a devil dressed in silk is still the devil

With alcohol beginning to mingle in their bloodstream the snort comes easily, a blunt sound plied from their throat at her words. Her own laugh echoing theirs, the two noises coinciding too naturally for strangers having only just spoken for the first time. It’s a strange feeling to laugh again, somehow foreign after days of neglect. The motion feels exhausting on Marcelo’s body, bruised ribs begging for silence, though they stubbornly wave aside its plea. The dull pain of their injuries is all too welcome after the mental torture they’d been inflicted. 

“Sounds like you’re having a good enough time for the both of us,” they quip, lips quirking into an amused smirk at the image. Relief they had not known themselves to need floods through them at the bliss of speaking on things as minute as sex, a change in topic they would embrace for as long as it lingered. Tonight isn’t for fighting, they remind themselves carefully at her taunt. Though, that same thought had been interrupted many a time by their fist meeting resistance of bone. “Begging and bondage, tell me more,” Marcelo teases instead, a dry smile flashing as they press the lip of the beer bottle to their own.

They hang on the implication of her words. This time. How many had failed to bury her? How many were wearing black for the loved ones she had found more success than? It was a morbid fascination, one they mull over, visions of bondage replaced with fantasies of gore. They shake the thoughts away at her voice, “I’m always ready for a fight,” Marcelo argues stubbornly, taking another generous sip from their bottle. They had been lucky to have strayed so far from the bridge, not listening to direction, as per usual. There was a high probability they would have been buried in rubble, otherwise, found days later, perhaps by Bellamy or whoever else could be bothered to hunt them down. Would they have minded such a fate? 

 Her observation surprises Marcelo, despite having come to the same conclusion themself upon arrival. Had she managed to pay more attention than they had? “You’ve been watching me, tesoro,” they jeer, brow raising in amusement as they shoot her a pointed look. They sip absentmindedly for a distraction, letting a long moment of silence pass between the two of them, “why? Where would you prefer going instead of home?” It wasn’t as if they had anything to hide. Most often they found their way to a friend, collapsing into their sofa with the weight of things they had unsuccessfully tried to drink away. Other times they resented the vulnerability of their own thoughts, masking them with their fingers wound around another’s throat, for one reason or another.   

Maybe she should know them, maybe if she paid more attention she would have been able to place them as more than just a stranger she had accepted as someone she would be able to see in the darkest hours of the night and not think of it come sunrise. Maybe she didn’t want to know them, did not want to place too much weight on their shoulders as someone of importance. “Whats the point if you’re not having at least somewhat of a good time?” she asked, knowing deep down she wished she lived by this motto - knowing that when it came down to it, Valentina was always all work and no play, always had the razor blade ready behind her cheek for when she needed to attack.

She had always been the violent one, that wasn’t going to change because she wanted to forget who she was for an hour. “If begging interests you, I don’t think I’m your girl.” she chuckled, letting the conversation take its calmer tone, letting it go on to whatever the pair somehow managed to use as small talk. People were coming and going around them, but it was easy enough to block out anything of importance, and with each sip of her drink she could feel the dull pain in her shoulder fade away, distractions doing her well in the moment. 

“I’d be a fool not to.” she shrugged, no shame in knowing her surroundings. She had been watching them, though, eyes always trained on their comings and goings. Most of the time they had been alone, and it hadn’t been so hard to keep an eye on someone who always found themselves sitting next to her. “You’re telling me you haven’t been watching me? What with all of my beauty and grace?” she asked, referring to her battered state, knowing she looked a mess in her worn clothes and undone hair. “I asked before you, but I suppose if you have to know, I would rather be anywhere but home.” she laughed, knowing that if she were to go home now, she would have to hide her shoulder all the more, seeing as Santino would still be awake and telling her she should have been resting. In truth, once this bar closed, she’d likely find herself walking around Verona as she did before her and Santino had the pleasure of having a roof over their heads. 

Matthias rolled his eyes at her comment, though their gaze was not so harsh as they caught what might have been a smile forming upon her features. It was a ridiculous sort of night, the kind where all protection had been blown to pieces by the bomb, and vulnerable selves with nothing else to lose on this horrid night could find themselves amused by a lame Monty Python joke as they tried to excuse their wounds. Perhaps the message sent tonight was that even weapons were not indestructible. That which caused destruction could be destroyed itself – the bomb perhaps the most literal example – but everyone in Verona as well. Guns could be damaged, blades could be bent, and those that wielded them could do just the same.

