Chapter 12
"So, we're keeping it?" Silvestro asked, looking at the quail who scratched at the loose dirt.
"Apparently," Valentina sighed, fanning herself with her feathered flabellum. "The students have grown attached to it. I believe they would riot should we rid ourselves of...Quark."
"Quark?"
"It's what they call him," Amelia supplied, crossing her arms as the woman stared at the bird.
The trio watched as the young ave suddenly perked up, head snapping to the side in an intense focus before it bolted - ramming headfirst into the trunk of a tree and flailing on the floor as it tried to find up and down. They all groaned and pressed their temples, wondering why they let the children control them so.
"Anyway," the Primadonna sighed, getting her employees' attention. "Silvestro, I need you to go into town to get some supplies to construct some sort of housing for the thing. And Amelia, I need you to keep the students from getting too out of hand with it; make sure they keep on task."
"Alright," the instructor nodded.
"I can do that," Silvestro grunted.
"Good, now, let's get this day started."
The ex-militant surveyed the tools she had already sitting in her shed, pulling out a large metal box which possessed quite an array. She hummed and nodded to herself, before quickly making a mental note, shrugging on her coat and beginning on her way to the town square, knowing the warehouse outlet would have the raw materials. Her hollow sleeve swayed as a light breeze went through, the salve on her patches chilling on her cheek. She only needed to wear them for another few months, by Summer her scaring should be well faded into her own skin tone and she could stop applying them every morning and night.
Silvestro watched the cobblestones before her feet, amusing herself by trying to make each step an even amount of stones apart, missing the cracks lest she lose her own game. A frown came to her lips after a moment, however, as her skin prickled instinctively, feeling the trails of eyes follow her steps until she turned and glared over her shoulder.
A young man stared up at her from behind, not in the least familiar to the woman as she waited for him to look away or branch off from her path. Instead, he smiled, and closed the distance between them, coming to walk beside her on the path. His clothes were stylish, but ruffled; a scent clinging to him that made Silvestro's mind jump to faded alcohol and perfume. This man had got lucky last night and was taking a rather chipper walk of shame.
"Hello there," he laughed, possessing a confident tone that many men his age adopted. "I guess you spotted me then; sorry, I shouldn't have stared."
"Then why did you?" Silvestro grunted, not having expected to be launched into conversation with him.
The man ran his fingers through his short, blond hair and scratched at his nape as he made an apologetic face, keeping in step with her as she continued on her way.
"I- well, you're very nice to look at, I'm not going to lie."
The ex-militant snorted bluntly, her nose scrunching as she felt the patches tug at her skin, stump shoulder pulsing.
"Oh, don't be like that! I really mean it!" he insisted.
Silvestro was about to dismiss the smaller being's claims with a wave of her hand but came to a screeching halt as she felt the gentle pressure of contact on the small of her back. She furrowed her brows in confusion and looked to the man beside her, wondering just what the hell he was doing touching her.
"Remove your hand," she grunted, not bothering to be polite to this boy.
He blinked, startled, and dropped his arm to his side, stepping away and giving a crooked smile as he tried to laugh the atmosphere off, but Silvestro wasn't laughing with him. The man coughed as she walked a bit faster, people trickling into existence as they grew closer to the town square.
The mountainous woman clenched her teeth as the man continued to orbit her, obviously having some sort of goal in mind as he made the effort to stay by her side as the crowds of the plaza moved like water currents. She purposefully cut through large masses of tightly tucked people in hopes of losing the young upstart, going the long way around the town square to find the warehouse's branching path.
"Hey, wait up!"
"That defeats the purpose," she hissed to herself, before growling deep within her throat as fingers wrapped around her wrist and was used as an anchor for the man to drag himself free from the swarm of people.
"Wow, nearly lost you there - what the hell is going on here?" he blurted, making the woman blink before following his confusion to see a variety of people sitting on the cobblestone, buckets of popcorn and assorted sweets balanced in their laps as they watched something with rapt attention.
"I'm sorry, my darling," a familiar voice spoke, enchanting the crowd with its raw emotion. "We can't be together; it's too dangerous. Our worlds - they're just too different."
"Oh my God," Silvestro groaned, "He's being weird again."
"Huh? Who is?" the man asked, still holding her by the wrist as he paid her only half an ear, captured by the scene like the rest of the audience.
