Amelia was roaring drunk.
"The fu- how did this happen?" Silvestro asked, reaching out to catch the smaller woman as she did a clumsy pirouette towards her, bottle of wine sloshing in her hand and just barely avoiding being spilt all over the carpet.
"She always gets like this, this time of year. Dad left right around now, so she gets all tipsy 'cause of it," Quinto huffed, crossing his arms from the doorway as the ex-militant guided his mother to sit down.
"Huh? I thought she was glad that-"
"Come on Silvy, drink with me!" The ballerina grinned, grabbing handfuls of the woman's coat and trying to yank her down to slump on the couch. "Come on! It's a time to fucking celebrate! Make it a public holiday! Make it international! That no-good fucker's gone and we're all better for it!"
Quinto snorted at his mother in humour, already very used to her giddy drunken self. He grabbed the necks of empty wine bottles and lined them on the counter, far away from the woman's off-balance dancing and Silvestro's frantically lumbering form as she tried to keep Amelia from killing herself.
"Amelia! Amelia, just come here," Silvestro groaned, lifting the woman from crawling across the carpet and dropping them both on the couch and held onto her by the waist.
The mother flailed and rolled around in her grip before flopping over her, taking another chug of wine and cooing at the taste, kicking her bare feet and flexing her toes. She hummed before turning her attention to her son, sticking him with a look that made Silvestro raise an eyebrow.
"Come, come here, my son. Spawn of my loins, approach me!" she called, reaching for Quinto, who sighed and shuffled over, bending as the woman gasped his face in her hands. "Listen, my child. Listen. Learn from my mistakes and misdeeds. Learn; learn the signs and if your wife dares to cross you, remove the cancer from your side!"
"Okay, Mama," he grumbled, blinking at her as she slipped into some form of Shakespearean prose, waving her hand at the ceiling as she recited Hamlet's 'to die, to sleep'. Quinto glanced to Silvestro who looked between them with a kind of watered-down worry, her hand being slapped around by the inebriated woman who giggled at its flopping movement. "What're you looking at?"
"I was just...You're a good kid, Quinto."
The son narrowed his eyes and looked away pointedly, but sat on the carpet cross-legged beside the two women, hooking his headset over his ears and pressing down on the play button on his cassette player with a loud 'clack', crossing his arms and closing his eyes.
"Aren't I just?"
0 0 0
Silvestro stared down at her boiling pot of Minestrone sauce, the pasta cooling down in the sink off to the side. She liked making Minestrone since it could freeze for nearly three months and if she was hungry but lazy, she could just shove it one the stove.
The ex-militant listened to the current affairs coming through the radio, the show's host speaking to some kind of field professional about the trends in the stock market. She only really paid it half an ear; she liked company when she cooked.
The other half of her attention was drawn to watching Verde lay on his stomach as he took notes on Ruggine's defecation patterns, though all she could really see was his feet sticking out of the bathroom doorway. He muttered things about texture, and Silvestro gagged before she tossed one of her work gloves at him, catching him in the arse with it.
"Verde shut the hell up about the texture of Ruggine's shits!"
"It's an important way to gauge health and-"
Silvestro huffed and let the man rant, stirring the pot some more.
"Oh yeah," she blinked, pausing adding a generous amount of parmesan cheese as she remembered something. "Verde, I'm going somewhere tomorrow afternoon. You can't break into my house while I'm gone."
"Very well, may I have an estimate for your return?" The scruffy man asked, following Ruggine through the house as the cat scratched his nails through a rope pole.
"I should be back by...Seven at the latest."
Nearly two hours. That should be enough, right?
"Will you be able to get large rats on your way? I have a hypothesis I wish to test with Subject 007."
Silvestro paused and then turned to Verde with a grunt of laughter, "Verde, I'm going on a date. I can't get large rats on my way home. Anyway, here's your soup, eat and get out, I have work tomorrow."
Verde barely took the moment to stop writing observations as he spooned Minestrone into his mouth, some of it spilling onto his chin until Silvestro shoved a tissue at him. He grumbled a thank you before wiping his face.
Silvestro ate her creation, ignoring how Ruggine wound through her feet like he was starving and skin and bones despite there being a half-eaten bowl of food still sitting on the ground. She huffed as the fat, hell-cat jumped up onto her lap and started sniffing at her bowl, only for the woman to pick him up and all but bowl him back into the living room.
"No cats at the human table," she scolded absently, reading a newspaper article about a new heritage listing.
"Subject 007 is not a cat."
"Oi Rugg," Silvestro called, and the rusty ol' cat turned his head to her. "Meow."