“I’ll send you a bill,” he replied, his voice hard to match the dry scoff she released. He knew she was stubborn about it, because in a similar sense, so was he. Matthias knew he likely would have avoided the subject entirely, though with less snark and more seriousness in his tone. Still, watching the way Valentina carried herself, or at least tried to, Matthias knew her arm wasn’t something she could sleep off. He certainly didn’t carry himself like an uninjured man, despite how he tried, as well, body trying to resist the natural urge to lean forward and curl into itself at the pain in his ribs. Instinct wanted him to protect his vital organs, stubborn pride wanted him to make it home looking as if he hadn’t been in distress minutes earlier.

Blue eyes found themselves rolling again, and this time, the response was growled slightly, though it was hard to tell whether it was out of annoyance or just pain. “It’s different.” Whatever plagued him inside, he knew he wasn’t bleeding internally, so truly, there was no point in seeing a doctor. Now, he just had to get Valentina to agree with that. “There’s nothing they can do for me,” he stated definitively, regardless of whether or not he had a diagnosis. “Ribs have to heal on their own. Shoulders don’t just relocate themselves. You can resist help all you want, but it will only hurt you, and the Montagues, more in the longrun. So are you going to let me fix your shoulder or not?”

Had it not been for the explosion, or the ringing in her ears, this night could have very easily been mistaken as any other for the pair. The injuries were not uncommon, with Valentina being reckless in her anger and Matthias quite often not one to control his, the two of them had found themselves on these streets in this type of situation often enough. But there was a bomb, and there was a ringing in the Gallo girls ears as she tried to pretend that this was just like any other night, that her shoulder was fine, and that when she woke up tomorrow all she would be left with would be minor bruises and no pain. 

The two were a far cry from soldiers others should fear, maybe, but she would be damned if they were to admit it. She found herself taken aback slightly, by the seriousness of his tone next. Sarcasm and corny references turned to something more serious. “Yeah yeah, just admit it’s a lot easier when you’re not talking about yourself and move on.” she sighed, juggling with the idea of letting him pop it in. She wouldn’t scream, she had decided already she had weakened herself enough in front of him this last week, and the reopened wound on her leg from a few nights ago reminded her of that clear as day. 

Valentina had never been one to try and hide her anger, to retract her claws. Yet.. here she was, attempting to make sure that daggers weren’t coming out of her eyes as she paced back and forth on the sidewalk, hands clenching and unclenching, as she awaited the redhead she had been tasked to escort wherever she was going today. There were those close to her who liked Celeste, enjoyed her company, but for whatever reason Valentina could not fathom what she was tasked to accomplish. 

As was the Montague way, she had not been given much information about it. And she understood, or at least she understood why they wanted her to travel with company. What she did not understand, however, was how one could walk around basically helpless hoping to avoid disaster was beyond her, was something she had had the luxury of understanding.

Finally, she saw the flash of red hair where they were supposed to meet, and Valentina was quick to catch up to her. “So, how long do you think this is going to take?” she asked, already itching to get this over with.

date: sept 27, 2018 time: 9 pm location: twelfth night & the tempest closed to: @valentinagallos

It starts with the jazz. How Twelfth Night & the Tempest wins the vote every time they hit a milestone is entirely beyond him, but he’s been here enough times to notice new developments like the band playing at the back of the gallery. It’s the kind of music he thinks Everett would probably like, with its syncopated rhythm and walking bass lines, and that thought alone is enough to sour his mood, long before he notices he has a tail. Easton excuses himself and makes his way over to the bar.

The craft they have on tap tonight is light—hoppier than he generally approves of and a few tones too fruity—and he takes his time before he speaks, still facing his drink as he mulls the taste of the beer over on his tongue. Easton lingers at the bar, in no rush to head back. Sure enough, there she is again, hovering just at the edges of his peripheral vision. If he were in a better mood, he might choose to bide his time; to pretend he dosn’t know so he can probe around before calling her out on her bluff. But he isn’t. He’s here to show face and to bail at the first possible chance.

