"Are we done yet?" Silvestro whined, slumping more into her chair as the women bustled around her. She felt her hair get tugged on insistently as Amelia hacked at tangles in short-cropped locks, making the militant hiss in pain. "Come on, guys, we've got half an hour - and Amelia, you know you're not getting this in a bun."
The Prima Donnas huffed at the younger woman, their combined efforts showing on her skin as she winced away from Valentina's brush, packed with a kind of vibrant lip tint.
"Maybe a less rich colour?" she offered hesitantly, not really feeling ready to coat her lips in the candy apple red.
Her aunt quirked her brow before digging through her makeup bag, pulling out shades from pale nude to the darkest of reds. They went through them together, taking swatches on Silvestro's inner wrist as the instructor leant over to praise her favourites. They negotiated and set into a three-way verbal tug-of-war in which Silvestro recoiled from the adventurous colours of Amelia's choices and the loud ones from Valentina's selection; in the end, they settled on a nice cinnamon tint that was just a touch darker than her natural shade.
"You can barely see it though," Amelia whined, setting a thin headband in place to pull back the scruffy hairs of Silvestro's black fringe.
"That's the point," the ex-militant huffed, showing her wrist for her aunt to clean off the test swipes. "I thought that's why they're called 'nudes'."
"Hush, children; what matters is that Silvestro looks appealing. She must be able to lower his guard, and thus strike at a moment of weakness!" Valentina scolded, packing away her cosmetics.
The employees snorted in amusement at her blase way, before the ballerina pushed off of broadened shoulders and prancing over to the shoes that were discarded in the corner. Silvestro jammed her feet into the shoes and tapped her toes to get them comfortable, before tugging off the shirt she had slapped on after seeing all the cosmetic powders, and revealed her dress they had brushed of lint or Ruggine's hairs.
Silvestro gave a yelp as the mother came up from behind her and almost aggressively yanked a thin belt tight around her waist, pinching her ribs and tugging at her flesh as she worked the buckle shut and spun it around. The ex-militant spluttered as she took a large breath, feeling the thin belt pull against the action.
"What the hell?"
"It's only fashion, Silvestro," Amelia tutted, fixing the positioning. "Cinching the waist accentuates an hourglass figure."
"Which I don't have," the woman grunted, twisting left and right to get comfortable. "I'm more of a...downward triangle, was it?"
"Oh, you're so pretty!" Amelia squealed, dumping herself on the bed and dragging the ailed cat onto her lap, ignoring how he yowled in dislike. "Gah, mystery fedora man better get ready to be slain!"
Silvestro scoffed before turning as her aunt walked up with a heavy, black coat, draping it over her shoulders so it draped down and covered the abrupt ending. She grunted a bit in thanks and tugged it on tighter.
"Ten minutes," she sighed, resisting the urge to scrub at her scalp lest she mess up the hair Amelia had 'slaved over'. "Now what?"
Ruggine answered that by screeching from beneath Amelia's arms, kicking wildly and making the women look to his pathetic flailing. His struggles made Silvestro snort, painted lips twitching in the corners, before she let out a huffed breath and said, "well, I suppose I better give you your meds, Rugg."
The cat paused, then peered at the woman, before his struggles went up a notch and Silvestro shouted for Amelia to keep a hold of him, pulling a bottle of pills from the kitchen shelf and returning to the struggling two. She hummed and took a pill in her fingers, before the ballerina wrestled his maw open and they shoved the cap between his teeth. Silvestro took a breath and blew his nose dry, making the cat grumble and swallow the pill to make room and rectify his nose. Ruggine hissed before launching himself from Amelia's lap and disappearing from the room, fur bristling in objection.
"Vile creature," Valentina huffed, scrunching her nose at the fur that had clung to the ballerina's shirt.
Silvestro rolled her eyes at her aunt's nature before she grabbed the small bag on her side table, checking its contents of wallet; keys, and other necessities.
"Is that a pocket knife?" Amelia asked, Valentina coming around from the other side to frame the ex-militant.
"Well, yes. It's very useful - saved me more than once," she defended quickly, shutting the bag closed with its clasp and crossing her arm over herself with a huff.
The banter lasted only moments longer before the pitched screech of the doorbell made the women freeze, Valentina narrowing her eyes and clutching her fan tighter. Amelia smiled but chewed lightly on her tongue, glancing at the Primadonna superior with caution and worry, before focusing on how Silvestro had frozen on the spot.
The ex-militant shook her head to scramble everything back in place before grabbing up her bag and checking her keys, lightly nipping her lower lip as tension riddled her body.
"Come on," Valentina scoffed, "You can handle a civil war, but you can't deal with a date?"
