Happy New Years! Hope 2020 treats you well and you're getting motivated for any sort of goals for the year! My 'resolution' for this year is to actually finish a story *sweats nervously*
Let's see how that goes together, yeah?
Chapter 9
The mountainous woman sighed as she relaxed into a soft armchair, the same one she always found herself sitting in when she visited the residence of the Doctor Orazio and his all but law husband, Giulio. She found herself unwinding with the familiar warmth of the place; books, framed oil paintings, heavy curtains, and warm colours making the environment cosy.
Memories of a more youthful woman of Russ made her smile as she recalled her time spent here before her discharge, when she would play with the couple's Bracco dog, Edgar, trying to avoid the tension of her own home. That dog only existed in photos now, though, Silvestro would still find some of his treasures which he hid around the house sometimes.
"Here we go," Giulio uttered, striding out from the kitchen with a tray of coffee and treats in hand. "Sorry for the wait."
"No problem," she smiled, pushing herself up to help him place it on the coffee table.
Giulio was a tall man who very much reminded her of a street sign; tall, thin, and unless you were familiar with it, it would serve to baffle you. His hair was slicked back and possessed the 'salt and pepper' shade. His face was angular and sharp, nose hooking slightly in a manner that Orazio described as 'cute'.
"So, how have you been? I haven't had much chance to catch up with you since you've returned," he began, serving her drink before attending his own.
"I've been fi-" she paused at his look and groaned. "I've been well, though it has been hard getting used to being left-handed now. Everything's made for right-handers - even scissors!"
"I wouldn't have guessed," the man hummed, lifting his coffee cup with his left hand and staring the woman dead in the eye.
"Hush you," Silvestro pouted. "You asked so let me complain."
Giulio scoffed into his coffee but listened nonetheless to her frustrated huffs, smiling slightly in sympathy, having received reverse treatment in his training to learn to write with his right hand under the strict instruction of the cane.
"And how about you? How is your store going?"
"Still going strong; people never lose an appreciation for antiques, no matter the season," he responded, crumbling a biscuit with his teeth.
They talked for a while longer, chatting aimlessly in moments and falling into long stretches of companionable silence as they often found themselves doing. The opening of the front door made the two look up from their respective tasks, Giulio having taken up a book whilst Silvestro had snagged herself the newspaper, and they greeted the old doctor with a smile.
"Hey doc," the woman called, getting a jolly laugh before Orazio bent to kiss his husband's cheek.
"Have you two been keeping each other company?"
"Yeah, but your husband won't let me whine about being left-handed now."
"Oh come now, Giulio, have a heart!"
The antique store clerk rolled his eyes at the teasing, taking slow sips of his coffee whilst pointedly ignoring the gentle pestering of the rounded doctor.
"Silvestro, are you staying for dinner?" Giulio asked, continuing to disregard his plump husband until the man pouted and went about hanging up his coat and hat. "I've got this wonderful recipe I've been planning to try."
"Yeah, sure," the Russ woman smiled, "If you don't mind me hanging around."
"Not at all," the tall man insisted, placing down his cup. "Will you come help me in the kitchen?"
"Yeah," she nodded and got to her feet.
000
"You're kidding me."
Silvestro was squat down under her kitchen sink with a decisive frown pressed across her lips, the pipes clogged and making murky water pool in the sink above her head. She sighed and set a bucket under the pipes before she began unscrewing the plastic collars.
"Something wrong, Silvetro?" Orazio asked, coming in from the living room.
"Sink's blocked," the woman answered, the sound echoing in the under cupboard.
"Need some help?"
"Nah, I can handle it."
She hummed and released the first collar before reaching for the second, unscrewing that one as well, feeling water begin to dribble onto her fingers as the seal broke. Silvestro lurched as the u-trap fell from the screw collars, her empty socket pulsing in phantom pain as the old ghost of a hand tried to catch it.
"Oh, fuc-", the u-trap hit the base of the bucket and splashed rotten, foul-smelling water onto Silvestro's face. The woman pressed her lips tight to stop it from getting in her mouth. She felt her temper come to a boil as the u-trap clattered loudly. "For fuck's sake."