“Do you spend all your Thursday evenings following strangers to their company functions?” Easton asks, his eyes still fixed on the rim of his glass. The music has gone from annoying to headache-inducing in a matter of minutes, and he throws the accusation down onto the table like a hand of cards, moving only to roll up his sleeves. Here, he still wears his mask—the very epitome of a young modern professional seeking nothing more than to make his way in the world. But when he turns around, the light shifts, and his eyes sharpen, trying to glean whatever information from her they can. Hungry. Searching. “Or am I just that special?”

Easton. Grace had told her about him, but even without the outcast Daley girl letting her know the bits and pieces she wanted to say, Valentina had heard of him all on her own. The ruthless Capulet soldier, she could almost respect him, in a way- but even that would be lost once she got what she wanted. She had been watching him for far too long to let up, so she knows by now that he’s in one of his many moods- angry. Or was it annoyed? Either way, it didn’t seem like he was quite in the right mindset to easily crack into, although she had been planning on approaching him for months now. 

She wouldn’t be worth her salt if she hadn’t known he would be here today, had snuck away from everyone, saying she was going to ‘spend the night with someone special’, it was easier for them to think Valentina had a boyfriend rather then what she was actually doing. Maybe she was being too bold, too reckless in thinking she could talk her way out of it if he took the situation as a hostile one. 

Sure enough, he had seen her, and she let one corner of her mouth raise up in a smirk at his remark. She had maybe drank a glass too many, or else she wouldn’t have let herself be cornered so easily. Valentina tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to turn to her - the man in the suit, the corporate bore, it was a far cry from what she hoped to get from him. “Who’s to say this isn’t merely an accident?” she asked, head tilting to the side as she studied his face, letting him analyze her as she did to him. She took another sip from her drink, settling it down and studying it in turn before she made her next move. “But if you must know, I saw you and remembered that a while back, Grace had told me you turned into an ogre when you drank...”, as if on cue, the bartender brought out another drink. “Seeing as everyone else here seems to be about as entertaining as a wall, I wanted to see if it was true. Do you turn green or just get angry?”

date: november 3 time: afternoon location: castora’s apartment status: closed for @valentinagallos

She greets Valentina with a side hug, ushering her friend into her apartment and locking the door behind them. Castora pours takes her coat and pours her a cup of tea – her way of saying “I’ve missed you” and “I’m so happy you’re alive.” 

“Ignore the bullet holes in the wall. And sorry about the pajamas. Someone broke into my apartment and stole half my closet.” Yeah. It really hasn’t been the Aguilar woman’s week, but in the moment she’s more preoccupied with the sling on Valentina’s arm rather than the state of her apartment. 

“If I would have known that people were going to blow up the Castelvecchio, I would have done pre-med instead of pre-law…Please tell me you’ve got an actual doctor to look at that, Val.” Castora takes a sip of her tea. “Because if you didn’t and you’re in massive pain right now, I’m going to feel bad about asking you for a favor right now.”

The visit to Castora’s  was a welcome distraction from the chaos that insisted to follow her Verona around, despite the fact that Valentina was like a moth to a flame when it came to the danger that followed the city around, even though she was inevitably going to get burnt one day. Her bridge was gone, but there were still things that remained which meant just as much to her - she would hold onto them with all she had. “If I knew I would have come in my own, although I don’t know if walking here in my underwear and a shirt would be taken well by the innocent citizens of Verona.”

She welcomes the hug from the familiar girl, relaxing as she stepped into the apartment and all but threw herself on the couch, legs folding under her as she curled up into the familiar environment. Warming her hands on the mug, she raised a brow at the holes in the wall. “You should have told me.” she said, eyes leaving the wall and falling back to her, waving her off as she commented about medical attention. “Dr. Warren’s already taken a look at it... Does the favor have to do with the holes in your wall or have you had a very entertaining week?” 

Her words coax a smile to their lips, venom as familiar as the alcohol in their grip falling from between her teeth. They’ve always been most comfortable around creatures like themselves, those with claws, ruled only by their hunger. There had been exceptions, ones they held close, especially with so many like themselves out there, prowling for those that were not. Those with softened edges, guided by hearts that had not yet lost hope, who were often shrouded from Marcelo’s understanding by good intentions and bleeding hearts. Tonight they did not wish to interpret, to decode the sting of disappointment and worry of those that remained optimistic. They just wanted the same reprieve sleep could offer, by whatever means necessary. 

