Blueprints and Board Games

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

"Oh its nothing really. Just don't go accidentally bashing that thick skull of yours against a tree or somethin', eh? We're in GRN territory...a whole forest, mud, and who knows what else lurkin' out there. You trip once, and next thing ya know, you're face-first in swamp water. Not exactly a dignified look. which is why My studio isnt exactly connected to the place..."

He laughed, the usual confidence in his voice, but his gaze wandered...out the window, up at the stars. Tch. Strano... Why did they look so damn familiar tonight? A little shiver ran down his spine, that nagging déjà vu settling in his chest like an old, unwelcome guest. He shook his head, like that’d somehow rattle the feeling loose.

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against his desk, drumming his fingers against the surface.

"Bah, whatever. I ain't exactly the patient type... Waiting around for an answer? Not my thing."

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a crack in the usual bravado. He stole another glance at the engineer. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a touch more hesitant.

"But..." He rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. Some things take time. No rush...No pressure." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth...too soft, too understanding...But hey, even he had his moments.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed his arms, staring out the window again. The silence sat heavy for a second, before he huffed, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.

"Wouldn’t be fair if I didn't keep my promise, no?"

In his head, the Engineer's telescope came to mind immediately; the little old thing was probably buried under mounds of assorted junk in his room by now. Well, at least it was seeing some use, he supposed. The sky around here was perfect for it. And he hasn't really had the time or willpower to go stargazing himself in a while...

I didn't think I'd ever hear you say "no pressure", honey. He turned the radio over and over in his hands. I wonder what happened to make you say that...? But—

Sawyer cut himself off, taking a glance over at Gio, now hatless — it took him a second to refix his jaw from where it had dropped. He had an odd impulse to throw his own hat clean off, make things even, if only not to make the other feel too exposed in his own office.

I... You don't have to keep it, y'know? The promise, that is. Not if you ain't comfortable. You, well— you've already indulged me enough, I think, darlin'.

He looked very pointedly away, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on in that moment. This may have been the radio's wiring or his collar or somesuch other thing, or perhaps a combination. (It wasn't particularly relevant or clear, anyway.)

I mean— you treated me to a drink (a fancy one at that!), let me sit around on your desk and talk, told me the one thing I'd been wanting to hear from somebody for as long as I can remember...

He tentatively looked back up at the other man, trying to avoid his eyes.

You don't really owe me anythin'. Not unless you actually want to yourself. (I think somethin' like this shouldn't've been bargained on chance or bets in the first place anyway. S'too personal. Too risky.)

"Well, I was never the type to break a promise."

His voice was smooth, effortless, yet something in the way he spoke carried a weight that wasn’t always there. His fingers found the edge of his balaclava, tugging at it absentmindedly as he continued.

"All this… mask talk? It was always a little game to us, no? A challenge. A dance. Always wondering who would drop the act first, who would put the other into check—who would call the bluff."

He chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Truth is, tesoro, it was always a stalemate. No matter who, no matter when. And, Dio mio, a stalemate can get a bit boring, no?"

His fingers lingered at the fabric of his mask, teasing at the edge. His fingers finally curled around the fabric, lifting it slowly to reveal that ever so familiar smirk

"Only a few people on my team know what I look like. But who I am? That, they haven't got a clue. Even Lime...oh, povero, he only ever scratched the surface…"

His eyes flickered up to meet Sawyer’s, something flickering behind them...something real.

"But you?" His voice dropped, softer now. "Despite being on the opposite team. Despite our little rendezvous on the battlefield. Despite everything telling me I shouldn't… I trust you."

A beat. His smirk faltered, just a moment though before going back to normal

"Which is a lot, you know? For me to trust someone? Let alone with my face."

The air grew heavier, more intimate. Giovanni exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, as if shaking something loose.

"This mask... It's second nature. The moment I wake up, I put it on...it's part of my routine now, like my skin, my body, something that is me but isn't me all the same."

A pause. A flicker of something vulnerable...Then, with a breath- deep, steadying...he pushed his balaclava a bit higher.