The lumbering woman fiddled with her bag as it pulled her skin improperly for a moment before saying, "this isn't the type of guy I've got experience dating."
"It'll be fine, Silvestro," Amelia sighed, patting her shoulder. "Go on, he's been waiting patiently at the door. Don't want to keep him idling too long."
Silvestro nodded before letting out a breath, relaxing her shoulders which caused her to shift her coat on better before she turned and walked out into the living room.
Quinto looked up from where he was strewn across her beat up couch, ear pressed to his cassette player. He looked her up and down, before huffing and rolling over onto his side, grumbling about something inaudible as he turned up the volume on a screeching recording full of interference.
Silvestro rolled her eyes at his disgruntled nature before opening the door to her apartment, foot coming out by habit to stop Ruggine from bolting out the small gap.
"Rugg, go back to your space. Go on," she tutted and urged the cat away with her foot, making it yowl at her in dismay before he dropped onto his side in rebellion, leaving the woman staring down at his rusted-engine rumble of annoyance. Silvestro scoffed and opened the door now that he wasn't going to make a run for it, her mood less grim due to the humour of the moment. "Sorry 'bout him; he wasn't made to be an indoor cat."
"Oh, it's fine, bella," the man hummed, urging Silvestro to look at him finally. He was wearing his usual garb of a pitch-black two-piece suit, but the yellow of his undershirt seemed a shade richer and as he tipped his fedora, cufflinks winked at her. "You're wearing the dress I bought you! My heart is fluttering."
"Oh! Ah," she looked down at herself for a moment, before forcing herself to stop, pinching her tongue between her teeth to control her low down desire to ramble. "I thought it was best for the situation. If I'm overdressed-"
"No!" the man yelped before choking and clearing his throat as if catching himself. "No, no, there's no need to change, Ms Russ. I believe in no such thing as 'overdressed'."
Silvestro quirked her brow for a moment, watching as the strange bean man straightened himself and made quick glances - near unnoticeable - to the inside of her apartment, fleeting snatches of redirection that would have allowed him a rather sparse view of the internal workings. The woman hummed a noise before touching the doorknob and inclined her head.
"Well, are we ready to go then?"
"If you are, my lady," he crooned, offering his arm.
Silvestro didn't take it, too focused on locking her door behind her and glaring at Amelia to stop peeking around the corner. Even Quinto had looked up from his napping to catch a glimpse of the man, but her hulking form hadn't allowed the family of busy-bodies such a luxury.
The man stood there for a moment, arm extended, before quietly clearing his throat and tucking it behind his back just seconds before the timeframe became acceptably awkward. He sniffed and scratched his nape then quickly straightened as the Russ woman turned her eyes upon him, expression contorting into an inviting one as he gestured towards the illuminated stairwell.
"Shall I lead the way?" he asked, getting a blink from the ex-militant.
"Well, yeah, you know where we're going."
The man's smile wavered in its strength there, and Silvestro bit her tongue in self-reprimand. She nibbled on her inner cheek for a moment and followed as fedora man walked, hesitating when he turned and offered her his hand as they came to the stairs. She blinked owlishly down at the presented palm, taking a moment to register the deceptively smooth looking surface, knowing the skin to be rough to the touch.
"Oh, bella, will you reject me yet again?" he pleaded playfully, looking like a wounded man as he gazed up at her from a step down.
Silvestro tried to examine his expression - but shook off the habit as soon as she realised what she was doing.
"You like to whine don't you, Stringbean?" she scoffed as she placed her hand in his, something deep within her shifting in a disturbed manner. Fingers wrapped around her darker complexion in a way that was artfully loose, but somehow, she felt that if she were to withdraw, he would clamp down around her.
"You wound me, my lady!" he exclaimed and took her weight as she took the steps down with him.
Silvestro rolled her eyes as they stepped out and took her hand back to hold her coat as a wind chilled her. The action wasn't ignored as dark eyes were sent to her in a side glance, making the woman wonder if her retraction had indeed been as swift as she had hoped it hadn't been.
"So, where are you taking me, Mr Fedora Man?" she asked as they walked, side by side.
The cobblestone path clopped beneath their feet as he let out a charming laugh, tilting his head in a curled fashion which exposed his throat. He folded his hands behind his back in a proper manner, spine straight, like he was trying to regain the few inches he could whilst standing beside a woman who was just that much taller than him.
Silvestro nipped the inside of her cheek. She shouldn't fuss.
"Oh, it's a nice little place uptown; nothing too much, I assure you," he answered with a smile before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "Have you heard of the Occhi Di Perle restaurant?"
