage patched face to the empty, swaying sleeve of the woman's coat, an ache pulsing at the recognition that made the soldier hold a grimace.
"Hello, how can I help you?" The receptionist blurted, smiling up at her as she squeezed her pen.
"I found a stray cat who's been banged up and was wondering if your vet could take a look at it," the woman stared for a moment as the young girl read through the appointments for the day, before tacking on: "Do you have trousse de premiers secours? This guy needs it."
The girl blinked, her smile frozen on her face as she buffered slowly through what she had heard. When a minute had passed, Silvestro looked up and turned to the fedora man behind her, who was looking rather amused at the silence.
"Shut up," then she returned her gaze down at the girl and corrected herself a touch too roughly. "I meant the first aid kit. Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, we do- I'll go get it for you and tell the vet you're here. Um, does your cat have a name? For the records."
The ex-militant opened and closed her mouth for a moment, before looking to the rattling box and the rust-nail screeches that the feline belted out.
"Ruggine."
As the girl walked off, the man put down the shaking box beside the seats they had claimed in the corner, a grunt coming from the mountainous female as she shifted her hollow shoulder a bit. She rubbed her shoulder a bit, trying to sooth its tension and persuade her brain to end its phantom pains.
"You speak French, bella?" The weird being beside her smiled, tilting his head towards her with interest. "Why didn't you tell me you had so many talents?!"
Silvestro pulled a bit of a face and sat still as she listened to his seemingly endless enthusiasm for prying.
"I served in Congo for a few years," she uttered carefully, before glancing to the pocket of her coat. "And my father often moved between France and Italy, so I spent a lot of my holidays there."
Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell's expression moved further and further in its pleased phase, and it looked more like he was being praised than receiving a one-armed woman's reason for speaking another language.
"So, that's the reason I said 'trousse de premiers secours'. I've gotten used to saying it in French, rather than Italian from my time in Congo; it's the 'official' language, however, there are others spoken."
"How long did you serve in Congo? I didn't know Italy participated," the man pressed, leaning closer with interest.
"Italy didn't participate directly; I served under the UN," she shrugged, explaining as best she could. "I was in Congo for five years before, well, bombs."
"Ah," he hummed, lips pressed thin as he realised he may have put his foot in it, getting a stiff nod from the woman.
They both looked up quickly as the young receptionist came back with the first aid kit, followed closely by the veterinarian, a middle-aged man who, when he waved, showed a paw tattooed on his inner wrist. Quaint.
"Good afternoon," he smiled, looking between the two, before turning his attention to the fedora man. "So, I heard you found a stray. In your apartment, yes?"
"It was me, thank you," Silvestro grunted, making the man turn. "I found it after it trashed the place. Its tail's pretty much gnawed off and its eye is infected and inflamed."
"Oh?" the vet smiled, taking the crate from her strange company. "Has it eaten recently? Gave it food?"
The woman's lip twitched downwards and she spoke up despite how she knew the questions weren't directed at her.
"It's been coming and going for the past week, but I gave it canned tuna before we came."
The veterinarian took a couple more questions before walking deeper into the building with the screeching cat, leaving Silvestro to take the first aid kit from the young girl with a nod of thanks.
"He's...Not always like that," she tried, smiling awkwardly before scamping after her employer.
The ex-militant hummed before unpacking the kit in her lap, one latch at a time, and fishing out a tube of antiseptic cream, a bottle of alcohol and some gauze. She squeezed the bottle between her thighs as she screwed off the cap before applying some to the gauze, then turned to the man beside her who had watched with attentiveness.
"You're gonna have to take your hat off for this, stringbean," Silvestro sighed, holding the chemical ready to swab over his wounded face.
Fedora man seemed hesitant, his smile flickering as he let out a low laugh that was designed to disarm.
"Oh? Do I have a pet name now, bella?"
"'Stringbean' is one of many vaguely insulting terms I call you due to your omission of a reasonable name. Hat, now, lanky. I need to get at your face."
He prepared to let slip another humorous comment but was interrupted as Silvestro groaned and snatched the fedora from his head.
Porcupine.
Silvestro snorted violently before she managed to smother it with her wrist, ceasing her wide-eyed amusement as the man slammed his hat back down upon his hair, the thing gobbling up the upward spires of black. The woman let out another raspberry of a laugh as she tried to calm herself, seeing the strange being's face grow an apple hue as he pulled the brim of his hat lower.
"I'm sorry," she coughed, "I just wasn't expecting it to be so...big."
"This is not when women are meant to say that," he pouted, making her laugh whilst simultaneously making her feel worse.
"Okay, but seriously, I need to get at those scratches now," Silvestro eased, pulling the humour from her voice as she adjusted her hold on the gauze. "Come on, hat off and let me see."
