* All flesh is grass.

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

🛑: "Is it the one that the 📻 Buzzer was doing?"

🧰: "Seems so, yeah! You up for it?"

🛑: "Of course! I'll have to show him how it's really done, after all."

---

i've drafted Venya for the @tf2occontest !! throws my confettis. very excited to partake this year hehe

[alternate versions under the cut!]

holy moly dude why is your room so MESSY !!!!! clean allat up bro cmon

anyways under THIS cut i have thrown my imaginary mic at Venya for a bit. he will infodump i hope this is okay

(ahem) And now, for the room tour:

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

It felt almost unnatural sitting here. Gio was always the one being driven in a sleek limo, a glass of fine wine in hand, or behind the wheel of his own beloved machine, where he dictated every turn, every acceleration. This? This was foreign territory. Perhaps it was best if he kept it that way...but for now, he'd allow Venya this small amusement.

He crossed his legs leisurely, adjusting his coat with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, before turning his sharp gaze to the Russian.

"Scared? Ah, mio caro, please." He exhaled, feigning exhaustion. "I'm not scared for myself- I'm scared for her. My bellissima Francesca!" His gloved fingers grazed the dashboard, as if soothing the car itself. "One stain, one dent, even a scratch- per l'amor di Dio! I'd rather let Lime dress me in cargo shorts and a bargain-bin hoodie than see her harmed."

His laugh was light, almost too casual, but thankfully, the balaclava hid the faintest warmth creeping onto his face. His reputation was far too important to let a mere fluster show especially from a quick wit nick name such as PRETTY BOY

With a lazy flick of his fingers, he leaned back into the seat, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Now, I sure hope you know what you're doing...hell, I'd be stunned if you even remembered to bring your driver’s license." He waved his hand dismissively before suddenly clapping them together, a dramatic spark flashing in his eyes.

"Anyways! Chop chop! We have places to be! The nearest mall is hours away, and Dio mio, I have been dying for a wardrobe refresh!" He ran a hand down his perfectly tailored coat, lips curling in mock distaste. "All of this? It's getting tragically uninspired. Monotone. Predictable. And I, my dear Venya, refuse to be predictable."

He suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost sultry purr as he traced a gloved finger along his lapel.

"We are going all out, amico. Gucci. Prada. Ferragamo. We will not rest until I have a look so impeccable it makes the Pope himself weep."

Then, he leaned back again with a dramatic sigh, adjusting his gloves as if this entire excursion was simply his duty as a man of high taste.

*He shifted into first gear and stepped on the gas, the resulting jolt slightly pushing Gio into his seat. The grin on his face was toothy, even manic — it'd been a while since his last joyride, after all, and even with his newfound passenger in tow, he wasn't going to waste this chance.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn't crashed right then and there. Though, perhaps these near misses and convenient escapes warranted the absolute faith the Soldier held in his driving skills. Maybe he was a tad bit justified, if not what seemed to be an incredibly enthusiastic driver.*

Mmm-hmm, so the plan is we're going to doll you up next. I thought you would've stopped at Francesca, to be honest — too much effort for one day, you know? *He took one hand off the steering wheel once they were on vaster roads, seemingly rummaging around in his pocket for something, before giving up.*

And I do have my license on me. It's just in my wallet and my wallet's in my pocket and— you get it. And it's not like I can get it out for you now, 'cause— *He made a point of facing the dashboard, but sneaked a short glance at the other man.* —'cause I need my eyes on the road, or else you'll kill me more than you usually do.

*He took a moment to think about the day's agenda — he'd suspected that Gio would want to go shopping of some caliber, but hadn't prepared himself for what exactly that would entail. A lot of his past dates (?) had always been more academic in nature (courtesy of a certain somebody), so he was sort of in foreign waters. Though, knowing the Spy and his eye for aesthetics...*

... If you want to get me to wear one of those suits of yours I hope you know you're going to have to wrestle me into it. Violently. I'll almost certainly bite you if you try, even.