Promptly, Silvestro choked.
"The Occhi Di Perle?! Why the absolute hell-"
"Ah, so you have heard of it! Wonderful, then it'll be easier for us to settle in once we're there."
The Russ woman hid her desire to wheeze before diverting her train of thought, quick to keep herself contained as a new blend of hesitations swelled in her stomach.
"And how will we be getting there? The trains?"
"Nonsense, bella!" the man chuckled, before coming to a stop and making the woman do the same. He seemed to find her confusion appealing as he tipped his hat and pulled out a loop of jangling keys. He then slid it into the door of a black car which had been parked along the side of the road. "We'll be driving there, of course."
The ex-militant stared at the vehicle blankly, fingers sinking into the material of her hanging purse the more she processed the situation.
The car was out of place in their little town that was crammed into the border of Venice. It's British sports car physique, sleek and a glossy, pitch black, was sticking out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of worn cobblestone and rusted water pipes. The interior was a beige two-seater, pristine and perfect, and Silvestro suddenly remembered the dirt which clung to the remains of the sticker on the sole of her shoe.
"Lovely car isn't it?" the man hummed, perhaps not noticing her turmoil or perhaps choosing not to point it out. "It's a-"
"A Jaguar E-Type," Silvestro blurted, making the lanky man spin around.
"Oh?" he uttered with humour. "The lady knows her cars?"
That made her frown, not sure if she liked the phrasing of that sentence.
"Not personally," she sighed, walking forward to join him beside the vehicle. "But a young man in my cadets unit was quite the fanatic."
"Really? And you still keep in touch? They only released this model in 1961."
"Yes, we do," was the decided answer, along with the faintest narrowing of mahogany eyes.
The strange man was still smiling like he was humouring her rather than conversing.
Silvestro felt herself tense beneath the dress, shoulders pulling the fabric as she set them in a firm line, her body expressing how the man was edging into a dangerous territory rather than her mouth. She bit her tongue when he didn't do more than tilt his hat's brim to cover his eyes and smile wider, sheepish - or thrilled.
Despite how her skin seemed to tingle with warning, the Russ woman only sighed and accepted the assistance of a hand to set herself down in the passenger seat, fixing her dress and placing her hand on her lap along with her purse. The car rocked a bit as the strange man got into the other side and let the engine roar to life; metal purring under her feet in a manner that wasn't unlike Ruggine.
The man seemed to notice her relaxing under the rumble of the motor and gave a low chuckle that was designed to send tingles through the flesh of those who heard it.
"So, how was your day so far, bella?" he asked as they pulled onto the road and joined a line of idling cars.
"Fairly good," she hummed, playing with the clasp of her purse as she watched the houses rise in value.
"You had guests in your apartment. One was that instructor woman from the Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup, right? Are you very close?"
Silvestro hummed before letting her lips curl into a smile, softening her expression as conversation eased the atmosphere.
"Yeah, Amelia's a nice woman," then she snorted, the action less than graceful but expressive of her humour. "I think she was more excited about this date than I was, actually!"
The man smiled at the noise that escaped her, his grip on the wheel clenching for a moment. As he turned the corner and came to a long stretch of road, he pressed down and accelerated beyond what could have even loosely recognised as the speed limit.
Silvestro inhaled sharply as they swung around to overtake a family's Mustang, feeling the force lag with the physical bodies.
"She was more excited than you, was she? Should I be taking her on a date soon too then?" he laughed, swerving sharply again and reclaiming the road.
"You'd have to compete with her son for attention, I should warn you," the Russ woman glanced to him out of the corner of her eye, disgruntled by the joke, but not showing it as she responded with an easy tone.
"Oh, dear, a son?" came the response, still laced with light banter. "I wouldn't dare to step to that, bella. "
"Guess you're stuck with me then," she hummed.
"What a pleasant punishment," he crooned in a tone that could not be misconstrued.
Silvestro kept her gaze on the long road despite the words, a twitch coming to her system as she began to see tall buildings with more windows than walls. Mood lighting and chandeliers were popping up along with covered outdoor seating that was just as well kept as the indoor furniture
"Nearly there?" she asked, tapping her heel restlessly.
"Nearly, just a couple more minutes."
Silvestro found herself fiddling with the clasp of her purse, opening and closing it absently to satiate the desire to burn out her compounding fight-or-flight. She thinned her lips and tried to focus on the purr of the car, concentrate on how the rumbling engine made her skin tingle with vibrations not too different to the way Ruggine did when he was contented with a meal.