"Oh, bella, someone of your experience could work around it couldn't they?"
"I was a soldier, not a field medic. My training is rudimentary. Hat, stringbean…." she pursed her lips for a moment. "Please."
The man remained under the shade of his brim for a little longer before sighing and taking it off, thick black bushing up when released from its confines. He huffed, then quickly transitioned the expression into one of carefully crafted blankness as rubbing alcohol was patted into the red lines on his cheeks, one bridging across the corner of his lips.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow-"
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad, suck it up," the woman scoffed, yanking him back by the curl of his sideburn so she could dab at the other side of his face. "Jeez, I've had fresh cadets who complained less than you."
"What about the ballerinas? Am I at least doing better than them?"
"They tear muscles, ice it, and come back the next day to smile at a mirror while jumping around. You don't wanna compare yourself to them just yet," she hummed without pause, tossing the spent gauze into a bin across the room and giving a little fist-pump as it arched in.
"Ooh, my pride, it's been wounded! Please, tend to it too!" He cried, cupping his hand over his heart dramatically.
"Why are you so odd?"
"Please, bella, only affection from a Russ can mend such welts upon a man's pride!"
"Then suffer."
"Principessa!"
Silvestro let out a booming laugh at his squawk of betrayal, her hand busily smoothing down the edges of the bandaid against the man's cheek, combing his sideburns out of the way as she did to stop it from getting stuck under. Her grin of malicious glee remained though a bit more subdued as the mood stayed light, the strange lad's hands coming next to be fixed up.
"Wow, Ruggine really did a number on you, hey, 'Maxwell, World's Greatest Animal Tamer'?"
The man fumbled internally for a moment, before straightening and slapping a smile across his face, tilting his jaw in a confident manner.
"Well, there's always going to be a new challenge. Otherwise, I'd grow painfully bored with it all!"
The ex-militant huffed out a laugh before she wrapped a bitten finger with a bandaid, squeezing it for a moment to make sure it stuck to the skin. She murmured something that he didn't quite catch, but was receptive enough to pout against, making her snort out a snicker.
"There, that should hold you together."
"Thank you, bella," he hummed, before stationing his fedora upon his head and shading his eyes as he let his lips curl. "What would I ever do without you?"
"Destroy less groceries," Silvestro huffed, putting away the first aid kit after she clicked the clasp in place. "Get less people banned from their nearest Prada."
"Oh, come now, that's our fondest memory!"
"What exactly is your definition of 'fond' you strange stringbean?" She laughed roughly.
A shout pulled them from their chatter along with the sound of metal items being strewn across the floor, the two glancing at each other as the slamming continued.
"That sounds familiar," the man murmured, wincing as something shattered.
"Why do I think this is going to be a real fucking expensive cat?" Silvestro sighed.
000
Silvestro sighed as Ruggine hissed and bounded off into the far corners of her apartment, probably to squeeze behind her bed and then scream when he got stuck. She grumbled and shook her hand out, having had to pry that cat's mouth open and shove its pills down while it stubbornly thrashed about in her lap.
"Fuck," she muttered, leaning against the counter to watch the snow blot out the town with its intensity, a storm having set in late last night. "It's really coming down out there." The woman shifted on her feet and craned her neck to look into her bedroom, seeing the last of a rusty paw kick its way beyond the wooden frame. "I guess we're not going out anytime soon, huh?"
A soft motor's rev was her response, making her huff as she turned back to the window and lowered her gaze to the little pot plant of Peace Lilies which were curled up with the cold Winter, waiting for Spring like the rest of the town. Silvestro smiled at it a bit and felt a leaf before turning to the tap. She let her hand fill with water and held it over the sleeping plant, letting dispersed droplets rain down on leaves and stalks, watching broken lights splatter on it from the cracked pane.
"Having a nice nap?" She hummed, letting her hand drip over the sink.
Then the ghastly wails of a tormented soul ripped through the apartment, making the woman groan and dry her hand on her pants, trudging over to the noise.
"You'd think you would learn after the fifteenth time," she grunted, pushing the bedframe from the wall and letting the dramatic ass of a cat claw his way free. "Are you done this time?"
Ruggine shook himself out and made the sound of a sputtering machine, before turning and shrugging his way back into the crack.
Silvestro rolled her eyes and dropped herself on her bed, hearing the creature scratch around in the darkness. She huffed and squirmed until she was comfortable, absolutely ready for a bit of a nap herself- then the cat started screaming again, a paw reaching up to claw desperately at the edge of the bed like a survivor of a shipwreck.
"You know what? Stay down there," she grunted, leaning over to look at his squished face between the crack. "And suffer."