*This was a fib, of course, but he couldn't really help it; it was amusing to imagine the other's reaction, and deterrents were always good to have.*

Gio's hand instinctively gripped the grab handle as the car surged forward. His brows shot up, lips pressing into a thin line as he braced himself against the sudden acceleration.

A few more seconds passed.

He glanced at the speedometer. 80.

He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip just a little.

"Alright, alright...not as bad as I thought." He shifted in his seat, fixing his sleeves as if to regain some sense of composure. "Just... didn't expect you to take off like that. A little warning next time, si?"

He sighed dramatically, leaning his elbow against the door. "You're lucky I have nerves of steel...any other poor soul would’ve been clutching their pearls by now."

His eyes flicked back to the road ahead.

"…That being said, if you so much as scratch the tires, I will personally file a complaint...to who, I don't know, but someone will hear about it. You have any idea how much effort it takes to keep the garage clean? And Scott- Porca miseria- Scott will have a meltdown if he sees skid marks."

He finally turned back toward Venya, fully settled into his usual smirking confidence.

"Anyway...dolling myself up? Please. You think I'd let myself step outside looking anything less than stunning?" He gestured vaguely at himself, flicking his wrist in an exaggerated flourish. "You, on the other hand...I am quite the miracle worker, tesoro. If I managed to make Lime look remotely presentable, then I can work my magic on you."

His smirk lingered for a second before his expression shifted...just slightly. His voice dropped into something smoother, more knowing. "And let's not forget, I've gotten quite a few backstabs on you and your little crew. Well...most of them."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"There's one I still owe, but ah...we'll save that for another day, si?"

Finally, his gaze flicked back to the road, and he exhaled again...this time, with just a hint of lingering skepticism.

*Venya glanced at the speedometer himself, accelerating ever-so-slightly once he deemed it safe enough to do so. A thought crossed his mind of resultant force, Newton's second; Mitchell had mentioned it off hand the other day, so perhaps it had stuck in his head from then. Or, perhaps, it was just one of those things that never left.*

You'll get used to it. Just give it some time, you know? Spend enough time around somebody and you end up expecting skid marks or sudden starts. *He turned his gaze from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the road in sequence.* Or I guess in the case of America, completely empty highways.

*The Soldier fiddled with his hair absentmindedly. He'd been meaning to change it up at some point, but upon further consideration decided that searching for navy blue box dye was a quest more suited for a time where he didn't have a judgemental fashion enthusiast in the car with him, no matter how impractical that enthusiasm might be...*

... You know, I don't actually get why you're so insistent on buying your fancy clothes so often. Surely they'd just get ruined when you're fighting us, right? So there isn't a point in wearing them. (Though, I guess you do look pretty good in suits...)

*Now that he thought about it, the idea of being dressed up wasn't one that he was completely averse to. He supposed that, well, as long as it wasn't all the time, he wouldn't mind it. The real question here, however, was this: was this something to tell Gio about, or would the Spy's resulting smugness be so irritating that he'd have to push him out the car window?

Venya considered the consequences a little bit. Just a tad. And then he took the risk.*

If you really want to try playing dress-up, I wouldn't be one hundred percent opposed to it. Just know that I can fight back if need be, and, well. I wouldn't be spending anything, 'cause otherwise the others would have my head.

*He leaned back in the driver's seat and turned briefly to look at the other man.*

When Venya’s question came, Gio simply raised a brow, letting out a breezy laugh. "No point? Oh, amore... looking good is the point! Presentation is everything! Branding, tailoring, the craftsmanship- just mmwah!"He kissed his fingers in a flourish. "Sure, there are knockoffs stitched together with hopes and duct tape, but a real ensemble? That's an extension of your soul, caro! do you really think I wear these silk-lined, double-stitched, custom-fitted marvels for comfort? No! I wear them because I deserve to be seen like the Renaissance painting I am!"