"Silvestro?"
The woman took a calming breath before choking on the putrid air, the smell of decay making her peer into the bucket and groan in disgust as the rotten hind legs of some sort of rodent floated on the thin layer of water.
"Ruggine!" she boomed, tugging the bucket out from under the sink and dropped it into the metal bowl. She just knew it was that rusty bastard who had stuffed his leftovers down the drain.
Silvestro rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand and spat into the sink. She made a noise of annoyance before trudging into the bathroom, spinning the faucet onto full blast and scrubbed her face with soap to get rid of the rotten corpse water.
There was a rattling yowl, and the woman looked to it with a glare, Ruggine grooming himself casually in the doorway. Silvestro growled before grabbing the opening of the faucet and directed a spray of cold water at the cat. Ruggine screeched and bolted, probably off to scramble beneath the bed frame again.
Silvestro groaned and scrubbed her face again with soap, taking out her aggression on the germs that had jumped onto her. While she viciously washed, she faintly heard the door being answered by Orazio and decided to leave him to it, grabbing for her toothbrush.
She was not at all in the mood for handiwork after that.
"Good morning, bella~!"
Silvestro paused and then turned, her toothbrush hanging from her teeth, face all damp and hair sticking to her cheeks. She stared at Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever as he stood in the hallway, smiling happily.
"Who let you in?" she asked, muffled as frothing toothpaste began to drip down her chin.
"The lovely Doctor Orazio, of course!" he grinned, and from behind him, Silvestro could see the doctor eyeing the exchange with an excited glee.
"Doc! What the hell?"
"He said he knew you! And such a nice, strapping young man, too."
"So you take him on his word and his looks?" she huffed and the old doctor didn't even hesitate in nodding. "How did you survive this long?"
"I had Giulio there to help me."
"Ah, I see," Silvestro sighed. She then turned her attention back to the strange, nameless being who darkened the bathroom doorway, hands clasped behind his back and observing the situation with a shaded mixture of lukewarm amusement. "So? What did you want?"
"Bella-"
"Stop calling me that."
"To think you'd suspect an ulterior motive! Am I not a simple man with simple desires?"
"You're still not answering the question," Silvestro uttered, rinsing her mouth out under the tap.
"I merely was passing by and thought it only polite to visit such a lovely woman before the new year," he promised,
"You could literally not be more suspicious if you tried."
"Bella!"
"Still not meant to call me that," Silvestro reiterated, slightly muffled as she patted her face down with a towel.
"Are you sure you don't need help, Silvy?" Dr Orazio sighed, wrinkling his nose at the rot-water in the bucket under the sink. "God, that reeks."
"You're a guest, Doc," the woman reasoned, before pausing and turning to the strange man who smiled warily. "You, however, are an intruder...I sentence you to community service."
"Well if this is how I'm treated, I might not come back," he pouted, crossing his arms.
"Oh?" she asked, a hopeful tone to her voice.
"You wound me," he withered, before standing straight and tilting his hat slightly - Silvestro sniffed at it being worn indoors. "But lucky for you, bella, I am none other than-"
"You're gonna say 'Mario the World's Greatest Plumber' or something, right?" Silvestro scoffed, an exasperated smile playing on her lips. "Yes, yes, whoever you want to be today, I give you permission to fuck with my sink's plumbing so long as it's actually fixed. Go on."
Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever huffed in his suddenly blue overalls, fedora and suit long gone from the scene. Silvestro wondered just where he was storing half of these things.
Silvestro stepped around and over the nameless being's legs as she made the Doctor Orazio some more coffee, the old man smiling widely as he glanced between the two. She paused and looked at him, and then the man laying on his back on her kitchen floor, before groaning loudly and rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
"Doc, no. Or I'm telling Giulio you're bullying me."
"He would be ecstatic," Orazio supplied, like he was agreeing with the woman, making a long-suffering sign slip out from her.