The ex-militant relaxed with the thought before looking up as they swerved gently - for once - and came to a stop before an anxiety-inducingly lavish establishment. The door on Silvestro's side was popped open for her and made her jump a bit, her strange companion laughing gently at her nervous buckling and he too got out and all but tossed his keys to the stiff-backed valet.
He hummed and offered his hand to her as she stepped out, making her pause as she clutched her purse tighter even as the strap hung from her wrist. The man registered this action, coal eyes dropping to it for less than a flash - and he smiled and moved instead to lightly rest his hand above the small of the militant's back.
Silvestro nodded slightly to show for him to proceed and his hand fell flush to her frame guiding her along as he made small talk on a topic she felt more than a little lost on.
"Occhi Di Perle is definitely the best restaurant this side of Venice, however, I will say that it comes second only to the Vino Rosmarino."
"Oh," she uttered blankly, only understanding that there was a lot of money in that sentence. "Do you...often come to places like this?"
Her company for tonight seemed to be amused by her question, and took his time tailoring and answer for her, making an outward show of warping his words to convey a coy attitude.
"If I choose to," he shrugged, and Silvestro's mind immediately summoned up the memory of an interaction from a while ago.
"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.
Quid pro quo; he'd only give as much as she did. Or at least, seem to give as much. She honestly had no way to gauge how truthful anything this man said other than to trust in his word. And with an extending list of loose names, it was unlikely to hold.
"Fair enough," she hummed out, covering the tension quickly and allowing them to step into the warm temperature of the Occhi Di Perle.
The place smelt expensive from the instant her flats hit the floor, a golden hue cast by the lighting and making the marble statue of painstaking carved silk-like loops glow vibrantly as it conducted the light traffic of the surrounding lobby. Men in fine pressed suits strode from table to table within the restaurant, a pristine cloth over their arm as they seemed to float seamlessly through the isles, blending into the scene in a way that made them near unseen.
Silvestro and her company approached the small counter and was greeted with a smile by the doorman, his teeth a near startling white as he quickly regarded the pair.
"Good evening, do you have a reservation?" the man asked, inclining his body in a falsely eager way.
"Yes, under the name Renato," he smiled back, seeming internally pleased as a waiter tripped over behind them when he heard the name.
Silvestro struggled to not roll her eyes at the sheer chaos that followed the announcement of his presence. She wondered what 'amazing' list of outlandish accomplishments followed that name. What would he think up this time? The prince of a small European country? A professor at a world-renowned university?
"Mr R-Renato, sir!" the doorman gasped out, choking on his breath like his throat was closing up from shock.
"Please," tonight's 'Renato' uttered, holding up a hand to pause the man's floundering, "I'm just after a nice dinner tonight. No need to be so formal."
"Yes sir," came the man's faint squeak, before another waiter came up from behind them and drew their attention.
"Excuse me, Mr Renato?" he asked, getting a nod from the stringy bean man. "There's someone on the telephone for you."
"Oh?" the man uttered, looking to the staff before turning to his company. "You'll be alright on your own for a little while, bella?"
"Yeah, sure," Silvestro shrugged, getting a smile before they parted and she was guided to their table by the stumbling waiter. "Thank you...Are you alright?"
"Y-Yes ma'am!" the young man wheezed, before booking it out of there.
The ex-militant sighed and rubbed her face before putting her purse on the table and leant back in her chair, coat still draped over her shoulders and concealing as she turned her attention to the window. She watched in a kind of watered-down appreciation as she took in the amber glow of an evening over the harbour, small boats rowing past along with a piece of nice music that seemed to come from a distance.
Fifteen minutes had passed by the time Silvestro had become irreversibly uncomfortable and vaguely worried, she nibbled on a finely seasoned breadstick as she looked over her shoulder at the doors where she had come in hoping to see 'Renato' before much longer. She frowned a bit and gently denied a waiter who asked if she was ready.
Under the low murmur of the patrons within the restaurant, there were quiet clatters that emanated from behind the curtains of a small stage to the back of the room; a surefire sign that the evening's entertainment was preparing to present itself. 'Renato' had disclosed that it was going to be some sort of comedy.
Another few minutes passed, perhaps five, before she began to recollect her purse and stand, wondering if she should go check on the man. It had been a phone call directly to the Occhi Di Perle, so perhaps it was a business engagement?
Silvestro tugged her coat tighter and stepped around her seat before her whole spine bristled in warning, a heavy presence forming behind her.
"Oh, wh-"
Her arm snapped back and she felt her elbow dig into soft flesh, proving she had successfully impacted - before she realised that, indeed, it was 'Renato' who was now doubled over and wheezing painfully, protecting his loins with a pale face.
"Oh, thank God, it's just you," Silvestro sighed, letting out a relieved breath. "I thought I hurt someone actually important."