He turned, giving Venya a slow once-over from boot to brow, lips curling into a playful smirk.

*Venya adjusted a very messily rolled-up sleeve.* You're not going to be burning anything, though, ideally. I asked really nicely if I could borrow this shirt — I'd hate to see it ruined. (And he would too, no doubt.)

... Actually, you know what, explosions are pretty damn cool. *He laughed lightly, as if his sudden thoughts were Hilarious (something highly unlikely to actually be the case).* As in, there's a certain beauty to destruction, y'know? So by that logic, I must look alright, and therefore your little insult just comes right back around to making me out to be brilliant. So there.

*Though, the Soldier had to admit: there was also a certain beauty to the painstakingly put-together outfits that Gio spoke of. It really did feel like sometimes he was looking at someone who was fashioned by an artist, each stroke meaningful and contributing so much to the finished piece.

Giovanni was the perfect muse. Venya refused to let him know this fact for fear of that smirk of his taunting him forever.*

i forgot i can POST MY ATTACKS. ok go my venya … im gonna start slowly uploading friend attacks

Venya belongs to the awesome @mxcrowave or you can find him at @ylw-soldier

character page here! ↷

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

It felt almost unnatural sitting here. Gio was always the one being driven in a sleek limo, a glass of fine wine in hand, or behind the wheel of his own beloved machine, where he dictated every turn, every acceleration. This? This was foreign territory. Perhaps it was best if he kept it that way...but for now, he'd allow Venya this small amusement.

He crossed his legs leisurely, adjusting his coat with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, before turning his sharp gaze to the Russian.

"Scared? Ah, mio caro, please." He exhaled, feigning exhaustion. "I'm not scared for myself- I'm scared for her. My bellissima Francesca!" His gloved fingers grazed the dashboard, as if soothing the car itself. "One stain, one dent, even a scratch- per l'amor di Dio! I'd rather let Lime dress me in cargo shorts and a bargain-bin hoodie than see her harmed."

His laugh was light, almost too casual, but thankfully, the balaclava hid the faintest warmth creeping onto his face. His reputation was far too important to let a mere fluster show especially from a quick wit nick name such as PRETTY BOY

With a lazy flick of his fingers, he leaned back into the seat, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Now, I sure hope you know what you're doing...hell, I'd be stunned if you even remembered to bring your driver’s license." He waved his hand dismissively before suddenly clapping them together, a dramatic spark flashing in his eyes.

"Anyways! Chop chop! We have places to be! The nearest mall is hours away, and Dio mio, I have been dying for a wardrobe refresh!" He ran a hand down his perfectly tailored coat, lips curling in mock distaste. "All of this? It's getting tragically uninspired. Monotone. Predictable. And I, my dear Venya, refuse to be predictable."

He suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost sultry purr as he traced a gloved finger along his lapel.

"We are going all out, amico. Gucci. Prada. Ferragamo. We will not rest until I have a look so impeccable it makes the Pope himself weep."

Then, he leaned back again with a dramatic sigh, adjusting his gloves as if this entire excursion was simply his duty as a man of high taste.

*He shifted into first gear and stepped on the gas, the resulting jolt slightly pushing Gio into his seat. The grin on his face was toothy, even manic — it'd been a while since his last joyride, after all, and even with his newfound passenger in tow, he wasn't going to waste this chance.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn't crashed right then and there. Though, perhaps these near misses and convenient escapes warranted the absolute faith the Soldier held in his driving skills. Maybe he was a tad bit justified, if not what seemed to be an incredibly enthusiastic driver.*

Mmm-hmm, so the plan is we're going to doll you up next. I thought you would've stopped at Francesca, to be honest — too much effort for one day, you know? *He took one hand off the steering wheel once they were on vaster roads, seemingly rummaging around in his pocket for something, before giving up.*

And I do have my license on me. It's just in my wallet and my wallet's in my pocket and— you get it. And it's not like I can get it out for you now, 'cause— *He made a point of facing the dashboard, but sneaked a short glance at the other man.* —'cause I need my eyes on the road, or else you'll kill me more than you usually do.

