Art is a cool thing!

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There was something the Mafioso understood aside from obedience - that was taking shots and dealing with the consequences. Of course, he had been taught the skills capable of taking down any of the townsfolk who got in his way, all he had to do was just leave the body.

The same fate was for the mayor, who now was lifeless at his feet. A shame, really. For someone with control and authority, he had just been treated like the Sheriff. The Doctor. The Vigilante. The only difference? He could have been so much more if he wasn’t such a coward.

There again, cowardice had never been an option for the Mafioso. Only obedience.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t understand.

Stumbling out of the window, the Mafioso looked up to the night sky. A familiar comfort. Quiet and serene, yet left Salem in a glow which only seemed to heighten the mystical disease which plagued this town. He wandered from the Mayor’s house, back into his own home. His job was done for the night, the shot was taken.

Now came the consequences. He sat down on the old chair and just. Thought. What does cowardice achieve, exactly? Come to think of it, was hiding in the veil of the night a coward’s move? Would a coward kill others for the sake of his family?

Was he a coward for relying solely on following orders?

At that point, a knock came from the door. Great. It’s probably going to be that Investigator, snooping around and asking about his skillset. Just what did he have going for him anyway? The ability to not ask questions? The ability to unconditionally do whatever he was asked? The ability to take control, like a witch? Now wouldn’t that be nice… at least a witch isn’t at the whim of a boss who hides behind his own pawn. His boss was the closest thing to a father figure, of course. Yet, there had always been this strange disconnect between the duo. Still, things can’t be helped, it’s merely business…

The Mafioso proceeded to open the door, only to be greeted by a short woman in a blue dress.

His fellow business partner, the traitor. He sighed as he mumbled:

“Weren’t you supposed to be at that alleged bodyguard’s home?”

“Wasn’t there,” the traitor explained, rubbing her arm “I assume the jailor took him. Probably mistook him for the boss.”

Typical. Everyone has to hide away - himself included.

“If you don’t mind…” the traitor continued “Figured I could… have some company?”

“Go on.” The mafioso rolled his eyes as he gestured her to come in. Nervously, she smiled at him, before entering his home. The Mafioso followed behind her, closing the door. It was fairly common for the traitor to ask for company, she hated spending nights alone - that was for certain. Usually, anyone would be willing to spend the night with an adorable, precious lady…

The same lady who always seemed to linger around him, like a butterfly around a rose. A shame he was all thorns.

Lately though, she had asked for his company specifically. Heck, once her targets were asleep, she would sneak out just to visit him. This had been going on for the past couple of nights, and the mafioso couldn’t help but secretly - yet eagerly - await her arrival. At least after dealing with the… everything else first…

“I assume you’ve dealt with the quiet one, yes?” The traitor suddenly asked, now having taken a seat. All he could do was nod, reminding himself of how cowardly that Mayor was. He didn’t say anything else as he paced across the room, trying not to remind himself of the struggle that occured between them. Slowly, the traitor turnt towards him, noticing the brooding look on his face. It was normal for him to be lost in thought but she couldn’t help but observe just how he looked… in pain. As if, for once, he was the one being hurt by the thorns.

“Hey, Mafi” The traitor began, getting up from her seat “Is something bothering you?”

No response. He just… stared at her, a sickly, hollow look in his eyes. The traitor just gulped and she got closer to him.

“It was definitely the right target, yes?”

Again, nothing. He seemed to actively avoid eye contact, his mouth quivering. Cautiously, the traitor paused for a moment, trying to figure out some way to get him talking. However, when she finally figured out something, he sputtered out:

“I'm no different from the others, am I?”

The traitor’s eyes widened, the concerned look on her face now blended with confusion.

"I mean, everyone expects you to be covert," he continued "Masking yourself behind bundles of lies in hopes that people just. Understand."

"If you don't want to die, of course." The traitor pointed out "Nobody is going to want to go for the most beautiful flower in a bush. It would be too obvious."

He swore she gave him a wink.

"No, they instead go for the ones who bury their heads in the dirt and hope that nobody pulls them out" He slowly explained, looking down as he finished:

"The ones like me"

He sighed as he leaned against the table, just like he relied on everyone else. Honestly, why would he even admit that? If he had admitted that to the boss - or anyone else for that matter - they probably would have tried to actively argue against it. Or worse, literally beaten some sense into him. In fact, he was half expecting her to do the exact same thing, and he would just have to listen to her, like everyone else.

However, the traitor instead just slowly bowed her head as she whispered:

"Makes two of us."

She proceeded to reach her hand out towards him, a faint red tint seeming to bloom on her cheeks. Cautiously, the Mafioso tilted his head towards her.

"Let's be real, we're all cowards in this town." The traitor carried on "We're just the ones who are fully aware of it, and want to change it."

How was he meant to change his fate? All he did was follow orders. Obedience is key, after all. However, it all made sense once she chuckled as she proclaimed:

"Trust me, there's nobody more courageous than you specifically. After all, a coward wouldn't blindly risk his own life if it meant he got closer to being that change."

With that, the Mafioso got up and hesitantly reached out his hand towards her, only for him to pause and ask:

"...could I hold you, for a moment?"

Surprisingly, she immediately went straight for him, wrapping her arms around his chest. Initially he froze, unsure if it was even acceptable for him to return the gesture. Yet, when she began to stroke his back and mutter… something laced with… Understanding? Pity? Admiration? Either way, he reciprocated the hug, leaning down to rest his head on hers.

It felt like an unfamiliar feeling was growing inside of him.