“I don’t beg,” they argue bluntly, pressing the rim of their glass to their lips once more. Replacing the bottle on the table a moment later they laugh at the thought, pride swelling more dangerously with the influx of alcohol, “one injury is enough, tesoro, I wouldn’t be so quick to collect more, if I were you.” Truthfully, Marcelo would be very quick to indulge if they were her, perpetually ignorant to the physical restraints of being human. A useless arm was warning to slow down for most, but the vulnerability would have only prompted the Montague to prove themselves despite the disadvantage. They had already been born with a broken restraint, self control like a ghost limb they had at once expelled from their own body. Marcelo could only hope for the woman’s sake she had not been as quick to abandon it. 

Despite the empty threats, their exhaustion making sure of that, the corner of Marcelo’s lips twist upward as she orders a second drink. The words tumble easily, with little pressure to prove them, and they find that the muscles in their shoulders have unconsciously loosened with the banter. Her laugh follows naturally, boasts obliterated by the continuation of a conversation that manifested as suddenly as she had. She had been there for weeks, a shadow beside them, yet they felt they were seeing her for the first time. “I’d hate to see the concrete, then,” they deadpan, eyes flitting over her expression; almost thoughtful. “At least no Capulet got the satisfaction,” they murmur, imagining the revelry that would have come from plucking the last Rosso from the Montague roster if they themselves had been struck down that night. 

Amusement paints Marcelo’s features as she pushes the glass over, nodding their head in acknowledgment as they extend their hand for it. They abandon their beer in favor of the liquid, tossing it back unceremoniously, her words registering as the bottom of the shot glass is reunited with the bar top. “Were you attacked?” They inquire curiously, absorbing each retelling of the night from whoever offered, combining flashes of clarity to form a clearer image. Their expression becomes serious briefly, imagining the flurry of destruction that had claimed the Castelvecchio in their absence, the lives that had been consumed by the wreckage. Their thought is eclipsed only by her taunt, the words contorting their face into a scowl, “concrete kicked your ass, I wouldn’t count on it.”  

They were smiling, so she must have been doing something right. Valentina was never a people pleaser, had never made it her life mission to make sure the entire room loved her, it was just something that came with the job. Every time she had crossed the bridge, she became the complete opposite of herself, and slowly she could feel itself digging its roots into her being, as if the two were no longer separable. It was nice, that they didn’t look like they wanted to kill her, she wasn’t going to read into it any more than that. 

"You don’t beg? I guess no one’s shown you a good enough time, then.” she laughed, an easy enough laugh that wasn’t completely forced in it’s origin. She was tired, yes, but it was easy here. It was easy here because she didn’t have to pretend for a moment- pretend to be a spy, pretend not to be a spy. To be a good sister, to be a decent human- they didn’t care, and Valentina found herself getting comfortable, minute by minute. “Tesoro, I can take you with both hands tied behind my back.” She shouldn’t be so quick to jump into a fight, because if they were to agree, Valentina would not find herself backing down in any way, which would definitely be looked down upon by most people. She had been told she had to rest multiple times now, by multiple people. 

“I wasn’t attacked this time, no.” she said, which was surprising enough in itself. Usually, teeth bared, Valentina always picked the fight. That’s how it always went, but for once she had found herself avoiding the confrontation in favor of saving a life - something unheard of, for Valentina. “I’m sorry, do you think you’re stronger than concrete? How about we blast some of that into your body and have you ready for a fight a second later.” she laughed, the image itself quite funny, in her drunken haze she could imagine the stranger in front of her attempting to fist fight with a wall, something told her she could egg them on to do it if only to make them prove a point.

She recognized so much about them. Even from their mere physical composure, the way they responded to most things as if a threat. If someone had taken a drink Valentina intended to drink herself she would have had a knife to their throat, the expression on their face was something she had completely understood. Why she poked the beast, she did not know, maybe she just needed to know how far she could push. She decided to just bite the bullet, admit she had noticed them around. “You’re here all the time.. until closing... so, where do you go once this bar closes? Wouldn’t be too much fun if you just headed home.”