'Renato' had the capability to look comically betrayed beneath the turmoil and got flashed a rugged smile from the ex-militant before she put her purse down and helped him into her already out seat. He dropped down with a huff and panted through the pain, taking deep breaths trying to find a happy place among it all.
The people at the surrounding tables were muttering and sending them looks of confusion and annoyance; they were no doubt ruining the classy atmosphere of the Occhi Di Perle, but Silvestro focused her attention on the crumpled man.
"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, still standing next to him now that she had had her laugh.
"Yeah," he nodded, sounding just an octave higher than usual, "I'll be fine," then he cracked a smile and chuckled. "Though, I think if I took another one of those my lineage would end with me."
Silvestro snorted and sat herself down across from him at their table for two, the other patrons turning back now that the scene had ended.
The man took his yellow-strapped fedora off and placed it down on the side of the table, his hair slicked back but only enough to force the pronounced bristle of his pitch locks to angle out the back of his head like the crest of some sort of black cockatiel.
"Sorry 'bout jabbing you in the gut," she apologised, taking a menu from him as they settled down and he stopped wheezing with every breath. "Well, a bit lower than the gut."
"It's fine," 'Renato' soothed, quickly ordering them a wine with a mouthful of a name without so much as referencing the drinks page. "I should have known better than to sneak up on a veteran. Lets both agree to not do it again?"
"Fair enough," Silvestro shrugged, eyeing the prices and feeling pain in her soul and wallet. "Dear God, these are expensive. Why are they so expensive?"
"Don't worry, I'm paying for tonight," he hummed, closing his menu, having already chosen his plate. "Are you ready?"
"Uh...think so, yeah," she nodded, "Are you sure though? I mean, these kinds of prices are meant for occasions and-"
"Are you saying this isn't a special occasion?" 'Renato' asked, tilting his head.
Silvestro paused and frowned, taken by surprise and unable to deny his question without seeming rude. She sighed and rubbed her nape before submitting to his silent pressure and made a gesture to one of the seafood dishes that she deemed familiar enough on the exotic menu.
"Don't let it worry you, bella," he urged as the waiter blended into the rest of the scene. "I've got enough to spend on this, no problem. Eat as much as you want, don't hold back on my account." Then he smiled and leant forward, hands bridged together. "Something's got to sustain that figure of yours after all."
Another frown and 'Renato' backed up with an apologetic twitch of the lips.
"So," Silvestro started after a beat of repairing silence, "Am I allowed to ask about that call?"
"It was just some business - a work call."
"Ah, thought as much, must have been important," she murmured, bowing her brows in concern. "Do you need to postpone? I'd hate to keep you from any too dire."
'Renato's' lip twitched at something she said, a flash of something humorous slipping behind his eyes.
"No, no," he hummed smoothly, voice taking a richer tone with the slight shift of mood. "It was nothing too 'dire'."
"That's good. Just some kind of last-minute information?"
A waiter came and gently set down a wine bottle and two glasses for them, pouring deep red into the crystal glass and getting a smile of thanks from the ex-soldier and the nameless entity.
"Yes, just some information on a new target since we've managed to reach the last one," he nodded, fingering the rim of his cup and making the glass sing quietly.
"What kind of work do you do, exactly?" Silvestro asked, brows furrowing slightly as she recalled the...stunts he had enacted in the past months.
'Renato' paused his playing and looked to the woman in a way that made her dig her heels into the dark wood flooring.
"Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that. Contract work; I do whatever pays well," he hummed easily, waving his hand about as he rested his chin on the other.
Silvestro thinned her lips at the vague response but pushed no further, knowing that nothing would come from it beyond running in verbal circles. She nodded to show she accepted his evasions, getting a quirk of the lips, before tapping the table with her fingertips in swift drumming and launching into another topic before the air could become too stale and the satisfaction in 'Renato's face could become too potent.
"So, 'Renato'," the ex-militant grunted, before pausing and scrambling in her mind for something, anything to talk about. "Cats or dogs?"
Smooth.
'Renato' snorted into his cup, the sound unscripted and nice to the woman's ears, before he coughed and lowered his wine to smile and utter an almost distracted: "I'm more of a lizard man, myself."
"Lizards?" Silvestro echoed, intrigued.
"Yes," he nodded, seemingly pleased by her sudden engagement. "Actually, I have a chameleon as a companion."
"Really? Do they take much to care for?" she asked, leaning her arm on the table as she began to relax again. "Surely you can't just take them to the vet down the street!"
"Exotic vets are easy enough to come by when you look in the right places," 'Renato' explained, placing his chin in his hand as he continued to observe her interest.
