ROSES AND SUNSETS

Drake couldn't think of anything more absurd and confounding than watching the dons of the Weiss and the Vitelli engage in some kind of spitting contest. The bodyguard had delegated to hang back, a cigarette lit in his reprieve and pretending to occupy himself with the farm animals in the pen astray from the lounge, and when he looked back, he almost startled to find another Vitelli brother beside him. Jesus, where the fuck did they come from? With their father dead and down a brother, they still cropped up like cockroaches, multiplicities of them scuttling about as if the world itself had rended itself apart to an apocalyptic state.

"fucking alessandro..bro." he whispers to himself, coming up just in time to see the encounter between his younger brother and edward. spencer had been running around different place for the festivities. he was onto his next place when the other two got his attention. why does alessandro have to do things like this? can't they just have a normal time? ha that was a dumb question to ask. it seemed that not everything was normal in vegas. he guess they just have to deal with whatever's going on between the two. spencer does come to a stop by someone who he saw running around with the weiss. he wasn't really sure who he was, but yet he finds himself close to the guy and actually smiling that perhaps he scared him a bit. maybe he should be concerned about standing next to the other. he wasn't though because he didn't want to watch this shit show alone.

and  now  franco.  but  she  doesn't  want  to  think  about  that,  so  she  won't.

she  had  been  rearranging  her  closet  when  spencer  walked  in,  trying  to  maybe  get  rid  of  some  things  she  no  longer  needed.  “hm?”  she  hums,  when  she  hears  him  call  out  mom.  but  clearly,  he  hadn't  heard  her.

so  eventually  she  has  to  step  out,  finding  her  son  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed.  he  looks  tired,  and  not  just  in  the  physical  sense  either.  a  frown  pulls  at  her  lips  as  she  walks  closer,  and  she  takes  his  hands  into  her  own,  their  eyes  meeting.  “what's  going  on,  honey?”  she  says  sweetly,  eventually  dropping  his  hands  and  taking  a  seat  next  to  him  on  the  bed. 

“you  know  you  can  always  talk  to  me.”

nadia, without knowing, said the same words vivian used to say to her son. before he turned twelve, his mom was able to tell right away when something was bothering spencer. whether it be if he had a cold or if someone at school was being a bully towards him. whatever it was, she just knew. he misses her everyday. she wasn't his biological mom, but having nadia in his life afterwards, really gave him that some child/mother connection that he had thought he lost. it wasn't the same, but it was enough to give spencer a chance at being able to speak his mind towards someone who he knew would care.

he needed to talk. and well, nadia had been the one he picked after finally accepting he couldn't get his old life back. she was there whenever he had nightmares of what he saw or whenever he didn't want to be alone in the large manor. spencer knew she'd be there for him whenever and that maybe vivian was ok with it. as long as her son is loved and taken care of, right?

"he looks up upon his mom coming towards him. he gives her a soft smile, feeling a bit content at his hands being in hers. it gave him a sense of relief that maybe things will be okay. "um...i'm just tired. physically and mentally drained. just drained. so...much death." he doesn't say much more than that. having difficulties finding the words that he wants to speak. "he looks up upon his mom coming towards him. he gives her a soft smile, feeling a bit content at his hands being in hers. it gave him a sense of relief that maybe things will be okay.

"um...i'm just tired. physically and mentally drained. just drained. so...much death." he doesn't say much more than that. having difficulties finding the words that he wants to speak. "why...why have i lost some many that i actually care about? it's like...death finds it way to me whenever it wants. i mean, first augustu...we didn't have a good relationship. but now...franco. it's like who's next?" he lets out a sigh, turning his body to fully look towards her. "i just don't know how much more deaths can i take. there's been too many in my life." there's a pause as he focuses his eyes onto hers. "i can't lose anyone else, mom. i can't."

New photos of djotime for Rolling Stone Japan 😍😍😍😍😍

Was it a little awkward to run into one of the doctors that reset displaced bones and unfortunate injuries of a particular nature that he frequented the emergency room bay for? Yeah, for anyone else whose name wasn't Cyrek Fawn, and had quite literally swallowed every milligram of integrity he had in his early twenties. Nothing really fazed him anymore, although there was something off about the doctor that he couldn't put his finger on — not everyone in Sin City was what they appeared, after all. As much as it gave him the heebie jeebies to think on it for too long, he was also too stoned after being the solo half to smoke an entire spliff by himself, and struggling to carry all the snacks in his arms, while sopping wet from the few dunks he'd taken at the helm of the tank.