A woman stood beside an expensive car, her red dress stark against the black Bentley, dark curls obscuring her face from the crowd, save for the soft frown which pulled at bleeding-rose lips.
"I had hoped, after all we had been through, it could have lasted," she breathed, making someone in the crowd whimper. "But I guess all things must end, my love."
Despite the intensity of the scene, Silvestro couldn't withhold the near painful roll of her eyes as Giovani-Andrei-Maxwell-etcetera kissed the petals of a rose and handed it to the woman, his fedora tipped downwards in a solemn bow. They parted slowly, a single tear sliding down the woman's cheek as she slid into the seat of the car and was spirited away, leaving the tall man standing alone in Venice.
"That's so sad!" someone wailed, the rest of the crowd following suit.
The ex-militant grumbled at the noise and began pushing through, the door to the warehouse on the far side of the impromptu audience.
"Wow, talk about dramatic, right?" the man on her wrist joked, "I mean, as far as breakups are concerned that was pretty peaceful, but in public? Yesh, keep it behind closed doors, guys."
"Would you let go of me?" Silvestro hissed. "You've been clinging to me for five minutes - and five minutes too long."
"Oh, come on, it's just a bit of hand holdi-"
"I said off!" she boomed, getting heads to turn, especially those donned with a fedora.
The woman stretched her back to loom, her expression openly hostile, but she did not tug herself free like she knew she could - he needed to learn. She bared her teeth a bit as he stared, wide-eyed and unresponsive. He obviously didn't know how to receive such a response, mind slow to grasp the situation as his hand still remained firmly around her arm.
"A-ah..." the man tugged on her, lips twitching into a desperate, last-ditch effort smile. He pulled again before a flash of panic slipped through his eyes; Silvestro wasn't budging. Physically or emotionally.
"Bella~!"
"I said not to call me that!" Silvestro snapped, turning her rage on the stringy being who sauntered up to them.
The strange companion who had appeared on and off since their meeting in the park gave a cry, a hand coming to his heart, and stumbled towards her. His voice gained a croak that was less pained and more playful as he let his lip quiver, their hue richer than usual; a second-hand application of the red woman's lipstick.
"Oh, cruel mistress, did you not see the moment my heart broke? Can you not give a grieving man some allowance for only a day?"
The large woman thinned her lips, not wanting to be rude to someone who wasn't deserving of it. She sighed loudly and pulled away from him, returning to sneer at the dumbfounded man who had yet to lose his grip.
"Are you alright here, principessa? I heard you sounding quite angry before," he asked, stepping closer, glancing at the connected limbs for less than a moment, already cataloguing the interaction deep within his head.
"No, no, there's nothing wrong here!" the stranger laughed, only to be quieted by a loud scoff.
"This one doesn't know when to turn tail. I've told him twice to not touch me, and yet he doesn't fuck off."
String bean brought a hand to his chin in inquisition, humming loudly as he gazed up at her.
"I'm surprised you haven't retaliated yet. I do recall being quite brutally booted!"
Silvestro gritted her teeth and huffed, scowling as the grip on her wrist fluttered.
"I can't go around kicking everyone who pisses me off, String bean. Consider yourself an exception," she grunted out, temper still simmering deep within her bones like something molten as her skin scalded against the foreign touch.
"Oh, I'm touched," Giovani-Andrei-Maxwell-ever-extending swooned, before turning his gaze upon the man who was looking between them with a curious expression. "Speaking of touch, I think you should let go, sir."
He frowned at the fedora man before puffing himself up, the lanky being resisting the urge to raise an amused brow as he did, already seeing what hand was about to be played.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but from what I can see, my friend here doesn't like you. So, why don't you-"
"Strike three!" Silvestro snapped, her feet digging into the ground with her heavy anger, arm reaching back before it slammed forwards and crunched against the blond man's nose. Liquid, hot and wet, glazed her fist before the face parted from her assault, his body sprawling across the cobblestone and didn't move again, though the low, muffled groans of pain bubbled from his throat as he laid still.
"'Can't go around kicking'," fedora man hummed, lightly poking the man with the toe of his shoe. "Guess punching's fair game then."
"He got told three times, and by two different people. He had enough warning," she huffed, wiping her wrist on her coat before turning on her heel and trudging up the slight incline to the warehouse outlet.
The lanky string bean of a person quickly pattered after her, leaving the body which was gathering a small crowd, and catching up with a coy smile as the woman groaned aloud.
"Great, I have another barnacle-man."