"What's their name?" she hummed, not quite as perturbed as she would have been as the man's action made their gap smaller by an inch. "Are they as much of a menace as Ruggine?"
"Nothing could be as much of a menace as that cat," he grumbled, getting a less-than-refined snort from the woman. "I'll have you know that my Leon is a refined and obedient individual!"
"Oh, forgive me, I never meant to slander such a gentleman," Silvestro scoffed with a laugh.
"As trying as it is, I suppose I must forgive the bella," he sighed, playfully distraught.
"So, are chameleons really able to blend with anything? Like wallpaper and patterns, too?"
"I can't speak for all the others, but my Leon certainly can. A true prodigy he is. Pride of the house!" the man laughed, puffing up his chest a little and the gleam in his eye finally a genuine shine. "And your hellcat?"
"Ruggine is..." Silvestro thought to the many times she had to rescue the creature from his spot under her bed, only to watch him squirm beneath the frame yet again. "Persistent."
"That's one way of putting it," 'Renato' murmured, rubbing his cheek as if soothing a phantom pain.
"Rugg is special, okay?"
"Very."
Silvestro snorted into her cup and put it down quickly to cover her mouth, clearing her throat as she tried to get the sting out of her nose. The look of distaste that had marred the man's face when he had uttered the stressed word rung clear in her ears and made her lips pinch as she forced herself to swallow; 'Renato' watched on with a smile.
"Pardon me," a waiter interrupted gently, making the woman calm down and move her purse from the table to her lap.
Silvestro pushed her wine glass further to the side before looking to her dinner partner and frowning a bit as he smiled for just a moment longer than he had before at the young man who was holding their plates.
"Thank you," she hummed as her dish was placed before her, the angle close to tipping off the sauce from the edge of the plate and making her tilt her head with worry - and mild confusion. Was he a new waiter?
"Yes, thank you very much," 'Renato' chimed, voice too smooth in a way the woman recognised.
She dug her heels in quickly but forced herself to remain seated and poured herself another glass of wine despite how everything under her skin told her not to disregard that tone.
"How many people does this place employ?" she wondered aloud, watching the waiter go - an obviously different one to the person who had originally served their table.
"Oh, only the finest," the man smiled in a way that suggested something and Silvestro thought to the near-miss with her plate.
"Really?" she murmured, before shrugging and grabbing up her fork as she eyed her dish with a kind of delight. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this!"
"Don't get to indulge much, bella?"
"Yeah," Silvestro grunted, curling her fork with the creamy, cheesy alfredo noodles. "The doc usually hounds me if he finds out I'm going to eat this kind of stuff."
"Your doctor?" 'Renato' echoed, suddenly very attentive to the conversation. "Why? Should you not be-"
"Nah, it's not like I'm gonna go up in a rash or anything," she denied, before popping the sizable lump in her mouth and chomping through it happily. The woman hummed a low note of satisfaction. "I'm just a bit lactose intolerant, I like to call it 'lactose sensitive', personally."
Silvestro blinked as her fork stabbed the table.
"You shouldn't be eating this then, bella," 'Renato' scolded smoothly, holding her plate in his hands. "We can order something different and without dairy. I would hate you leaving this evening with an aching stomach!"
"But...I want to eat that?" she uttered, "Give it back."
"Bella, you'll only put yourself in avoidable pain!"
"By my food."
"Another dish will be just as satisfying," he assured, still keeping the plate away from her reach.
"You do realise I have a fork, yes?" Silvestro announced, pointing her cutlery at the man with a flick of her wrist and a raise of her eyebrow.
"In a high class, fancy establishment such as this?" 'Renato' gasped dramatically, before smiling in a manner that was much too dark and yet just as playful. "You wouldn't dare."
The woman paused and then sighed in defeat, lowering her fork to the table and resting her cheek in her hand and she gazed at the man across from her.
"I suppose you're right, I can't just go around attacking people so obviously."
'Renato's expression of victory lasted a total of three seconds before he gave a choked 'ooft' and crumbled, his femur sobbing within its fleshy constraints whilst Silvestro withdrew her foot and took back her plate with a polite smile that was four shades too satisfied and sadistic.
"I thought you said-" he started to wheeze and the ex-militant interrupted with a narrow-eyed grin.
"I said 'obviously'," and true to her words, none of the other patrons were privy to the pain he was in. She hummed a rough, low tone of amusement before forking alfredo onto her tongue. "Are you going to start eating?"