Blood was thicker than water, they said, but in Verona, it flowed just as freely, if not more so. The dark of night and the warm-colored flames providing the only illumination made Matthias wonder if the river was thus more blood than water, and which truly sustained life here in Verona. He knew not whose blood was spilled, whether his hands dripped with each contact or her wounds transferred to him, but he didn’t truly care, for worrying about spilled blood did you no good when you still stood to lose your own. He could not save a man who was dying when Ramona could have lost her life just as quickly. He could not worry about the state of those whose blood stained the cobblestone he threw them down upon. All Matthias could worry about now was the journey home for both himself and Valentina, and the latter more so, for while his hands stung every time his fists uncurled to let the air grace his palms and his chest felt a hollow ache that seemed carve its way to his bones, he had little to show for it, while her arm dangled by her side in a way he knew was not natural.

“And if your arm was severed, you’d tell me it was just a flesh wound,” he replied, his tone serious despite the reference behind it. There was no time for her to lie about her health when every step brought danger and only the strong could survive. They approached a dim streetlamp which did its best to bring the state of her arm to light. Even under her shirt, Matthias knew the position of her arm well. “It’s dislocated,” he announced. “I’ll pop it back into place when we get you home.” There was no time for gentleness, no time to even slow as they continue walking, his legs begging him to let them recover from the shock of the cold water. He ignored their pleas, thinking to himself they can warm up once he’s home. He watched her eyes gaze down upon his injuries, yet still was not aware of the extent of them as he wiped some blood from his hands to his shirt – it would have to be thrown out anyway, after tonight. 

Yet, despite all this, he answers quickly and firmly, “I’m fine.” His hands ached and bled, his arms did the same, his torso ached more than anything but he was sure there were some cuts there, as well, and his legs begged for warmth after being submerged in the freezing water, and yet, he said he was fine. Compared to others, he honestly was. Matthias knew that those like Valentina, with her dislocated shoulder, or those he had not yet seen, with bullets in their bodies or stab wounds marking their skin or bones broken, twisted, and fractured, were all worse off than he. He would wake in the morning, strap an ice pack to his chest, and go about his day. Who knew how long it would take for them to wake so easily, if at all. “Just a little banged up. I’ll be okay in the morning. We should make sure you’ll be, too.”

“it wouldn’t be a lie, it’s flesh and it would have a wound.” she stated, raising a brow as a sad excuse for a smile began to grace her lips. They were likely a funny pair to witness in this moment, both of them looking like they had just left the battlefield, not a sight for the modern world at all. She had been weak in front of Matthias too often for her own liking- he had dragged her pitiful self home less than a whole 48 hours ago and now here they were again, the adrenaline of the moment wearing off and leaving Valentina with what felt like a gaping hole in her body. It was a pure act of defiance, her attempting to hold her arm straight against the world, as if denying that she was human after all, about as fragile as a porcelain doll when it came to man made machinery that was meant to blow up structures that had been there long before her and were meant to stay standing long after she was gone. With every step, she felt her shoulder protest more and more against her attempts at keeping it in what was usually it’s normal position. 

She scoffed at his diagnosis, although she knew very well that it indeed had been forced out of place. “Okay Dr. Warren, how much do I owe you for the medical consult?” she asked, a defense mechanism slapping them both straight in the face. She kept going, though, as if they were racing each other at which one of them wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace. He was right, she would need him to push it back into its place, and she wasn’t going to refute that. She had tried to shove it back in before, but it’s not something one can often do on their own. She justified that she hadn’t asked him for his help, he had more so just decided to do it.

She would come to appreciate it later on, but in the moment she was upset she needed the help in the first place.

It had happened too fast, and yet she remembered it all with astounding clarity. She remembered scowling up at the bellowing flames, cursing herself for being present among the throngs of reveling Veronans and cursing all those who perceived her as yet another one of the Witches’ mindless acolytes. She remembered scrunching her eyes shut against the jarring implosion that occurred a few moments later, gasping as the impact sent her sprawling across the expanse of the Castelvecchio. And finally, Ramona remembered opening her eyes to a flame-ravaged bridge and a lopsided canvas of the world as she groaned against the agony that was splitting her head in two; only for blackness to encompass her when she was suddenly thrown off the bridge by the momentum of the retreating masses.