"Hurtful, I believe myself to be more of a Remora Fish, huddling to the safety of a great shark," he sighed, flashing the ex-militant a look crafted to break hearts and empty wallets.
"So, you believe yourself to be a fish that can barely swim on its own," Silvestro grunted, stepping through the large doors of the outlet, nodding to a greeting cashier. "Interesting choice, String bean."
"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it," he pouted, puffing up his reddened lower lip.
The woman stared at him for a few moments, before snorting and ducking into the aisle she knew held the packaged kits; a chicken coop or birdhouse had to be in there somewhere. She let her fingers trail over the labels of children's playsets, pop up trampolines and dog houses, before coming to a stop on the end of the racks, a sigh spilling from her as she found herself empty-handed.
"Shit, I guess I gotta build it from scratch then," she grumbled, feeling a twang in her hollow shoulder.
"What are you trying to do, bella?" The man asked, leaning forward to see her better.
"I'm doing an errand for the school; have to build a chicken coop or something for this quail," Silvestro responded, leading them into the next aisle with planks of wood. "It'll take a while, go away."
"Oh, but I could help!" he exclaimed, coming closer, but not touching her. "After what you've experienced today, doing something so strenuous!"
The ex-militant frowned at his light and flirtatious tone, grabbing packets of nails from the walls and reading the lengths.
"I'd rather you not joke about me being harassed," she grunted.
"That wasn't...ah, God," the weird man sighed to himself, rubbing his neck and reanalysing his plots as she made distance between them. "I wasn't joking, bella, I swear. I really am willing to help!" He made chase and stepped in beside the miffed woman, careful about his approach as her displeasure became obvious.
Silvestro remained silent, trying to keep her attention on the list of things she had to prepare. She couldn't read the man, all of his mannerisms and tones were so carefully crafted and seamless that she couldn't tell when he was being genuine or sardonic. It irked her just as much as it made her uneasy.
Fedora man thinned his lips and seemed to measure something with his eyes, hat's brim tipped downwards to obscure his thoughts from those around him as he laid out the situation before him. He grimaced after a moment, a mere minute twitch of the cheek that most would miss unless they were looking for it. Then he sighed, thin shoulders sagging as he felt the tensions of the mountainous woman before him rise at his stillness.
"May I help? I know you can accomplish this on your own; I just want to be of assistance."
She paused at the rewording, fingers playing with packaging to keep her temper reigned. The ex-militant let out a puff of air after a moment, knowing that doing this alone would be a greater deal of effort than it was truly worth, and that he didn't intend to come off as he did.
Mahogany eyes turned on the lanky man, who waited patiently for her verdict before she groaned and nodded in his direction.
"Fine, okay just...be careful how you word things, yeah?" Silvestro uttered, rubbing her temples. "And for God's sake, add different emotions to your voice! You make it seem like you'd find a funeral funny!"
"I assure you, bella, I do not find funerals at all amusing," he huffed with a smile.
"You're doing it again! Just- I don't-" the woman cut herself off sharply, her arm heavy as she covered her face to reign herself in. "You know what, ignore me. I'm just a bit...on edge after that guy."
There was a beat of silence before she shook her head to clear it and began grabbing up packs of nails, chucking them at her companion.
"Well, time to get to work. We've wasted enough time on the dude already."
The thin, lanky man nodded with a smile that was a shade different than his usually playful ones and quickly followed after Silvestro as she pulled suitable planks from the racks. She touched the grain before shaking her head and placing the plank back, a grumble of confusion coming from her throat as she looked at the near-endless array.
"Water-resistant, sturdy, cheap - here we go," she paused at a pile that looked like scrap wood from torn down fences. "Can you hold this?"
The fedora man prepared for a heavy weight to strain his arms in that moment, but instead, he received the thick material of the ex-militant's coat. He blinked slowly, staring down at the soft, black tweed overcoat before turning his gaze to the taller lady. She rolled her shoulder and snatched up lengths of lumber, plonking them on her good shoulder. The woman pottered around the mass of recycled timber, grabbing whatever she thought necessary or likeable, the small man beside her following with the packs of nails and a jacket in his own hands.
"I could carry something more, if you'd like?" 'Giovani-Andrei-Maxwell' prodded gently, ducking under the beams as she turned a bit too sharply.
"Huh? Oh sure," she huffed, still a bit grated. "We need some chicken mesh."