"Murr!" he purred before shoving his face into his bowl.
"I think that means he's a cat."
"Not a cat."
Seven o'clock rolled around and Silvestro finished cleaning the dishes, wiping her hand on a dishtowel as she turned back to Verde sitting cross-legged on the floor, trying to get Ruggine to chase a laser pointer.
"Okay Verde, time to get out, I've got work."
The man wrote faster, not dissimilar to a student getting the call for 'one minute left!' in an exam. He frantically scrawled down several more numbers in some sort of hand-drawn chart before he sighed and rolled his neck.
"I will begin formatting the data tomorrow as to not interrupt your fraternisation-"
"Excuse me-" Silvestro grunted, opening the door in obvious dismissal.
"However, I would just like to remind you that should something unexpected arise, Subject 007 is capable and trained to neutralise a male adult human. But before you give the command, please do call for me so I can make observations!"
"Goodnight, Verde," Silvestro scoffed before shoving him the last bit out and closing the door.
0 0 0
Ruggine hissed loudly and yowled as the door jumped under the impact of fists, back bristling as he dug his claws into the stitchwork of the busted, red couch. The light in Silvestro's room flickered on and let out a dull yellow beam before the woman stepped out, rubbing her eye as she padded across the room, nightgown wrinkled from hugging her body awkwardly from her sprawling.
"It's just the door, Rugg, calm down," she yawned, peeking through the peephole and sighing as she stepped back and unlatched the locks. "Hi, Amelia."
"You have a date?! With mystery fedora man!?" she gasped, waving a note in Silvestro's face, mahogany eyes pinched from the light in the hall. "Why didn't you tell me!?"
"I did, I wrote you a note," the ex-militant grumbled, before stepping aside and letting her dash into the apartment. "Don't be so loud. You'll piss off my neighbours."
Amelia didn't respond and plunged herself into the sparse collection of clothes Silvestro possessed. She murmured and pushed things around before grabbing things off racks and tossing them across the bed, tossing her head back and loudly asking why everything had fur on it.
"I have a cat now," Silvestro grunted, bending to scratch at the feline's chin before it darted off and squirmed his way beneath the bed. "God, you're making a mess!"
"I need to be able to see what I'm working with! Otherwise, how am I supposed to get you ready for your date?" she huffed, getting on her hands and knees and crawling into the cupboard, rummaging through the folded clothes at the bottom.
"Well, you're not going to find it in there - and who said you're getting me ready?" the ex-militant yelped, dodging a brazier that was tossed over Amelia's shoulder.
"Where are all your good clothes, woman!? You're going to that fancy, uptown restaurant, for God's sake!"
Silvestro sighed and walked over to her cupboard and dragged her friend out by the ankles, rolling her eyes at the woman when she made desperate grabs for the shelves. She pushed the door on its wheels and opened the taller section of the wardrobe, shoving aside coats to show a small assortment of dresses.
"There, happy?" she snorted, dropping down to curl up on her bed and watch the mother dance around with her new prizes.
Amelia hummed and examined each, checking patterns and tags with a sharp eye. She released a small sound, making the mountainous woman turn over in her drowsing, listening with mahogany eyes shut.
"This one! You'll wear this! It's perfect, why didn't I think of it!?"
"What one?" Silvestro grumbled, sitting up before choking as the woman's hands grabbed her collar and pulled her from her warm haven.
"This one!" she cried, shoving the familiar, gold and purple dress in Silvestro's face. "The one he got you!"
The ex-captain blinked. Then she scrunched up her nose and shook her head quickly, denying the idea.
"Why not?"
"'Cause he bought it for me! What if the date goes wrong and-"
"Ah!" Amelia interrupted, bopping the taller woman on the head with a clothes hanger. "Bad karma! It will only go as bad as you think it will! Give him the benefit of the doubt, Silvestro."
The large woman cupped her shoulder awkwardly as Amelia dashed off to rummage through her shoes, leaving her with the dress hanging off of the door. She grit her teeth as she looked at the sleeveless cut and felt out the rough lines of her bandages.
Ruggine let out the yowl of a rattling engine and snapped Silvestro from her thoughts, clawing at her blankets as he tried to free himself from the gap he had trapped himself in. His struggle made the woman roll her eyes with a snort and walk over, dragging the bad from the wall and letting the tail-less cat wrangle himself free, shaking himself down with a scoff.
"Dumb cat," she huffed, kneeling down and running her palm along his back. "You never learn do you?"
Ruggine rumbled and headbutted her wrist before bouncing into the tight space, his last leg kicking at air as he squirmed and wiggled his way in.
"And off you go to try again. What a dumbass."