The fabric dragged over the bridge of his nose, up past his cheekbones, until finally, with one last motion, he pulled it free. His dark curls, messy from being tucked away for so long, settled back into place, framing his face in uneven waves.

And there he was.

Sharp angles softened by exhaustion. A face well-versed in deception but, in this moment, unguarded. His eyes—piercing,sharp, always watching—now bare, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed in years. They flickered over Sawyer, gauging the reaction, searching for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"So it's a mystery, really… why I feel this way. Trust. Understanding. Maybe even… familiarity." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s because of this whole mask situation. Maybe it’s because of why I ran from home. Twice. But- bah, who cares."

he lowered his arm. mask slipped fully away now, resting in his hand.

"Now you know who I am… or at least, what I look like."

The smirk returned, but softer this time, laced with something gentler. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more teasing and familiar.

I... Darlin', I just— wow.

A rose—red flush wormed its way across his face; it felt as if he were a mere mortal or peasant, of sorts, in the presence of something, someone so fantastical and unheard of that it was sort of terrifying.

Sawyer thought that he himself could never muster up the courage to be as open as the other. By God, he wished to, however... Maybe at some point later down the line?

You're, I mean— darn. He chuckled fondly, half—nervously. I have half the mind to hold you right here and now. (Though, I ain't sure if you're good with that kinda thing.)

I wonder how it feels, being... being free like that. He leaned back on the desk again, still keeping his hands busy, still mindlessly fidgeting. Must be nice. I hope it is, at least. Would be a real shame if you went through all the trouble just to regret it, y'know?

Sawyer attempted to resume eye contact with Gio — he wasn't quite sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps he felt it a courtesy to keep that metaphorical distance. Perhaps it was moreso a case of "there's so many emotions in my mind at once that I feel dizzy". He would likely have to objectively assess the situation in retrospect in order to tell you.

Sawyer snorted at the Spy's little tease — it just so happened to make him feel just a little bit better, cheer him up a mite bit.

I ain't disappointed at all, honey. In fact, the case is quite the opposite! It's just— well, I don't know...

He faltered, recompiled his thoughts, rearranged some of the wires in the circuit in his hands like this would rearrange his brain too.

I'm real glad you trust me, is all. I ain't particularly sure why that's the case, but, y'know. It's nice. To be trusted, that is — especially with things that are important to you.

He looked out the window again, seemingly searching for some emotional support in the blackness out there.

He stepped closer, voice dropping just a touch...still sweet, but with the weight of something more sincere beneath the sugar. "Truly, I’m just glad to have played it with you, out of everyone. You made it… interesting. Unexpected. Deliciously complicated."

Then, a pause.

Gio's smile softened, eyes flicking slightly to the side, as though his words were meant more for the air than the man in front of him. "It may take some time," he said, quieter now, "but... sooner or later, trusting yourself? It’ll be as easy as breathing. Or, well...whatever it is you find easy and enjoyable. Fixing radios? Winking at rivals? hell solving complex problems even I, or well anyone in GRN can comprehend...It's your pick."

He chuckled again, light but earnest, before drawing himself back up with a breezy shrug. "But for now...well" He tilted his head, a grin creeping back into place. "I suppose we'll just see how it goes from here, eh? Just because I've lost this round doesn't mean you've won yet, bello. I'm in check, not checkmate."

He looked down at the circuitry in his hands as if it were common knowledge to the both of them and yet he was surprised to see he even remembered it existed.

Sorry about that, hon. I, uh... well. I'm not the absolute best right now, am I? Makes sense I'd get distracted. He looked up at the Spy again for a moment, before looking away again.

And I don't brood — it's more like... ponderin', if anything. I'm a ponderer, and I'm currently ponderin' how I'm gonna get home with this here trinket and my body intact.

This was a half-truth; while he'd been thinking about this exact thing, he was, of course, taking all of Gio's advice to heart, tucking it away in his head. Something was telling him the man was speaking from experience, after all — it would be fit for his opponent in this game the two play to do as such.

A faint look of recognition flashed in his eyes, as if he'd remembered something. Actually, y'know...

Sawyer shifted the radio to his cable tail, the end of the yellow wire wrapping around the number gently and yet firmly, like a lover's embrace. He wrung his hands together, and twiddled his thumbs in a show of Classic Yengineer Nervousness.

