* archived.

     leone’s hands find the vinyl with great care,  sleeved in its plastic still,  pale gaze casting between what’s clearly a gift and the girl who’s giving it –  it reflects bottle - green lenses and matte black,  cases of vintage and limited edition albums,  no longer in production ..

     pencilled eyebrow arcs in questioning,  what’s this,  why this,  why today,  of all days,  for trish as he knows her’s not one for proper presents,  a favor here and there,  a trinket or magazine or cassette tape or new makeup palette, but this –

     –   it comes to him  slowly  &  then all at once,  the date,  one he’s not considered in years, five or six, at the very least,  father’s day  (  he’s by all means childless, and his family all but disowned him after that incident  ),  but he supposes,  for all intents and purposes,  even if trish is a far cry from a biological daughter, in the absence and consequent horrors of her biological father,  he’s as good as any to fill that void.

     ❛       ..  thank you,  trish.        ❜      gray and lined in black,  his eyes jump back to hers,  grounding themselves after the lost musing,  and all at once he designates the records to the kitchen table and pulls trish into a hug,  long arms gathering around her little shoulders and easing her small frame into his much larger one –  enveloping her all in a dark sweater and white-blonde hair.     

     there’s an audible smirk in his tone, & though his lips barely move,  he eases away from the hug after just a moment,  fixing a strand of trish’s brilliantly pink hair as he speaks,        ❛        you know i’d do it all again,  too .. it’s not  every day you overthrow the largest mafia in italy for your daughter’s sake.        ❜

    ‘ it’s a load of shit, that story. do they scare scare you? ghost-stories, i mean. ’

@tuneback​

Penny doesn’t have a clue if he leaned on the counter on purpose- aware of his height- or if it was a mindless motion. Regardless, she and her neck were grateful.

“Americano coming right up for you-” She slips the offered card next to the register with a smile before slipping behind the line and starting the ‘magic’.

“You know uh- on your earlier comment? If you don’t mind my saying or anything, I think it’s a really brave thing to do.” A break in her work and the small barista gestures at the arm leaned on her counter. “Having your heart on your sleeve I mean.”

        dark lips press into a thin line ,  one side quirking into a grimace or a sarcastic little smirk as he eases the slip of plastic back into his wallet  &  manages only a lazy gaze in eyeing the espresso machine .  with no line behind him,  he’ll remain propped against the counter ,  all  sorts  of words catching in his throat ,  filtered through a drawling tone .

            ❛  — and here i thought we’d never meet again.             small world, i guess. what brings you here,             abbacchio? how … have you been?  ❜

      @tuneback​

@tuneback

Fugo had never been the type to posture or to put down–but the moment Bruno had mentioned that he’d recruited a new member into the team, he’d been put on edge. It wasn’t so much the fact that Fugo was no longer the only member of Bruno’s team… it had to be the anxiety that he was being replaced in Bruno’s team. That he would soon be set aside and forgotten, no longer relevant.

Perhaps it was childish of him, but he couldn’t stand letting anyone else shoulder in and remove him from his rightful place.

“–You’re Leone Abbacchio, then?” Fugo asked brusquely. There was the heavy smell of alcohol hanging over the other man, and it was revolting. It reminded him far too much of people he’d rather forget. “Where did Bruno pick you up? The bar?”

        god,  he just isn’t drunk enough for this ,  and it’s his first fucking day .   one heavily penciled eyebrow twitches,  grey lenses cold as they slide over pale features and all but roll back in his head --   with a tongue swifter (  & sharper ,  it seems  )  than he cares to moderate,  he has only a blunt, chilly response for  that  particular jab.

        ❛       —–    that’s me .    would that make you  pannacotta fugo ,  or  a little bitch who can’t keep his comments to himself  ?     ❜      one fair hand reaches to push one greasy strand of white-blonde behind his ear where it gives the illusion of joining the messy bun into which he’s thrown an equally filthy mane.   the scoff that pushes its way out from a half- snarl carries a defensive note,  an emphasis on the boundary he’s so rudely shattered.

“ uh  ─── ” 

well, he had to think for a second ( not good ). 216…but were he…maybe…possibly . .

“ nineteen, ”  yep ! thats it, give or take …

        ❛       ..  nineteen ?      ❜     leone raises an eyebrow   &   the passing suggestion there are perhaps  worse  trends than baby-blue hair presses a sigh from between his lips .

 “Funny thing about doing that.” The only downside about this conversation was the exact opposite of that- it was how far she had to look up-

 “It either helps you- or makes you a really big target for the wrong people.”

         ❛      ---   i can’t say you’re wrong .     ❜    he sighs ,  even leaning  down  to rest one elbow on the shop’s counter ,  gaze flickering up to skim the posted menu  &  swiftly deciding ,  despite a distinct lack of patrons at the evening hour .  leone fishes through his wallet for a credit card  &  slides the plastic into the barista’s reach.