*He took a moment to think about the day's agenda — he'd suspected that Gio would want to go shopping of some caliber, but hadn't prepared himself for what exactly that would entail. A lot of his past dates (?) had always been more academic in nature (courtesy of a certain somebody), so he was sort of in foreign waters. Though, knowing the Spy and his eye for aesthetics...*

... If you want to get me to wear one of those suits of yours I hope you know you're going to have to wrestle me into it. Violently. I'll almost certainly bite you if you try, even.

*This was a fib, of course, but he couldn't really help it; it was amusing to imagine the other's reaction, and deterrents were always good to have.*

Gio's hand instinctively gripped the grab handle as the car surged forward. His brows shot up, lips pressing into a thin line as he braced himself against the sudden acceleration.

A few more seconds passed.

He glanced at the speedometer. 80.

He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip just a little.

"Alright, alright...not as bad as I thought." He shifted in his seat, fixing his sleeves as if to regain some sense of composure. "Just... didn't expect you to take off like that. A little warning next time, si?"

He sighed dramatically, leaning his elbow against the door. "You're lucky I have nerves of steel...any other poor soul would’ve been clutching their pearls by now."

His eyes flicked back to the road ahead.

"…That being said, if you so much as scratch the tires, I will personally file a complaint...to who, I don't know, but someone will hear about it. You have any idea how much effort it takes to keep the garage clean? And Scott- Porca miseria- Scott will have a meltdown if he sees skid marks."

He finally turned back toward Venya, fully settled into his usual smirking confidence.

"Anyway...dolling myself up? Please. You think I'd let myself step outside looking anything less than stunning?" He gestured vaguely at himself, flicking his wrist in an exaggerated flourish. "You, on the other hand...I am quite the miracle worker, tesoro. If I managed to make Lime look remotely presentable, then I can work my magic on you."

His smirk lingered for a second before his expression shifted...just slightly. His voice dropped into something smoother, more knowing. "And let's not forget, I've gotten quite a few backstabs on you and your little crew. Well...most of them."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"There's one I still owe, but ah...we'll save that for another day, si?"

Finally, his gaze flicked back to the road, and he exhaled again...this time, with just a hint of lingering skepticism.

*Venya glanced at the speedometer himself, accelerating ever-so-slightly once he deemed it safe enough to do so. A thought crossed his mind of resultant force, Newton's second; Mitchell had mentioned it off hand the other day, so perhaps it had stuck in his head from then. Or, perhaps, it was just one of those things that never left.*

You'll get used to it. Just give it some time, you know? Spend enough time around somebody and you end up expecting skid marks or sudden starts. *He turned his gaze from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the road in sequence.* Or I guess in the case of America, completely empty highways.

*The Soldier fiddled with his hair absentmindedly. He'd been meaning to change it up at some point, but upon further consideration decided that searching for navy blue box dye was a quest more suited for a time where he didn't have a judgemental fashion enthusiast in the car with him, no matter how impractical that enthusiasm might be...*

... You know, I don't actually get why you're so insistent on buying your fancy clothes so often. Surely they'd just get ruined when you're fighting us, right? So there isn't a point in wearing them. (Though, I guess you do look pretty good in suits...)

*Now that he thought about it, the idea of being dressed up wasn't one that he was completely averse to. He supposed that, well, as long as it wasn't all the time, he wouldn't mind it. The real question here, however, was this: was this something to tell Gio about, or would the Spy's resulting smugness be so irritating that he'd have to push him out the car window?

Venya considered the consequences a little bit. Just a tad. And then he took the risk.*

If you really want to try playing dress-up, I wouldn't be one hundred percent opposed to it. Just know that I can fight back if need be, and, well. I wouldn't be spending anything, 'cause otherwise the others would have my head.