I'm kinda happy that I decided to indulge in this charade with you, too. It's been a hell of a ride thus far, and it doesn't seem either of us is gonna stop anytime soon. Not while we still have things to hide, huh?

He grinned up at Gio, as if in challenge, and crossed his arms. It seemed he'd put their deep heartfelt conversation aside for now, in favour of the banter the two cherished so much.

I wonder what your next move is gonna be. What pieces 're we gonna have to sacrifice to get to the bottom of everythin'? How're you gonna take the game back for yourself?

After a moment of consideration, he moved in closer and tentatively placed a hand on the other's chest, an act somehow both vaguely patronising and reverent in nature.

He placed a hand over his chest in faux shock, fingers splayed dramatically.

"Oh, santo cielo… such conviction~" he purred, his voice dipping into that velvet cadence only he could manage. "You really are serious about fixing this mess, aren’t you?"

His smile curled wider, a glint dancing in his eye.

"But mi caro... even I- a master of secrets and deception, It is my job after all...But I must admit, you're quite the puzzle yourself. Thick-skinned, cold-eyed, all tough guy grit and that soft Southern steel under it. But don't worry, I'm very good at peeling things back... layer by layer~”

He gave a low, playful laugh, reaching up to lazily gesture toward his own face.

"And this? Consider it a rare treat. Do not go running back to your little sign welding craze man with this scandal, hmm?" he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, like velvet and honey. "You're the third person in this entire war to see me without the mask. Third. Now that's something worth bragging about, no?"

Gio gently patted Sawyer's cheek with a gloved hand, his grin widening.

"Now, tesoro, chop chop~ Back to work before someone from GRN sees you here and thinks we're conspiring something truly deliciously treasonous. Wouldn't want to get MY reputation all tangled up in webs~ especially with someone like you around! Oooh how scandalous!”

The Engineer rolled his eyes in mild exasperation at the mere idea of a scandal involving his very responsible, fairly competent self, and yet he still felt at the cheek that Gio touched, as if processing what the man had just said and taking it to heart.

And, well. I ain't no snitch, so he won't be hearin' a peep from my end. I mean, you'll probably have to talk to him yourself at some point, but... y'know. There's no rush.

(He'd kept in mind the fact that he will Not be discussing the whole debacle any time soon if he can help it.)

He went over and patted Gio on the back, so gently that the other could only barely feel it.

So, uhhh... He gave his... whatever they are a bashful smile. I'll see you around? Maybe next time you're trying to sabotage my poor machines, or something.

Sawyer patted himself down to make sure he had everything and that none of it was lost to the abyss or somesuch — it all seemed to be in order — and held the door open to let the other leave first (he didn't want to admit he couldn't quite remember the way out).

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

"Oh its nothing really. Just don't go accidentally bashing that thick skull of yours against a tree or somethin', eh? We're in GRN territory...a whole forest, mud, and who knows what else lurkin' out there. You trip once, and next thing ya know, you're face-first in swamp water. Not exactly a dignified look. which is why My studio isnt exactly connected to the place..."

He laughed, the usual confidence in his voice, but his gaze wandered...out the window, up at the stars. Tch. Strano... Why did they look so damn familiar tonight? A little shiver ran down his spine, that nagging déjà vu settling in his chest like an old, unwelcome guest. He shook his head, like that’d somehow rattle the feeling loose.

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against his desk, drumming his fingers against the surface.

"Bah, whatever. I ain't exactly the patient type... Waiting around for an answer? Not my thing."

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a crack in the usual bravado. He stole another glance at the engineer. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a touch more hesitant.

"But..." He rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. Some things take time. No rush...No pressure." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth...too soft, too understanding...But hey, even he had his moments.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed his arms, staring out the window again. The silence sat heavy for a second, before he huffed, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.

"Wouldn’t be fair if I didn't keep my promise, no?"

In his head, the Engineer's telescope came to mind immediately; the little old thing was probably buried under mounds of assorted junk in his room by now. Well, at least it was seeing some use, he supposed. The sky around here was perfect for it. And he hasn't really had the time or willpower to go stargazing himself in a while...