He was off the clock from the hospital, something that rarely happened to Connie. He can't remember the last time he didn't have to clock in to save someone's life. It was weird. it was strange. But it definitely felt good to have sometime to himself. He did get bored though. Constantine wasn't really into rodeos. He also didn't like large crowds. He would've stayed home to rest. It's just that he felt the pull to go outside and actually attend the events. It must have been the draw of being a vampire slayer. What if he was needed? He had made his way to all the venues. The visits were short lived since all of them were too crowded for the old man. Finally he decides to go into Cupid's Arrow for a look around. It was crowded, but he smell kettle corn.

He knows publicly sparring with Vitellis is a bad look, particularly with one who spends most of his life trying to distance himself from the family name, but they're still largely swallowed by the festivities around them. Besides, if anyone notices, Edward knows he can make them forget - and he's already made enough reckless decisions tonight that it almost seems rude to stop now.

“Was there a lot of blood? I bet there was.” A very efficient way to earn a second punch, perhaps, but he can't help himself. The devilry comes naturally; being nice, apart from the rare few people he tolerates, has always required so much effort. Smiling for the cameras, shaking hands, feeding reporters the same trite fucking lines about being a working-class kid who still can’t quite believe where he's ended up. If he’s honest, he’d rather be doing this than public engagements or holed up in his office any day; fighting, causing chaos, dragging people right to the brink of what they can tolerate - and then nudging them just a little further.

Technically, he does know what it's like to see a parent dead on the ground. Slightly different, admittedly, when you're the one responsible for putting them there, but it’s just semantics, really, isn't it? His gaze flickers briefly to the spit by his shoe, observing it with detached amusement. "I spat in your brother's face earlier.” It’s offered in an almost conversational tone, figuring it's relevant. "If you’re going to spit at me, Spencer, do it properly."

He'd intended to keep this particular card close to his chest, but watching Spencer spiral has made it infinitely too tempting. "I know who did it." The sing-song quality creeping into his voice makes it sound less like a confession and more like a playground taunt. "I know who killed them. Maybe it was me."

It wasn't, but why waste an opportunity to twist the knife?

"I mean, they're so forgettable, it's difficult to keep track sometimes - but I seem to know an awful lot about what happened for someone who wasn't there, don’t I?” A beat, cruel as ever. "So maybe I was. Maybe I'm the last face they ever saw. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

To be honest, he had thought he was going to be hit back, but when he didn't feel a punch, spencer's eyes snapped open after briefly squinting shut. Sure he was angry, but even still he needed to brace for the impact since he's not really used to fighting. Spencer does let out a sigh of relief after realizing he was actually holding his breath. Maybe it was a good thing he actually didn't have to fight. He didn't want to embarrass himself more than he has.

His hand runs through his hair, having lost his cowboy hat hours ago to a random person. Spencer’s hand moves down from his hair and down to his chin, where he gently rubs it; tongue making a clicking sound as he sucks in air. "Do you really want me to answer that question? I mean...what's the point, huh? It’s not like you care if there was a lot of blood or not." There was. There was more blood than he has ever seen in his life. Spencer doesn’t want to relive that moment. Yet Edward seems relentless in making him remember the day his life changed. “Why do you want to know?” It just didn’t make sense to him as to why Edward was bringing up his parents. Why talk about them and not his brother or the other Vitellis.

“You what?” He questions, wondering what happened to make Edward react in such a way. It was unexpected to hear what Edward said, but it wasn’t unpredictable. His brother tended to push too far too in order to get a reaction. It was probably an earned reaction from the older man. But unlike his brother, he tended to be a bit more respectful even to those who don’t deserve it, like Edward Weiss. Maybe that’s why he didn’t spit at him properly. Or it could have been him feeling too scared of what spit to the other’s face would get him. Spencer wants to spit at him again, but his mouth is too dry to get enough spit to make it happen. “Oh I will. Just waiting for the best moment.”

He’s really feeling confident in himself, but it’s short lived and replaced with another round of paler than normal skin. All it takes is Edward telling him something no one has been able to tell him before; not even his own father. “What do you know? Who…who did? Who killed my parents? Tell me, please.” Maybe he shouldn’t beg so soon. Perhaps he should wait until after Edward tells him the truth. That is if he does at all. The elder man admits it. Admits that he knows who killed his mom and dad. The knowledge sucks the breath out of Spencer. He stares at Edward disbelief. He was the last person the school teacher wanted to know the truth. Shivers run down his spine, suddenly feeling cold despite the heat from his body having danced all night still making him sweat. “Maybe it was you? Was it you!? Did you kill my parents?”