*He leaned back in the driver's seat and turned briefly to look at the other man.*

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

It felt almost unnatural sitting here. Gio was always the one being driven in a sleek limo, a glass of fine wine in hand, or behind the wheel of his own beloved machine, where he dictated every turn, every acceleration. This? This was foreign territory. Perhaps it was best if he kept it that way...but for now, he'd allow Venya this small amusement.

He crossed his legs leisurely, adjusting his coat with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, before turning his sharp gaze to the Russian.

"Scared? Ah, mio caro, please." He exhaled, feigning exhaustion. "I'm not scared for myself- I'm scared for her. My bellissima Francesca!" His gloved fingers grazed the dashboard, as if soothing the car itself. "One stain, one dent, even a scratch- per l'amor di Dio! I'd rather let Lime dress me in cargo shorts and a bargain-bin hoodie than see her harmed."

His laugh was light, almost too casual, but thankfully, the balaclava hid the faintest warmth creeping onto his face. His reputation was far too important to let a mere fluster show especially from a quick wit nick name such as PRETTY BOY

With a lazy flick of his fingers, he leaned back into the seat, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Now, I sure hope you know what you're doing...hell, I'd be stunned if you even remembered to bring your driver’s license." He waved his hand dismissively before suddenly clapping them together, a dramatic spark flashing in his eyes.

"Anyways! Chop chop! We have places to be! The nearest mall is hours away, and Dio mio, I have been dying for a wardrobe refresh!" He ran a hand down his perfectly tailored coat, lips curling in mock distaste. "All of this? It's getting tragically uninspired. Monotone. Predictable. And I, my dear Venya, refuse to be predictable."

He suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost sultry purr as he traced a gloved finger along his lapel.

"We are going all out, amico. Gucci. Prada. Ferragamo. We will not rest until I have a look so impeccable it makes the Pope himself weep."

Then, he leaned back again with a dramatic sigh, adjusting his gloves as if this entire excursion was simply his duty as a man of high taste.

*He shifted into first gear and stepped on the gas, the resulting jolt slightly pushing Gio into his seat. The grin on his face was toothy, even manic — it'd been a while since his last joyride, after all, and even with his newfound passenger in tow, he wasn't going to waste this chance.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn't crashed right then and there. Though, perhaps these near misses and convenient escapes warranted the absolute faith the Soldier held in his driving skills. Maybe he was a tad bit justified, if not what seemed to be an incredibly enthusiastic driver.*

Mmm-hmm, so the plan is we're going to doll you up next. I thought you would've stopped at Francesca, to be honest — too much effort for one day, you know? *He took one hand off the steering wheel once they were on vaster roads, seemingly rummaging around in his pocket for something, before giving up.*

And I do have my license on me. It's just in my wallet and my wallet's in my pocket and— you get it. And it's not like I can get it out for you now, 'cause— *He made a point of facing the dashboard, but sneaked a short glance at the other man.* —'cause I need my eyes on the road, or else you'll kill me more than you usually do.

*He took a moment to think about the day's agenda — he'd suspected that Gio would want to go shopping of some caliber, but hadn't prepared himself for what exactly that would entail. A lot of his past dates (?) had always been more academic in nature (courtesy of a certain somebody), so he was sort of in foreign waters. Though, knowing the Spy and his eye for aesthetics...*

... If you want to get me to wear one of those suits of yours I hope you know you're going to have to wrestle me into it. Violently. I'll almost certainly bite you if you try, even.

*This was a fib, of course, but he couldn't really help it; it was amusing to imagine the other's reaction, and deterrents were always good to have.*

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

🚖~ For— @ylw-soldier

⚠️~ With— Astronomy, Cars and Food related stims

Art by @/ylw-soldier, do not repost or use without permission

🚖~ Credits—

🚖/⚠️/🚖

⚠️/🚖/⚠️

🚖/⚠️/🚖

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*