I didn't think I'd ever hear you say "no pressure", honey. He turned the radio over and over in his hands. I wonder what happened to make you say that...? But—

Sawyer cut himself off, taking a glance over at Gio, now hatless — it took him a second to refix his jaw from where it had dropped. He had an odd impulse to throw his own hat clean off, make things even, if only not to make the other feel too exposed in his own office.

I... You don't have to keep it, y'know? The promise, that is. Not if you ain't comfortable. You, well— you've already indulged me enough, I think, darlin'.

He looked very pointedly away, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on in that moment. This may have been the radio's wiring or his collar or somesuch other thing, or perhaps a combination. (It wasn't particularly relevant or clear, anyway.)

I mean— you treated me to a drink (a fancy one at that!), let me sit around on your desk and talk, told me the one thing I'd been wanting to hear from somebody for as long as I can remember...

He tentatively looked back up at the other man, trying to avoid his eyes.

You don't really owe me anythin'. Not unless you actually want to yourself. (I think somethin' like this shouldn't've been bargained on chance or bets in the first place anyway. S'too personal. Too risky.)

"Well, I was never the type to break a promise."

His voice was smooth, effortless, yet something in the way he spoke carried a weight that wasn’t always there. His fingers found the edge of his balaclava, tugging at it absentmindedly as he continued.

"All this… mask talk? It was always a little game to us, no? A challenge. A dance. Always wondering who would drop the act first, who would put the other into check—who would call the bluff."

He chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Truth is, tesoro, it was always a stalemate. No matter who, no matter when. And, Dio mio, a stalemate can get a bit boring, no?"

His fingers lingered at the fabric of his mask, teasing at the edge. His fingers finally curled around the fabric, lifting it slowly to reveal that ever so familiar smirk

"Only a few people on my team know what I look like. But who I am? That, they haven't got a clue. Even Lime...oh, povero, he only ever scratched the surface…"

His eyes flickered up to meet Sawyer’s, something flickering behind them...something real.

"But you?" His voice dropped, softer now. "Despite being on the opposite team. Despite our little rendezvous on the battlefield. Despite everything telling me I shouldn't… I trust you."

A beat. His smirk faltered, just a moment though before going back to normal

"Which is a lot, you know? For me to trust someone? Let alone with my face."

The air grew heavier, more intimate. Giovanni exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, as if shaking something loose.

"This mask... It's second nature. The moment I wake up, I put it on...it's part of my routine now, like my skin, my body, something that is me but isn't me all the same."

A pause. A flicker of something vulnerable...Then, with a breath- deep, steadying...he pushed his balaclava a bit higher.

The fabric dragged over the bridge of his nose, up past his cheekbones, until finally, with one last motion, he pulled it free. His dark curls, messy from being tucked away for so long, settled back into place, framing his face in uneven waves.

And there he was.

Sharp angles softened by exhaustion. A face well-versed in deception but, in this moment, unguarded. His eyes—piercing,sharp, always watching—now bare, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed in years. They flickered over Sawyer, gauging the reaction, searching for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"So it's a mystery, really… why I feel this way. Trust. Understanding. Maybe even… familiarity." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s because of this whole mask situation. Maybe it’s because of why I ran from home. Twice. But- bah, who cares."

he lowered his arm. mask slipped fully away now, resting in his hand.

"Now you know who I am… or at least, what I look like."

The smirk returned, but softer this time, laced with something gentler. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more teasing and familiar.

I... Darlin', I just— wow.

A rose—red flush wormed its way across his face; it felt as if he were a mere mortal or peasant, of sorts, in the presence of something, someone so fantastical and unheard of that it was sort of terrifying.

Sawyer thought that he himself could never muster up the courage to be as open as the other. By God, he wished to, however... Maybe at some point later down the line?

You're, I mean— darn. He chuckled fondly, half—nervously. I have half the mind to hold you right here and now. (Though, I ain't sure if you're good with that kinda thing.)

I wonder how it feels, being... being free like that. He leaned back on the desk again, still keeping his hands busy, still mindlessly fidgeting. Must be nice. I hope it is, at least. Would be a real shame if you went through all the trouble just to regret it, y'know?