Silvestro jumped as Amelia wrapped her arms around her from behind, grinning at her expense as she dangled a pair of black flats off her fingers.
"I found some! I knew I spotted them last time I came to your house, I just needed to find them in that old junk cupboard," she hummed, squishing her cheek to her companion's in an over-exaggerated cuddle. "You're such a hoarder."
"There isn't much surface space in the house," the ex-militant sighed, patting her head of blond before shuffling back over to her bed and pulling the blankets up, wiggling her feet beneath the covers. "I'm gonna need a jacket."
"Mhm, you're going out at night so you're gonna get chilly," Amelia agreed, sending the woman's back a long glance before shoving around coats and humming as she found one she liked. "You have so many nice clothes in this shelf!"
"Well, yeah," Silvestro yawned, tapping at Ruggine's paws as he reached for the light. "I like dressing up sometimes and pretending I'm pretty."
The woman gave a huff as a balled-up shirt was lobbed at her head, grumbles of annoyance coming from the mountainous militant as she sat up and pegged it back at the instructor making her yelp. She scowled softly before pushing herself up against her headboard, rolling her eyes as her friend came over and sat next to her, already knowing her overwhelming positive vibes were going to be shoved down her throat.
"Silvestro-"
"Amelia," she whined, sinking into her bed. "Come on, I don't want a speech."
"Well, you're gonna get one."
"It was just a joke!" Silvestro grunted, crossing her arm as a smaller one looped around her shoulders and pulled her to lean against a slight frame. "It was just a joke, you don't need to get all grabby."
Amelia huffed and cuddled her pouty friend into her side, careful not to disturb the bandages and tender scarring. She felt the mountainous woman roll her head in an exaggeration of exasperation as she spoke in soft determination, gently reprimanding the large woman who slumped into her bed more, neck bending to dig her chin into her own chest.
"You need more self-confidence, Silvestro! You're going on a date, that alone proves you have allure," she hummed, getting a scoff from her friend. "Your legs are long and your thighs are strong; you've got a good bust too! Look at my little top shelf! Barely a shelf at all!"
"You're petite, Amelia, which is attractive. I'm…blocky?"
"If you mean being a blockhead, then indeed you are Madam Russ." the ballerina snipped, thunking her on the skull. "You're letting your insecurities get to you. Your devil is whispering loudly."
"And now it gets religious-"
"It's a metaphor, woman!" Amelia puffed.
Silvestro snorted again but didn't fight her on it anymore, knowing that they'd just go around and around if she did. It was too late in the day for that, anyway; they needed to get up for work already.
"I can't believe you kicked down my door at 4am," the ex-militant sighed, padding around the kitchen's linoleum floor as the kettle boiled loudly. "You could have waited another two hours."
"Nonsense, this was of the utmost importance," Amelia scoffed, pouring spoonfuls of instant coffee into a pair of mugs, hot water following after. "Remind me to buy you better coffee."
"My coffee is fine, lady. Thanks," she grumbled, taking her cup and nudging Ruggine out of the way with her foot as she pulled the dining chair out to sit on. "It doesn't taste like dirt and it's cheap; it'll do."
The dancer let out a disappointed sigh before joining her at the small table, sipping on the dulled down drink with a lacklustre expression. They hummed at each other occasionally, Ruggine rubbing up against their feet and chewing on their ankles.
"When is mystery fedora man picking you up?" Amelia asked, bending to scratch at the tabby's chin and getting rusted purrs rattled up at her.
"Five thirty; I was planning on getting my shit together after work but I guess I have a free hour now that that's been done for me."
"You're welcome - and what do you mean 'a free hour'? At best, you have half of that! You're going uptown at night! You need hair and makeup!"
"Personally and practically," Silvestro hummed, swirling her coffee absently. "I doubt that I have enough hair to do anything other than maybe slapping on a hairband. It's too short to put in a ponytail or anything like that."
"Then stop cutting it so short!"
Silvestro rolled her eyes and chugged the last of her drink before she got to her feet and left her cup in the sink, stretching until her back cracked and Amelia applauded quietly, appreciating a good, satisfying snapping.
"Come on, let's go. We've got to get the doors open before their mothers start abandoning them at the steps," she yawned, shoving her feet into her boots as she plucked her coat off the rack.
The mother whined but got to shrugging on her shawl, her work bag tucked in the corner from when she had bashed her way into the apartment in the morning. She hummed and linked up with the larger woman after giving the grumpy feline a parting pat, light on her feet as she bounced about with thoughts and plans dancing about her brain.