'Renato' pouted playfully and in the darkness of his eyes, no one could see his pupils expand to devour the sight as he felt his leg throb from the blunt force of her flats. He hummed a little tune of defeat before picking up his knife and fork with delicate practice and sliced into his red meat with enjoyment, popping it into his mouth and feeling it lavish his tongue.
Silvestro blinked when her dinner partner withdrew a small capsule from his breast pocket, the pill yellow and white in colour before he swallowed it quickly with a chasing of their fine wine.
"Are you sick?" she asked, before biting her tongue and cursing in the back of her head for asking the probing question.
"Oh? Only minorly," 'Renato' assured, "Just a bit of a passing bug, I need to take some medicine with my food for a couple of days."
"That's good," Silvestro grunted with a firm nod, "A lot of people have been sick lately, Doc's been running around making a bunch of house calls."
"Ah!" the man gasped, cupping his hand over his chest. "My heart! My bella truly does care for me!"
The ex-militant smiled around her fork but didn't acknowledge the exclamation to further dignify it. She huffed and ignored how his grin extended high into his cheeks as he watched her before also turning to his own plate.
"But, because you have so very eloquently convinced me to let you eat such a dairy-heavy dish," Silvestro raised an amused eyebrow, and the man smirked in response. "You'll have to relinquish your claim to any of the creamier deserts, bella. I may be weak to your games, but I'm not neglectful."
"Hah, you'll have to fight me on that," she grunted, getting another heaping onto her fork, uncaring for how a woman two tables down balked at the 'undainty' size.
Silvestro didn't care about how the women gave her a look of disgruntle, however, it made her realise with a skin sizzling realisation of the sheer amount of eyes on their table. Hidden behind fringes and delicately cupped hands, obscured underneath long lashes and from around wine glasses; every third table or so had gained an interest in table 7. In 'Renato's' table.
She gripped her fork tighter, feeling her shoulder burn under her jacket. It was rude to keep coats on inside.
...Why had this man asked her out on a date again?
Was this a date? What about the red woman, not weeks ago?
"Have you been working at the Balletto Giovanile Bacigalup for long, bella?" 'Renato' asked, breaking her back into attention and away from her thoughts.
"Eh? Oh, not long really, no. Just under a year."
"You seem to have gotten very attached to the children there."
"Yeah," Silvestro admitted, arranging her noodles around her plate absently.
"Do you like children, then?" he asked.
"Yeah," she repeated, smiling to herself when she remembered how they had circled her and had chanted 'Ms Russ will be fine' earlier that day. "I like to watch them grow and...yeah, stuff like that.
There was a beat of silence and Silvestro dropped her eyes to fiddle with her fork, feeling the man across the table stare unblinkingly at her with a kind of...softness that she wasn't used to. She chewed on her cheek for a moment before breathing out through her nose and pulling her gaze back to his face.
"What about you? Do you like kids?"
"Hm," he uttered slowly, bridging his fingers together. "I become more fond of them the longer they're around, but I'm not one of those people who coo at baby photos."
"Fair enough," she nodded and then the clacking of shoes and equipment sounded from the hidden stage.
The two diners glanced at each other one last time before they focused their gazes on the stage just in time to see a stout little man glide to the split of the ruby curtains where a melodium microphone stood on its stand. He smiled at everyone with his startlingly white teeth before grabbing the stand and leaning it towards his lips.
Silvestro shifted and tugged her coat tighter for a moment, avoiding connecting the glance 'Renato' sent her way. She hummed and played with her fork as she paid an idle ear to the low roar which underlined the man's speech, all the while feeling her company's eyes carve an outline of her face.
"How, exactly, did you come upon your little hell-cat?" he asked, drawing her attention.
"Oh," the ex-militant blinked, turning her head to him and resting her elbow on the table and her jaw upon that, not seeing the glare sent at her by a passing waiter. "He climbed through my window one day and trashed my apartment. He came back, like, the two days afterwards when it was raining cats and dogs and I let him in. Hasn't left since."
"Raining 'cats and dogs' you say?"
"...If you do it, I will have no choice but to fight you."
"Darn."
The curtains to the stage opened with a flourish and drum's heavy roll, and over the course of half an hour, the smile slowly slipped from Silvestro's face. Her fork groaned in her fist and her shoulder pulsed angrily under her jacket as mahogany eyes took in the way characters jeered and cackled at the recurring theme and character of a deformed little girl, the words of the narrator justifying their actions with jocund ease.
"...What was this genre again?" she asked, as she watched the protagonist speak in twisting and backwards metaphors to 'prove how stupid that gimp invalid really is'.
"Comedy, bella," 'Renato' laughed, watching the actor hobbled across the stage with exaggerated stiff and non-responding limbs.