Sawyer attempted to resume eye contact with Gio — he wasn't quite sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps he felt it a courtesy to keep that metaphorical distance. Perhaps it was moreso a case of "there's so many emotions in my mind at once that I feel dizzy". He would likely have to objectively assess the situation in retrospect in order to tell you.

Sawyer snorted at the Spy's little tease — it just so happened to make him feel just a little bit better, cheer him up a mite bit.

I ain't disappointed at all, honey. In fact, the case is quite the opposite! It's just— well, I don't know...

He faltered, recompiled his thoughts, rearranged some of the wires in the circuit in his hands like this would rearrange his brain too.

I'm real glad you trust me, is all. I ain't particularly sure why that's the case, but, y'know. It's nice. To be trusted, that is — especially with things that are important to you.

He looked out the window again, seemingly searching for some emotional support in the blackness out there.

He stepped closer, voice dropping just a touch...still sweet, but with the weight of something more sincere beneath the sugar. "Truly, I’m just glad to have played it with you, out of everyone. You made it… interesting. Unexpected. Deliciously complicated."

Then, a pause.

Gio's smile softened, eyes flicking slightly to the side, as though his words were meant more for the air than the man in front of him. "It may take some time," he said, quieter now, "but... sooner or later, trusting yourself? It’ll be as easy as breathing. Or, well...whatever it is you find easy and enjoyable. Fixing radios? Winking at rivals? hell solving complex problems even I, or well anyone in GRN can comprehend...It's your pick."

He chuckled again, light but earnest, before drawing himself back up with a breezy shrug. "But for now...well" He tilted his head, a grin creeping back into place. "I suppose we'll just see how it goes from here, eh? Just because I've lost this round doesn't mean you've won yet, bello. I'm in check, not checkmate."

He looked down at the circuitry in his hands as if it were common knowledge to the both of them and yet he was surprised to see he even remembered it existed.

Sorry about that, hon. I, uh... well. I'm not the absolute best right now, am I? Makes sense I'd get distracted. He looked up at the Spy again for a moment, before looking away again.

And I don't brood — it's more like... ponderin', if anything. I'm a ponderer, and I'm currently ponderin' how I'm gonna get home with this here trinket and my body intact.

This was a half-truth; while he'd been thinking about this exact thing, he was, of course, taking all of Gio's advice to heart, tucking it away in his head. Something was telling him the man was speaking from experience, after all — it would be fit for his opponent in this game the two play to do as such.

A faint look of recognition flashed in his eyes, as if he'd remembered something. Actually, y'know...

Sawyer shifted the radio to his cable tail, the end of the yellow wire wrapping around the number gently and yet firmly, like a lover's embrace. He wrung his hands together, and twiddled his thumbs in a show of Classic Yengineer Nervousness.

I'm kinda happy that I decided to indulge in this charade with you, too. It's been a hell of a ride thus far, and it doesn't seem either of us is gonna stop anytime soon. Not while we still have things to hide, huh?

He grinned up at Gio, as if in challenge, and crossed his arms. It seemed he'd put their deep heartfelt conversation aside for now, in favour of the banter the two cherished so much.

I wonder what your next move is gonna be. What pieces 're we gonna have to sacrifice to get to the bottom of everythin'? How're you gonna take the game back for yourself?

After a moment of consideration, he moved in closer and tentatively placed a hand on the other's chest, an act somehow both vaguely patronising and reverent in nature.

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

"Oh its nothing really. Just don't go accidentally bashing that thick skull of yours against a tree or somethin', eh? We're in GRN territory...a whole forest, mud, and who knows what else lurkin' out there. You trip once, and next thing ya know, you're face-first in swamp water. Not exactly a dignified look. which is why My studio isnt exactly connected to the place..."

He laughed, the usual confidence in his voice, but his gaze wandered...out the window, up at the stars. Tch. Strano... Why did they look so damn familiar tonight? A little shiver ran down his spine, that nagging déjà vu settling in his chest like an old, unwelcome guest. He shook his head, like that’d somehow rattle the feeling loose.