There was the sound of gurgling pipes before a loud 'pop' was followed by a 'splat' and the overall-wearing stick of a man emerged from within the under-sink. Not a hair was out of place and the odour of dead rat somehow had completely missed him, leaving Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever smelling as fresh as ever as he gave the sink a testing flush.
"All done, bella," he chirped, pouring the sloppy corpse into a bag for proper disposal. He disappeared into the blind-pot of the two others in the room, and when he reappeared he brushed down his suit of invisible lint and repositioned his hat. "Your plumbing woes are over."
"Oh cool, thanks," Silvestro hummed, before reaching for the still-hot kettle. "Do you want some coffee? Tea?"
"Oh," a glance to the jar of instant mixes. "No thank you, bella."
Silvestro hummed in acceptance, already used to Aunt Valentina turning her nose up at her jars and Amelia pretending to suffer greatly when drinking it. She honestly found it fine, if a bit dish-watery sometimes.
"I see that cat-" Ruggine suddenly stuck his head into the room and Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever turned, uttering a soft "speak of the devil and thy shall appear," before focusing back on the woman and continued, "has been causing its fair share of disasters."
"Ruggine is...Active in household participation," Silvestro articulated slowly and the Doctor Orazio snorted into his coffee.
"So tell me," Orazio smiled, and Silvestro immediately narrowed her eyes. "How did you two meet."
"Well-" the lanky man began.
"Remember the call about the park?" Silvestro asked, idly stirring her coffee, adding more milk under the scrutinizing eye of her doctor. "That's him." She then took a long sip.
"Oh."
He felt the very moment all his kudos with the elderly doctor were slam-dunked into a metaphorical dumpster, his very existence marked high on the shit list.
"For clarification, he wasn't the one with the knife," Silvestro added on.
"Oh, okay then!"
Perhaps not 'slam-dunked', maybe politely placed into the dumpster instead.
Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever gave a thin smile at the doctor who now eyed him with a certain tint to his observation.
"Well, people bond through tribulation. At the very least, it's a shared experience between you two! Already have something in common!"
"You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, Doc," Silvestro growsed, setting her cheek on her palm as she bent forward on her little kitchen counter. "You're, like, six feet into the topsoil."
Ruggine came purring up to Silvestro's leg and wound himself around her feet, one eye squinting up at her as he vibrated like a little motor. The woman spared the creature a glance before scoffing loudly.
"Not dinner time yet, Rugg. Just 'cause I'm in the kitchen doesn't mean shit."
The cat yowled up at her and got up on his hind legs, pawing at her thigh, which she acknowledged with a gentle scritch to the jaw.
"Devil of a cat," Giovanni-Andrei-Maxwell-whatever muttered, and Ruggine latched a single, yellow eye upon him. The hiss that leaked out was absolutely lethal. Silvestro rolled her eyes.
"Back to the gallows with you," she huffed, waving the cat off who whined and flopped across the floor, demanding sacrifice for his appetite.
The man glanced to the clock and made a noise deep in his throat, a gleam taking his eye as he checked the shiny watch beneath his sleeve. Three thirty-two.
"Alas, bella, I must leave you now," he admitted, dramatically forlorn.
"Okay," Silvestro accepted.
"For I have very important business to take care of."
"Sure."
"Indeed, it may be a battle of life or death."
"Bye then."
"And may decide the path of history."
"I ain't stopping ya."
The man without a name pouted at the lukewarm dismissal before straightening his yellow-banded fedora and headed for the door. His huff remained until the Russ woman came up beside him and opened the door, humour showing on her face.
"Thanks for dealing with my sink for me," she smiled, a bit more warmth to her tone compared to the nonchalance in the kitchen. "My patience just hit zero with that real fast, it's good you came when you did. So thanks."
Silvestro began absently peeling and scratching at a persistent scab on her nape, awkwardness creeping in as the man continued to stare up at her, hands paused in flattening down his tie.
"Absolutely no problem, bella," he smiled, clasping his hands behind his back and he turned to properly face the taller woman. "If you ever need help, just give me a shout."