The low rumble which had roared in her ears tore through her and escaped as an angry breath, her blunt shoulder pulsing as she bared her teeth and stood, her chair kicking back and clashing with that of the person's behind her.
"Bella?" 'Renato' blurted, startled by her sudden movement and watched with wide eyes as the ex-militant grabbed her purse hard enough to make the material groan. "Bella, what's wrong? Oh, I told you eating a dish with so much cream would-"
"This play is disgusting and a waste of money and attention spans," she boomed, and heads slowly turned in their direction yet again. "The fact that you would find this sort of thing funny is fucked, and a sure ass sign that we wouldn't work together. Goodbye and fuck off, 'Renato'."
"Wait. Ms Russ, wait," he tried, getting to his feet as she stormed past, feeling the air around her crackle dangerously.
He grasped the back of his chair tightly as he watched her shove the doors to the Occhi De Perle open before the doorman could, leaving the staff to flounder as it smacked back in place a crack appearing in the corner of the glass pane. The thin being paused and looked to where she had sat, a sigh falling from his lips when he saw the thick jacket which hung from the upturned chair, Silvestro's jacket having fallen off in her burst of barely contained aggression. 'Renato' grabbed it up and put it over the crook of his arm, a warm, nutty scent wafting up to his nose.
"Careful," someone laughed, and the black-eyed man turned to see a Sky smirking up at him, amused. "You've got yourself a 'progressive' one. If you don't watch out, she'll start stealing your pockets."
'Renato' stared at the unnamed person before his face fell blank, a look of uninterested repulsion gleaming in his eye as he straightened his jacket and grabbed his hat off the table.
"You sound very proud for someone so pathetic," he scoffed before hastily following the mountainous woman, leaving behind the room of dazzled and dazed Flames.
The suited being donned his hat as he exited into the night, a blast of icy air his immediate greeting and he grit his teeth as he held the woman's jacket in his grasp, worry and guilt bubbling in his stomach. God, why had he not gone with his instinct and just rented the whole place out for the night?
"Because she would have been intimidated, obviously," the man who called himself 'Renato' sighed before looking around as to where the woman had gone.
Then he felt it, that strange paradoxical aura which rung with a resonance he had never encountered before. It was a sound that was practically synonymous with the woman's name now, and he followed it like a cat with a string, right through the crowds until he found her standing in front of a pet store, bent at the knees to smiled down at juvenile bulldogs who piled on one another to get closer to her.
He knew the feeling.
Another gust when through the street and whipped up fallen leaves, the folk who pottered around giving gasps as their skin pricked from the cold. Silvestro shivered as she rubbed her hollow shoulder, holding herself tight.
The lanky man stepped out of the crowd and cleared his throat quietly, making the ex-militant turn to him. He saw an array of muddled emotions flash through her eyes, different thoughts running into the back of one another - before he reached out and offered the woman her coat.
"It's too cold to go without a jacket, bella," he uttered softly, "It'd be terrible if you fell ill."
Silvestro stared at him mutely for one, two moments, before she sighed and took her garb, shrugging it on slowly. The tip of her nose was blushed red from the cold as she cuddled into her coat and it made the man's heart squeeze in ways he wasn't used to even as her eyes remained cast to the side in misplaced shame.
"I'm..sorry I yelled at you without thinking," she murmured and 'Renato' furrowed his brows in confusion. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. You could have been trying to fit in or just not make a scene and I-"
"No, Ms Russ, please," 'Renato' interrupted gently, clasping his hands in front of himself in an unusual show of self-consciousness. "I laughed at that play because I found it funny, not because I was trying to hide. And that was wrong of me, I didn't...Didn't think of the real-world implications of it and just thought it mindless fun. I'm sorry I made you sit through that."
There was a beat of silence and he could feel the woman across from him crunching the metaphorical numbers, her lips held in a stern line which revealed no inclination as to what result she had come upon.
Screams and cheers made the two pivot, the sight of a rather flimsy balloon breaking on the horizon making the woman raise an eyebrow and then glance to the being beside her. 'Renato' noticed when she bit her lip before she walked on, following the sounds of kazoos and bells.
It was only when she was at the cusp of entering what seemed to be a street fair, did she look over her shoulder to him, faded old lottery light casting the woman in honey yellow.
"Are you coming, string bean?"
'Renato' tilted his hat down quickly to cover the sparkle in his eyes, thankful for a tangible body which hid how his heart lurched to follow at her command. Instead, he smirked and glided across the cobblestone path to stand by her side, gazing up to see how she was surrounded by a halo of fairy lights.
He reached for her hand but she flinched back a little, and he bowed his head in acceptance.
Okay, not just yet then.