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against his desk, drumming his fingers against the surface.

"Bah, whatever. I ain't exactly the patient type... Waiting around for an answer? Not my thing."

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a crack in the usual bravado. He stole another glance at the engineer. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a touch more hesitant.

"But..." He rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. Some things take time. No rush...No pressure." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth...too soft, too understanding...But hey, even he had his moments.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed his arms, staring out the window again. The silence sat heavy for a second, before he huffed, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.

"Wouldn’t be fair if I didn't keep my promise, no?"

In his head, the Engineer's telescope came to mind immediately; the little old thing was probably buried under mounds of assorted junk in his room by now. Well, at least it was seeing some use, he supposed. The sky around here was perfect for it. And he hasn't really had the time or willpower to go stargazing himself in a while...

I didn't think I'd ever hear you say "no pressure", honey. He turned the radio over and over in his hands. I wonder what happened to make you say that...? But—

Sawyer cut himself off, taking a glance over at Gio, now hatless — it took him a second to refix his jaw from where it had dropped. He had an odd impulse to throw his own hat clean off, make things even, if only not to make the other feel too exposed in his own office.

I... You don't have to keep it, y'know? The promise, that is. Not if you ain't comfortable. You, well— you've already indulged me enough, I think, darlin'.

He looked very pointedly away, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on in that moment. This may have been the radio's wiring or his collar or somesuch other thing, or perhaps a combination. (It wasn't particularly relevant or clear, anyway.)

I mean— you treated me to a drink (a fancy one at that!), let me sit around on your desk and talk, told me the one thing I'd been wanting to hear from somebody for as long as I can remember...

He tentatively looked back up at the other man, trying to avoid his eyes.

You don't really owe me anythin'. Not unless you actually want to yourself. (I think somethin' like this shouldn't've been bargained on chance or bets in the first place anyway. S'too personal. Too risky.)

"Well, I was never the type to break a promise."

His voice was smooth, effortless, yet something in the way he spoke carried a weight that wasn’t always there. His fingers found the edge of his balaclava, tugging at it absentmindedly as he continued.

"All this… mask talk? It was always a little game to us, no? A challenge. A dance. Always wondering who would drop the act first, who would put the other into check—who would call the bluff."

He chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Truth is, tesoro, it was always a stalemate. No matter who, no matter when. And, Dio mio, a stalemate can get a bit boring, no?"

His fingers lingered at the fabric of his mask, teasing at the edge. His fingers finally curled around the fabric, lifting it slowly to reveal that ever so familiar smirk

"Only a few people on my team know what I look like. But who I am? That, they haven't got a clue. Even Lime...oh, povero, he only ever scratched the surface…"

His eyes flickered up to meet Sawyer’s, something flickering behind them...something real.

"But you?" His voice dropped, softer now. "Despite being on the opposite team. Despite our little rendezvous on the battlefield. Despite everything telling me I shouldn't… I trust you."

A beat. His smirk faltered, just a moment though before going back to normal

"Which is a lot, you know? For me to trust someone? Let alone with my face."

The air grew heavier, more intimate. Giovanni exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, as if shaking something loose.

"This mask... It's second nature. The moment I wake up, I put it on...it's part of my routine now, like my skin, my body, something that is me but isn't me all the same."

A pause. A flicker of something vulnerable...Then, with a breath- deep, steadying...he pushed his balaclava a bit higher.

The fabric dragged over the bridge of his nose, up past his cheekbones, until finally, with one last motion, he pulled it free. His dark curls, messy from being tucked away for so long, settled back into place, framing his face in uneven waves.

And there he was.

Sharp angles softened by exhaustion. A face well-versed in deception but, in this moment, unguarded. His eyes—piercing,sharp, always watching—now bare, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed in years. They flickered over Sawyer, gauging the reaction, searching for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"So it's a mystery, really… why I feel this way. Trust. Understanding. Maybe even… familiarity." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s because of this whole mask situation. Maybe it’s because of why I ran from home. Twice. But- bah, who cares."

he lowered his arm. mask slipped fully away now, resting in his hand.

"Now you know who I am… or at least, what I look like."