"Which name?" she snorted.
The man only chuckled and tilted the brim of his hat forward to bow it at the lady, before ducking out the door and disappearing down the stairwell.
Silvestro huffed as he was once again left nameless, before she closed and locked the door, returning to her place by her coffee. She chatted with the doctor for a while longer, having a rather one-sided debate about a certain suited man's eligibility. Then she stopped and stood straight, walked to the door and touched the jacket on the coatrack.
"Fuck! I forgot to give him back his damned jacket!"
000
Amelia hummed and continued to stir the large pot, Silvestro watching over her shoulder as she observed diced onion sink beneath the thick red sauce. The smaller woman let her companion do so with light humour, occasionally asking her to grab something off a high shelf or similar tasks.
The air was warm with steam and fire, the scent of garlic sticking to Silvestro's fingers and the sting of ground pepper on her tongue. The Maddalena kitchen smelt of herbs and sweet and savoury pastes, a little rack of pots growing hanging branches of parsley and mint taking the shelf of the window which was frosted over. The walls were dotted with stubborn splash stains, but showed effort and faded spots from attempted removals, ovens and stovetops well worn and loved, impressions of fingers in the gas knobs.
"Do you really have to keep it boiling for so long after?" Silvestro asked, quickly silenced by a spoon shoved between her teeth and left to be pitched there.
"You have to let the flavours blend, Silvy! Let them simmer and permeate!"
"Or you could, you know, eat it?" She huffed, taking the spoon from her mouth, licking her lips happily. "It's good."
"Wonderful! Quinto get down here and set the table! Stop sulking in your room, we have a guest!"
"She doesn't count as a guest anymore!"
The women didn't know whether to be disgruntled or touched by the far off shout, but settled to keep hounding the boy to withdraw himself from his cassette tapes and come down to help them.
"Quinto, come help!" Silvestro boomed casually, pulling out a stack of plates from a low cupboard.
"You don't get to tell me what to do!"
"Listen to Silvestro, Quinto!" Amelia scolded without looking up from her pot. "Does it need anything?" she asked, handing a spoon to the boy who skulked across the room and huffed at the militant.
"It's fine, Mama," he gritted out, before handing the spoon back and getting to setting the table with silverware. "...put in a bit more salt, actually."
"Ah yes, the master pallet arrives!" Amelia laughed.
"Shut up- ow!"
"Don't curse at your mother," Silvestro huffed, after clapping the boy over the head.
She snorted at his grumbling and began distributing the plates, the loud clanking accompanied by the serrated knife coming to cut through the crumbling crust of garlic bread.
"Do you want to drink wine?" the mother asked, shaking the crumbs off her palms in the sink. "I have some nice reds."
"Yes," Quinto nodded, before yelping as he was cuffed on the back of the head again.
"Not you," Silvestro grunted.
The boy scowled but didn't pursue the drink further, slumping into his chair with a huff as the two older women set themselves down in front of their plates. He scowled as he begrudgingly grasped the large, rough hand of the ex-militant, holding his tongue as his mother smiled softly at her friend and wrapped an arm around her in a half hug, her other extended out to hold Quinto's other hand and thus connect them in their dinner prayer.
Silvestro remained quiet through it but said a small 'amen' along with the family, if only out of respect, and began to set into the heaping of bolognese and garlic bread, a hum of appreciation bubbling within her throat as she took in mouthfuls.
The plates were cleared of their portion within half an hour of slow eating and chatter, disgruntled discussions of school and praising of dance progress flitting about between bites of warm cooking. Bellies full and pallets satisfied, they sat around the table and sipped on drinks, humming at each other in soft manners of friendly affection and teasing jabs.
"You have to be one with the children, Silvestro. Think like a child; be the child!"
"I don't think I'm going to be a child anytime soon," the mountainous woman snorted into her cup, a light tinge of red staining her lips.
Quinto glanced between the two across the table, watching from over the rim of his cup of juice. He frowned a bit, but only to force the smile from his lips.