A lot had happened since then and yet at this point, it all seemed to have blurred into one massive clusterfuck of a night that Ramona would give anything to forget. That wasn’t the impression that she currently gave, however, as it was only logical to expect someone with such a mindset to escape the area that still simmered in the dying embers of chaos – and Ramona had elected to willfully enter it. Such was the drive of a saint desperate to wash their hands clean of their sin – they would rather thrive in the depth of Hell with the assurance that it would burn away their wrongdoing than wither in the peaks of Heaven with the burden of knowing that their sin was now forever seared into their unblemished palms. 

The area around what remained of the Castelvecchio was littered with bodies and although most of them have been handled by the EMT’s, there were still several that remained unchecked. It was to be expected with a disaster of this magnitude and considering how efficiently the situation was contained, it was apparent that emergency services knew what they were doing. But that didn’t stop Ramona from springing at the opportunity to offer aide and support. However, it was proving to be futile so far; not only because her neglected injuries were holding her back but also because she simply wasn’t qualified to offer the sort of help that she wished to provide. Non of that registered to Ramona, though, who continued on her attempts to quell the victim’s bleeding with the same belligerence she had displayed with Matthias a day earlier. A sudden presence jolted her and Ramona’s eyes widened when she recognized Valentina. “Val! I’m – I’m trying to help out,” She scrambled to explain, attention divided between her companion and the life hanging from her undeserving hands. “The EMT’s can barely handle the victims on the bridge let alone the ones scattered all around it so I’m just lending them a hand.” Frowning, Ramona breathed a humorless chuckle. “I can’t just leave.”

Every look at the area around her reminded her that her home was burning to the ground once again. Valentina had a memory for almost each and every one of the bricks that used to line the ground of the bridge, for each and every lamp post she had found refuge under in the dead of night. Growing up, this was her first exposure to the world she had wrapped around herself as if it would be a protective blanket, and she found herself wondering if it was ever going to be brought back to life, as Ramona attempted to seemingly bring this an back to life.

She did not understand the girl in front of her in this moment, one of the first people in the Montague’s she had allowed herself to become close to. She was not even going to pretend to understand Ramona’s reasoning, was not going to pretend she cared about whoever it was lying on the floor. If this was not someone of use to her in any way, if it was not someone who surprisingly Valentina even loved, she would not have tried to help them like Ramona was struggling to do right now. With a gash to their abdomen, it was clear that the poor man was not going to recover anytime soon.. especially being out of sight of the paramedics that would actually be able to help. “Ramona...” she sighed, not knowing exactly how to get her to drop the topic, not understanding her mindset at all. “Do you even know this guy?” she asked, trying to get her attention as the girl was moving her hands frantically against the man's cold body.

“You need to get out of here..” she trailed off, not saying over half the thoughts running through her head. Why would you even want to help him? She was quite sure that Ramona did not know the person she was so frantically hovering over, had seen enough injuries to know that all this one required at least some sort of medical attention. That man was not even conscious. Her eyes kept flicking between her friend and the man laying on the floor, and she didn’t want to be seen here if anyone of importance were to cross their paths. Didn’t want to be there when people came to claim their dead. “Ramona, seriously, I need you to drop this and we need to go.” But her words were falling on deaf ears, and to be quite honest she did not care much for the man lying on the floor in front of her. Grabbing him from one of his shoulders, she started to tug, waiting for Ramona to catch on. “Come on, I’ll help you move him but that’s it.” she said, ignoring the pain in her shoulder as she grabbed onto him.

With every high, a comedown is sure to follow and as she said his name in a low voice that was reminiscent of a past lover, he could feel himself sober up just the tiniest bit. The way it echoed through his cloudy mind brought him back to his marital bed and for a moment he was lost in the memory before she spoke again. He shook his head,managing to laugh at her question. His life was not all that brave, not was it filled with heroism like she could imagine it was, but he was too proud to tell the truth in his work. That what if he added to the chaos? What if he lent a hand to the demons of Verona? 

Then he frowned. He could only imagine what someone– a woman, nonetheless –would be feeling in her position. “Don’t worry about it. Take all the time you need to decompress. I’ll even walk you home when you’re ready. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out alone on a night like this any way.” If only he could hear his own words. Would he ever understand that he sounded like an idiot? Not every woman needed a man for protection, but she was so willing to play the part that he would eventually get lost in his own role of what he thought was dominance. “Well, I am happy to have served a purpose.” 