"Don't get too excited, Amelia. I'm not risking going overboard with this - It might not work out, after all," Silvestro sighed, tucking her key into her pocket as they stepped out of the building.
"Okay, you need to stop saying that," Amelia warned, coming up beside her with a frown. "You're digging yourself a grave if you do. Just...try to relax about it. Enjoy it, dates are meant to be fun after all!"
The ex-militant rubbed her nape and gave an unsure nod, looking unconvinced and just a shade unwell. She bit her lip and shook her head, trying to dispel unpleasant thoughts as they came to the looming structure of the Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup, the loud scrambling of the quail already audible to them as it ran sporadic circles around its new home.
"Aw, that's adorable, Silvestro! You put the hut under the tree the children found it under!"
Silvestro pulled a face and trudged off, a handful of birdseed chucked out of the shed window and scattered onto the grass for its scavenging. She scoffed at the other woman who waved happily from the second-storey window, its rigging screeching against the pane as she pushed it up with a grunt of exertion, the groundskeeper watching with a pocketed hand from below.
"You need some help?"
"No, no! I've - I've got...It!" Amelia heaved, throwing it open with a shout, her arms pinwheeling to keep her from falling out.
"...Okay then," the ex-captain shrugged, trudging across dewy grass to her office, grumbling as the quail zipped around underfoot and made her pause her steps. "You're being a pest."
It snapped its head towards her and stared with wide eyes, beak slightly open in its breathing. Then it let out a squawk and bolted off, diving into the bushes headfirst.
Silvestro sighed and rubbed her brow, "have animals always been this weird?"
0 0 0
"You're nervous again aren't you?" Amelia huffed, poised delicately on the platform as she watched her students try to balance pirouettes.
Silvestro glanced up at her from her station on the corner of the stage, elbow on her knee and hunched over with a plain look of absence on her face.
"No, I'm fine now," she hummed, getting a snort from the petite lady.
"Then could you stop thumping the floor with your foot? It's knocking them out of time."
The ex-militant blinked and pressed her soles to the floorboards to still them with a heat spreading in the tips of her ears. She bit her lip and glanced to the clock which ticked a rhythm that grated on her nerves; two hours until she needed to be ready.
Silvestro was suffering from sporadic moments of 'what the fuck did I do!?'; a common ailment for people of her disposition and mentality. It had left her, several times, laying on her back in the grass and grumbling hatred to the sunshine, the quail jumping over her legs.
The children had seemed to have caught onto her mood, and in their brief breaks had scampered down to the gardens where she had shoved her hand deep in the dirt, trying to encourage the Crocus to take root with fertilizer and generous dowsings of water. They had crowded around her legs and chattered like hens up at the woman as she tended to the Bougainvillea, Susanna tugging at her pants gently to try and garner attention.
"You'll be fine, Silvestro. Try to stop freaking out."
"I'm trying," she groaned, laying back across the platform and staring up at the banisters. "I'm just...over thinking."
The women paused their chatter as the small girl Susanna crawled up onto the stage, sitting cross-legged beside the hulking groundskeeper with a shy smile before she reached out and patted the soldier's knee three times.
"Ms Russ will be fine!" she hummed, then was joined by the rest of her tiny classmates and Silvestro bunched in on herself insensitively as she found herself surrounded by delicate little ballerinas who were making a point of tapping her with their palms and chanting "Ms Russ will be fine" like some sort of fae spell.
Silvestro looked to Amelia for help, but the woman was too busy smothering her laughter with her hand as she watched her coworker be bordered by youths, she managed a small encouragement though, hinting that instead of shying away, she should take a step forward. The groundskeeper bit her tongue before glancing to Susanna who was patting the plains of her stomach and chanting, her hand came out and the girl gave a squeal as fingers found the ticklish nook of her side and sent her sprawling, the group dispersing with laughter and staged screaming.
The instructor let out a melodious giggle as she watched them scatter, her lumbering coworker hesitantly following after as the children tested how close they could get before her attack was directed upon their being.
Silvestro felt awkward in her stilted chasing, never taking more than two steps at a time when a small person risked getting within her reach before bolting away with a screech of high pitched laughter as they clutched their sides to protect from her limited fingers. Her lips twitched into an unsure smile as girls latched onto her legs and a boy leapt upon her back, Susanna hanging off her neck and dangling with kicking feet as the woman straightened, children swaying from her like Grey Man's Beard.
"Run children, flee! For the mighty Ms Russ follows!" Amelia called, adding fuel to their childish flames and sending them all but bouncing off the wall in their giddiness.