Spencer knew he couldn’t trust a word Edward was saying. Yet here he was waiting for the truth. Hoping that whatever the other said wasn’t a lie.

“They’re not forgettable. I never forgot them.” He hisses out, launching forward to push Edward. “No…no you weren’t there. No. You couldn’t have done it. You’re just saying all this to fuck with me.” His head shakes, fists clenching at his sides. He did agree that Edward knew too much, but his own gut told him otherwise. He can’t imagine his parents having to see this man’s face before taking their last breath. “I…there’s no way you—“ he stops, head shaking rapidly. “Was it you? Did you kill my parents?” His voice practically raises above a whisper. “Was it?” He asks, rage building up inside of him, pushing Edward one more time. “Was it you, Eddie?” He’s hurt and confused. He needed to know the truth. “I’ll do anything you tell me to. Just, please, tell me the truth.” When he later looks back at the conversation, he’ll ignore the fact that his eyes held tears threatening to fall as he stood there begging a man to help release some childhood trauma. “Please, sir.”

Music had always been something like escapism from the chagrin of daily moaning and groaning. These days, it was a welcome vacation from combing over profits for the MC and reading the notes left by various members in the ledger to figure out what the next move should be. Indecision had frozen him in place before, and the universal language was a welcome hard reset and drowned out the inner raucousness inside his head — tonight was really just for fun.

Competition was friendly in every sense of the word — there weren't a gratuitous amount of new punk-adjacent bands that crawled out of the woodwork in Las Vegas, as he was privy to seeing the jazz musicians strutting the Strip on the way to Kitty's more than anything. There were a scattered few that he had made the acquaintance of, but a brand-new face popping off in popularity on the other side of the same coin was especially exciting with the festival circuit of summertime coming up. A mocktail in his hand and his mouth chasing after the straw as he watched the ladies line up on the stage where he lurked at the back of the crowd with the other members of Vain Rogues, he sounded out the Cosmix bannering across the drum kit.

One thing that Spencer kept with him after the lost of his parents was his love of music. He learned a lot from his biological parents. His own father taught him how to play the drums from a very young age. Coming home to see his dad ready to teach him new songs was the highlight of coming home after school. He would do his homework and then practice drums with his father. Sure he has taught himself other instruments, but the drums is one he'll always come back to. Music was his passion. Always has been. It was a his drum to be part of a band and he was grateful that Cy gave him a chance despite his last name.

And trust he earned. Not only from his buddy Cy, but everyone else in their band as well. It was his goal to show that not all Vitelli's were bad. That he was the normal one. He eased right into the band and being their drummer. He had thought he was pretty good at playing. Spencer loves their band. But he guesses a little bit of competition was good for them. He just was worried that they'll find a drummer that was better than him and he'll get replaced. Every time a new band came in they didn't seem to really stick around or were that good. But this new one, Cosmix, even Spencer had to admit that they were pretty good.

Alessandro was at the Glitter Gulch Lounge. He had been eying up a few of the guys when all of a sudden, who should he spot? Spencer Vitelli, his big brother. A grin growing on his face, he made his way over to him and threw an arm around his shoulder, feeling him jump a little.

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing here? You should have said you were going out, I would have come with." As they had gotten older, they saw each other less and less. Now that Alessandro was running things, hr wanted to change that. He wanted to see him more, actually build a brotherly bond, even if they were both older now.

"You try the mechanical bull yet? Or are you planning on jumping in on the hog lassing contest?" Raising a finger as if he had made a realization, he lifted Spencer's arm so that he was flexing it. "Oh no, with these things, you're for sure planning on jumping into the mud wrestling I saw going on out there."

"Trying to flirt with hot guys, but apparently failing miserably. I didn't think to call you. I thought you'd be too busy." He tells Alessandro sort of the truth. They weren't close, so the thought of inviting his little brother didn't cross his mind. They weren't close after all and now that Alessandro was the don, Spencer didn't think they'd have time for each other. After all, they weren't really close. He would like to be.

"No, dude. I don't want to hurt myself on the bull." He tells Alessandro shaking his head from side to side. "Wait, there's a hog lassoing contest?" That was one thing he missed. He wasn't sure if he'd like to try it at all. Spencer was boring and avoided anything that might get him hurt. At the mention of his "arm guns", Spencer feels himself getting a tad embarrassed. He doesn't really dress in ways that shows off his biceps. "And take mud out of different parts of my body for weeks to come? No way. I mean it does look fun, but what if they hit hard or throw me? I...I can't get hurt."