“Val.” He said before smiling. “That is a very pretty name.” It was true, but so was Delilah or Ameena. The person behind it was really what you needed to look at. “That depends. What list? And only if you want it there, of course.” He nodded to the bartender, asking for another round to alleviate to doom of becoming sober again. Unlike Val, sipping slowly at hers, her downed his in one gulp before sitting his glass down to take in a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I’m a little parched.”

She shot a coy smile his way, looking up at him from under her lashes, feeling them flutter against her lids with every look. In a way it was relaxing, this game that she found herself playing ever so often. She had spent so long working through the shadows, making sure not many in Verona knew her name so she could do exactly what she was doing, she had done unspeakable things in the name of that goal... well, unspeakable to some people. “Oh you really don’t have to... it’s okay. I really don’t think you pictured spending your night out just walking a stranger home.” 

She would be lying if she were to say she wasn’t enjoying it, the attention was a welcome distraction from the war raging itself crazy around them. The buzzing was something she would feel always, even when the world outside was calm, was something she had yearned for in her earlier years. “Don’t sell yourself short, I’m sure there’s more to you then just rescuing girls in bars.” she poked, the smile on her face coming more naturally now instead of how sickeningly sweet it had been. 

"Thank you.. I never really liked it.” Surprisingly, this wasn’t a lie.. her mother had given it to her, and she was not quite in the habit of liking anything her mother had given her. Just as she did not like her eyes, which were her fathers. Still, there were things Valentina did appreciate, like having the same smile as her brother, and having lived the same life. “Odin, though... That’s mythic, one of a kind.” She watched him take the shot down like it was water, a man after her own heart. “We can decide later if my name is going down on any sort of list, maybe I’ll let you buy me a drink first, huh?” she raised a brow, refusing to define it and letting him assume whatever he pleased. 

A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live

The place had become ruins. It had been weeks since their parents had gone, and soon enough they would no longer be able to stay there. People would come looking for adults with money and means to pay the rent, and she and her brother had only avoided them so far by only coming in and out through the window when no one was around. 

But the landlord had a key, and one way or another, they would be found out.

The food in the fridge which no longer kept anything cold was stolen, and the dishes in the sink hadn’t been touched for far too long. Santino was staring out the window as if waiting for them to come back. She packed two bags with anything they could take, one for her and one for her brother. Whatever food, clothes, necessities could fit were forced in, and she gently put one on her brother's lap, not yet having developed the feral bite that would turn her cold to the world, but well on it’s way. 

“Come on, we have to leave before they take us.” she said, having heard stories from kids like them on the street already, about how they were separated from their siblings, how they did not know where the other was. “We have to go.” she nodded, as if trying to convince them both as she looked around what had been her home for all of her life. The walls in the living room were painted yellow, crayon marks from what seemed to be forever ago in the easily reachable places, the door to her and Santino’s room open but the one to their parents closed. 

Marcelo manages a half smile at her words, eyes roving over the injury to gauge just how long of a wait there would be. The injuries they’d acquired over the years had crippled them more than just physically, caging a beast that incessantly sniffed out conflict, and they felt a selfish pang of relief it was her and not them. Marcelo was all too familiar with having to adapt, to survive despite the hurdles Verona tossed their way. One would think they’d grow less reckless with the threat looming over their head, but it was, quite frankly, a miracle they had anything at all left to lose. 

They raise a brow at her grip on their glass, pulling it to her despite the expression twisting their features. “Careful, or you’ll lose another arm,” they warn, pointing a finger at the brunette before gesturing to the bartender a second time. “Even without the advantage I’d drop your ass, don’t make me embarrass you,” they add playfully, slouching back in their seat. Marcelo had started fights for less, swung fists for the most juvenile of reasons, yet their palms remain on the counter top. They could blame it on the weight of exhaustion, but truthfully, they didn’t want to lose the company. 

Marcelo snorts at her comment, cornered by the legitimacy of it. Their physical health may be stable but their mind was far from it. To anyone else they were holding up relatively well, as well as usual, anyway. But the woman had loitered the same dark crevices as them for weeks now, present for the drunken come down after many a brutal nightmare. Though she may have paid them little mind, no person doing well would exchange sleep for alcohol five days of the week. “That we did,” Marcelo concedes, distracted by the glass situated between them by the bartender, hand instinctively shooting out to pull it in their direction with a pointed look at the brunette. 