The old captain looped her arm under Susanna's knees when she felt the little girl slipping, supporting her with a touch of hesitance, taking exaggerated steps to entertain the children sitting on her feet. Their laughter was infectious and the woman found her lips twitching with persuasive force, tiny hands gripping tightly to her as they clung and danced around her borders.
Amelia clapped happily as she watched parents duck into the room, brows raising as they watched the lumbering form of Balletto Giovanile Bacigalupi's groundskeeper swing around their children on her limbs. A mother covered her mouth to conceal her humour, spotting her daughter bodily wrapped around Silvestro's leg and valiantly keeping her place by battling away the other students.
The instructor hummed and joined the newly arrived adults, sharing jovial glances with them as they quietly asked about the usually illusive groundskeeper they had only truly seen from a distance.
"Ms Russ usually helps in classes towards the end of the day; she's very good at assisting with lifts and keeping the children focused," she smiled, gesturing to the woman who had yet to notice them. "Today though," she continued, raising her voice to gain attention. "Ms Russ has a date to attend; in less than an hour!"
The moment Silvestro's fight-or-flight set in was near palpable to the mothers who watched, her eyes widening as her muscles seized, the children hanging from her tilting their heads in confusion at the sudden paralysis which riddled her body.
"First date with the man?" a mother asked.
"First date with the man," Amelia confirmed with a nod, before clapping her hands and summoning the children from their groundskeeper.
"A-Amelia..." Silvestro gulped, getting the woman to flutter over to her and rub her back with gentle coo's of 'calm down, it's not going to go to hell'. "But what if it does?"
"Oh my God, woman!" the instructor cried, throwing herself across the stage dramatically, pointing her toes. "Woe is the man who must deal with your antics!"
"You can't say that and then act like that."
The ex-militant sighed and got herself together, trudging heavily past the mothers and waving at the children who called out to her, steps thundering in the western stairwell. She got out the brooms and trays, the low murmur of mothers passing by her office.
"Okay Silvestro, we need to sweep and get out of here. We need all the time we can get to make you spiffy for tonight!" Amelia grinned, dancing with a broom as the ex-captain began collecting the forgotten possessions of the students and dumping them in a box in the corner.
"I just need to shower and put the clothes on," she huffed, pulling the window shut with a screech and locking it. "It won't take that long."
The ballerina grumbled before they jumped as the doors burst open, Valentina storming in in a manner that made Amelia understand the relation between two Bacigalupi's.
"My Silvy is going on a date!? And I didn't know about it?! Silvestro!"
The Russ woman whimpered and shrunk a bit as the old Primadonna came up to her, an instinctual, habitual fear of her aunt blooming as she saw the fan in her hand.
"You didn't tell me about such an important development! A man! A miscreant!"
"He's rather mysterious," Amelia smiled, coming up beside them as Silvestro ducked a swipe. "Wears a fedora that always shades his eyes. A rather snappy suit as well."
"Aunty! Stop-" Silvestro raised her arm to block another whack to the ear. "Stop hitting me! I'm 27, I can date if I want."
"Whether you can date or not isn't the issue here! It's that you exclude me from the situation!" Valentina huffed, crossing her arms unhappily.
The ex-militant looked down at her aunt for a moment, examining her face, before she grumbled and scrubbed the short hairs at the back of her head.
"Aunty Valentina, you wanna help get me ready for tonight? I don't really trust Amelia to keep within a natural range," Silvestro asked, peering over the broom bristles carefully.
The Primadonna blinked before lowering her arms and nodded, her painted on blush growing more pronounced as she gripped her fan more. She scoffed loudly and straightened herself, before pausing in surprise as Amelia bounded to her side and began chattering at full speed about the dress which sat on her coat rack at home, waiting to be donned for the night.
Silvestro hummed to herself once before thumping off away from the women, sweeping away stray chalk from the floor that had been used to keep a grip on the polished wood. A wet cloth was used to wipe down the bar of sweat and the first aid kit was packed away securely, the constant sound of boots against the floor and ladies twittering filling the room as the ballerinas gossiped sweetly about the mountainous captain.
"She asked for a jacket, but I'm not sure I should give her one. It'll be too hot in all of those diners and the weather's taking a warmer turn anyway," Amelia hushed, crossing her arms.
Valentina looked to her niece for a moment, and beneath the guise of the perfect primadonna, the woman let a sadness seep out for the girl.
"She wants to hide the amputation, Amelia. Give her one. I have something that will suit the dress, probably," she answered gently, before covering her frown with her feathers.
The mother winced a bit at that, before nodding and accepting the elder's demand, both of them casting their gaze to the lumbering being of their groundskeeper, her body tilted slightly in overcompensation to straighten her spine against the newly uneven weight of her form.