#th.aloysius

“YOU DON’T THINK PEOPLE ARE STARING AT ME, DO YOU?” aloysius had warmed up to the younger malafronte quite a lot. miłosz had really ingratiated him into the family. or what was left of it after sourpuss went all ‘woe-is-me’. 

aloysius...though he supposed he should be going by percival again... touched at his ears. 

“OH YES, YES, I KNOW. I KNOW. I SHOULD BE GIVING ALMS TO THE POOR. KISSING HANDS. SHAKING BABIES. YES, I KNOW.”

“YOU’RE THE MAN THE BARD SPOKE ABOUT. ARNOLD OR SOMETHING OF THE SORT? I KNOW IT STARTED WITH AN ‘A’. OR MAYBE IT WAS AN ‘R’? IF YOU’RE INTO THAT SORT OF WEIRD... NAME SORT OF THING. EITHER WAY. A GREAT PLEASURE TO MEET YOU. I AM ALOYSIUS REGIS VITRUVI GRACCHUS THE THIRD, BUT YOU CAN SIMPLY CALL ME ALOYSIUS. OR YOUR GRACE. I LIKE THAT ONE TOO.”

“HOW... HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME?” he asks, voice soft as he stares at the seer with frightened eyes. the usually jovial man had been called by his GIVEN name, a name he had forgotten when they had cast him out. when he had left his home.

“YOU HAVE THE PRETTIEST HAIR. HAS ANYONE TOLD YOU THAT?” he looks at the marvelous blonde, and he gives her a dazzling (or what he considers dazzling) smile. she could surely kick his ass. he could tell just by looking at her that she was stronger than he could have really known.

“DIVINES, BUT YOU ARE BIG,” aloysius calls from the dock. he likes to harass the fishing folk from time to time. “DID IT HURT WHEN THE GODS CAST YOU OUT OF THE HEAVENS?” he eats something... jerky perhaps? while he harasses this poor fisherman, kicking his legs in the water and smiling brightly with his golden eyes.

“WELL, SHIT.” aloysius sat on the side of the road, looking down at his fancy clothes that were getting less fancy as the days went on. he would have to swipe something from some of the more derelict mansions around. they might even have some gold tucked away in places the looters hadn’t checked yet.

he crooned, earning honest money for once. he strums at his lute, the most beautiful loot one could steal. the craftsmanship on it is immaculate, and the wood is polished to perfection. he might as well have it look beautiful if he’s going to convince people he is who he says he is.

he’s a damn good singer, and at least four men and FIVE others are in love with him by the end of his third song. the girl in red in the back keeps giving him bedroom eyes. perhaps he’ll take all ten of them back to his room. it would be terribly taxing, but he was always up to the task