They furrow their brows at her words, gaze meeting hers only to follow it to their hands. A good fight, yes, but not as good a fight as hoped. Their mind gravitates to the Capulets they let get away, each life that had escaped them a large price to pay for looking good. They shake their head instead, taking a long sip from their beer before replying, “no, I hear it was chaos.” Marcelo lowers their eyes to the precipitation gathering on their glass, fingertip brushing it aside absentmindedly, “walking past the wreckage is enough to imagine. Half of Verona’s a graveyard, but the bridge—” they trail off, lips forming a grimace. “That’s what happened to your arm then?” They deduce, attention raising to settle on her sling once more.   

She felt them watching her, eyes on her arm. You could see the bruising on her shoulder clear as day through her almost transparent top, but what were a few bruises? She leaned against the bar with her good arm, leaving the other where it was, tied almost lamely against her body. She laughed at their comment, at the anger on their face, never one to back down especially when faced with some sort of confrontation. Truthfully, she knew they wouldn’t fight her, they were both too tired to do much except sling back a few harsh words to be forgotten later on in the night, and not thought about tomorrow. But she couldn’t help but bite back. 

“I’m sorry... are you sure you weren’t hurt? Maybe you hit your head? You seem a little delusional...” she cooed, the sweetness sticky in her voice as she feigned concern, almost reaching out as if to check their temperature in her efforts but thinking better of it. “Even with the advantage, I would have you begging me for mercy before you can realize what’s actually happening.” she said, more serious now. She had been fighting for as long as she could remember, she knew all the soft parts of somebody that could bring them down, knew where to hit to leave someone breathless. She would not do that to them, but the words were to linger in the air anyways. The animal part of her had reared it’s ugly head, she would not be thought of as weak, even with her guard down for the hour. 

She almost laughed at how defensively they grabbed their drink, and she now ordered two instead of one. She had kept an eye on them long enough to know what it was they ordered, had been there enough times in the night to have found her place at the bar next to him often. Any threatening tone in her voice had disappeared as quickly as it had come, for once Valentina did not want to fight nor argue. “Mhm, I went head to head with a piece of concrete.” she nodded, recollecting just how it had slapped into her back and pushed her onto the floor, leaving her breathless as she tried to piece together what had just happened. Recollected her name being called out desperately, the burning in her arm as she felt it almost tear away from her, all the things she could have done differently to avoid her current situation. “Obviously, I won.” she snorted, trying to make a joke of the situation, take her mind off how useless she felt without it.

The bartender returned with her shot, and she passed the one she ordered for them over, a defensive action on her end. As if making up for the drink she had stolen. For whatever reason, she found herself continuing her explanation, not nearly as sarcastic. “I had to... keep using it after I fell so it’s apparently been made worse then it would have been.” she shrugged, turning her gaze to them once again as she took in her accidental drinking partner, trying to make sure she had never seen them before in any other situation. “I can still take you in a fight, though.”

A memory that comes with a picture they have

She had broken in through Santino’s window, again. It was quick and easy enough, and the only reason she had to force her way in was because she had forgotten her spare key at home. She hadn’t been in his room in months, and she found herself forgetting all about the reason she was breaking and entering when her eyes landed on what she saw on his dresser. 

It was framed carefully, although the picture itself was torn and wrinkled.

“Smile, mimma, look at the man with the camera.” her mother said, patting an eight year old Valentina on the shoulder and pointing to the stranger they had pulled aside. Her and Santino were flocked on both sides by their parents, who had taken them out to the park for the day and decided to have a picnic, after weeks of barely being home.

Valentina just wanted to go play, her eyes following the boys on the playground throwing sand at each other, the girls on the swings. She did as she was told, mimicking the smile Santi always had on. 

Her legs were covered in bruises from playing too rough, and her fingernails were dirty. Looking back now, knowing what was to come mere months after this picture was taken, she saw the signs of neglect clear as day. Her nails were long and dirty, her hair unbrushed, covered in bruises. Santino was in somewhat of a better condition, not as wild as she was, even then, but still unable to avoid the carelessness of their parents.