The smirk returned, but softer this time, laced with something gentler. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more teasing and familiar.

I... Darlin', I just— wow.

A rose—red flush wormed its way across his face; it felt as if he were a mere mortal or peasant, of sorts, in the presence of something, someone so fantastical and unheard of that it was sort of terrifying.

Sawyer thought that he himself could never muster up the courage to be as open as the other. By God, he wished to, however... Maybe at some point later down the line?

You're, I mean— darn. He chuckled fondly, half—nervously. I have half the mind to hold you right here and now. (Though, I ain't sure if you're good with that kinda thing.)

I wonder how it feels, being... being free like that. He leaned back on the desk again, still keeping his hands busy, still mindlessly fidgeting. Must be nice. I hope it is, at least. Would be a real shame if you went through all the trouble just to regret it, y'know?

Sawyer attempted to resume eye contact with Gio — he wasn't quite sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps he felt it a courtesy to keep that metaphorical distance. Perhaps it was moreso a case of "there's so many emotions in my mind at once that I feel dizzy". He would likely have to objectively assess the situation in retrospect in order to tell you.

Sawyer snorted at the Spy's little tease — it just so happened to make him feel just a little bit better, cheer him up a mite bit.

I ain't disappointed at all, honey. In fact, the case is quite the opposite! It's just— well, I don't know...

He faltered, recompiled his thoughts, rearranged some of the wires in the circuit in his hands like this would rearrange his brain too.

I'm real glad you trust me, is all. I ain't particularly sure why that's the case, but, y'know. It's nice. To be trusted, that is — especially with things that are important to you.

He looked out the window again, seemingly searching for some emotional support in the blackness out there.

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

"Oh its nothing really. Just don't go accidentally bashing that thick skull of yours against a tree or somethin', eh? We're in GRN territory...a whole forest, mud, and who knows what else lurkin' out there. You trip once, and next thing ya know, you're face-first in swamp water. Not exactly a dignified look. which is why My studio isnt exactly connected to the place..."

He laughed, the usual confidence in his voice, but his gaze wandered...out the window, up at the stars. Tch. Strano... Why did they look so damn familiar tonight? A little shiver ran down his spine, that nagging déjà vu settling in his chest like an old, unwelcome guest. He shook his head, like that’d somehow rattle the feeling loose.

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against his desk, drumming his fingers against the surface.

"Bah, whatever. I ain't exactly the patient type... Waiting around for an answer? Not my thing."

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a crack in the usual bravado. He stole another glance at the engineer. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a touch more hesitant.

"But..." He rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. Some things take time. No rush...No pressure." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth...too soft, too understanding...But hey, even he had his moments.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed his arms, staring out the window again. The silence sat heavy for a second, before he huffed, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.

"Wouldn’t be fair if I didn't keep my promise, no?"

In his head, the Engineer's telescope came to mind immediately; the little old thing was probably buried under mounds of assorted junk in his room by now. Well, at least it was seeing some use, he supposed. The sky around here was perfect for it. And he hasn't really had the time or willpower to go stargazing himself in a while...

I didn't think I'd ever hear you say "no pressure", honey. He turned the radio over and over in his hands. I wonder what happened to make you say that...? But—

Sawyer cut himself off, taking a glance over at Gio, now hatless — it took him a second to refix his jaw from where it had dropped. He had an odd impulse to throw his own hat clean off, make things even, if only not to make the other feel too exposed in his own office.

I... You don't have to keep it, y'know? The promise, that is. Not if you ain't comfortable. You, well— you've already indulged me enough, I think, darlin'.

He looked very pointedly away, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on in that moment. This may have been the radio's wiring or his collar or somesuch other thing, or perhaps a combination. (It wasn't particularly relevant or clear, anyway.)

I mean— you treated me to a drink (a fancy one at that!), let me sit around on your desk and talk, told me the one thing I'd been wanting to hear from somebody for as long as I can remember...

He tentatively looked back up at the other man, trying to avoid his eyes.

You don't really owe me anythin'. Not unless you actually want to yourself. (I think somethin' like this shouldn't've been bargained on chance or bets in the first place anyway. S'too personal. Too risky.)

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.