Chicken mesh, he thought to himself, watching how her bicep rippled as she shifted the load of lumber on her shoulder. The man bit the inside of his cheek in concealed interest before nodding, letting his lips flicker despite himself.
"Off we go, then," he hummed, voice taking a baritone that made Silvestro's head snap around in alarm.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye, mahogany sharp in colour and attention, jaw tight with grit teeth and muscles tense as they shifted under her skin. Her actions fractured the man's focus in multiple directions, eyes sweeping the length to take in as much as possible in a single moment.
"Step lightly," the woman warned, bristling a bit.
The man stared at her blatantly for a moment, refusing to drop eye-contact, before he smiled and let the brim of his yellow-banded fedora shade his gaze.
"Of course, bella, my apologies."
Her mood didn't shift for the rest of the time they spent in the warehouse outlet, her usual amusement at the baffled looks people around them sent - a woman carrying slabs of timber over her shoulder whilst the man beside her plotted along, hands wrapped around three packets of nails - only turning into a bubbling aggravation as her hollowed socket pulsed with her heart and a sharp pain.
Silvestro grunted as she hiked the wood back onto her shoulder, assisted by the thick twine which bound both ends, and began down the decline with her wallet, feeling uncomfortable in its new position. She sighed harshly as the stringy man appeared beside her, plastic bag swinging from his wrist as he tucked the roll of chicken wire under his arm.
"Tell me, bella, why are you making a birdhouse for a quail? And at Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup of all places?" He asked, watching people make way for the load.
The ex-militant stared down at him for a moment, deliberating whether what she could reveal, something simmering under her stomach that she didn't like.
"The children took in a quail during the Winter storms, it survived and now it refuses to leave the grounds. They have requested we keep it as a 'school mascot'," she answered slowly, biting her lip afterwards in caution.
"So, you're making it for the little ballerinas?" He hummed, smiling in that ambiguous manner. "You seem to really like children, Ms Russ. Do you plan to have any of your own?"
She tightened her grip on the planks for a moment, but dark eyes noticed the jump in strength with piqued attentiveness.
"If I choose to," came the indefinite response.
He didn't say anything further after that, either getting the hint or was put off by the response. Either way, Silvestro found it a small blessing as they neared the turn off for Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup, the familiar paths winding into the park until the building popped up in greeting, the quail scrambling around them as it recognised the tall woman.
The man seemed to think the bird a funny creature, watching it dash about and ram into stuff blindly and bounce off walls like an overexcited rubber ball.
"As long as it doesn't get in the way, it can do what it wants," the woman grunted out, dropping the load onto the grass in a shaded spot at the foot of a tree. "We'll set it up here."
"Any reason?" he asked, trotting up to place the chicken mesh down as well.
"First place I put the wood down," she shrugged.
The two began to work on the frame of the coop, the stringy man holding the pieces together as Silvestro struck the hammer down on nails until they were firmly embedded into the panels. She sighed and pushed the pieces of the flooring together, using a smaller piece to connect them by the underside.
"Okay, I need you to- what the hell are you dressed as now?" The woman blurted, looking over her shoulder at the man.
He had swapped out his yellow dress shirt for a common white one, but most prominently had traded his fedora for a bright yellow hard hat, papers shoved under his arm as he spread out a large sheet on an apparated table that she knew wasn't there a minute ago. The strange being let his lips curl attractively before saluting her, looking a lazy confident as he put a hand on his hip and nodded his head.
"Dressed as? My lady, I will have you know this is no costume! For I am Yvette, the World's Greatest Architect!" He declared, slapping his palm on the blueprint.
"Of course you are," she sighed, shaking her head. "Okay then...help me out here."
He grinned, pleased by her acceptance of his behaviour, and walked on over, holding his grand plan before him on the blue grid paper. The man was about to speak when the sheet was plucked from his hands and chucked back onto the table, the ex-militant scoffing at his look of betrayal.
"Oh, no you don't. This is my project so I'm giving the orders here," Silvestro snorted, a bit of humour laced into her tone. "You may be the 'World's Greatest Architect', but I'm the groundskeeper and you play by my rules. Got it?"
The man with the long ass list of not-names looked up at her for a moment, distracted, before he sighed and nodded in submission, smiling despite his apparent loss.
"Very well, Ms Russ, your wish is my command."
"Perfect," she hummed, turning back to the grouping of floorboards-to-be. "Now, 'Yvette', come hold this together while I hammer."