circle7 | beat a cheat, yo

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beat a cheat, yo

Adamo had gotten off to a bad start this particular morning in Roma. He woke up hungover in the Rosa in Fiore, only to find that he had spent all his money. Must've been on drinks and the ladies, he realized with a frown, running a hand through his messy hair. Dressing himself, he set out to the underground tunnels to head back to the hideout, where he hoped an assignment would be waiting for him. He wasn't feeling exactly smooth enough to just pickpocket a few florins off an unfortunate citizen (or three). Those things were more suitable to La Volpe's crew, anyway.

The hideout was quiet when Adamo arrived, with only a few assassins lurking about. A few stood by the lobby's desk practicing moves, which he rolled his eyes at. Those were better suited to be practiced outside. Instead, he targeted a man at the table where they usually picked up assignments.

"Hey, Vico," he said, peering over the assassin's shoulder. "Anything for me?"

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Vico knew Adamo well enough know he wasn't innocent of taunting the other man. However, letting it set in was always the best part. He knew better than to push the matter now. It just wouldn't be as funny.

"He will be, soon. Some courtesans are escorting Gonzarale here." Adamo gave the area another look over. No sign of any other courtesans making their way back to the Rosa in Fiore, and no signs of any Spaniards. "Better get ready for his arrival, hm?" Adamo grinned - this time the grin of a predator - eyes glinting in the sun before being covered in shadow again as he pulled his hood back up and covered his face with the dark fabric pooled around his neck.

"Indeed," Vico agreed, nodding before slipping into the crowd, leaving Adamo to do the same on his own. It was less conspicuous when they separated, though some of the particularly curious and nosy still pointed and stared, even if Vico found a secluded alley to start his climb up to one of the nearby roofs. To their luck, the surrounding area wasn't being patrolled by archers today, and he had a clear view of where Adamo had resurfaced from where he crouched near the edge of one building. Silently, he waved the other man over, waiting until he was close enough to ask, "What did she say he looked like, this Gonzarale?"

Hidden under the rooftop's shadow, Adamo leaned against the wall, eyes still searching.

"Apparently he favors fancy capes and hats. Obnoxious and loud. But also happens to be incredibly handsome, she says." And heaven knows that many of the courtesans' customers were hardly handsome.

Vico scoffed, and judging from his flitting glance, it was clear what he was thinking: fancy capes and hats weren't exactly rare in this area of Romagna. The Rosa in Fiore captured the attention of a great variety of men, but most of its regular patrons were gaudy, opulent men who had the money to spend on women and primping themselves up like ridiculous-looking peacocks. "You are sure she is not saying that just because he is her customer? I have known courtesans to have questionable tastes before."

Adamo grinned under his scarf.

"You may be right. After all, she said you were incredibly handsome too. Pretty questionable, if you ask me."

Short-tempered to begin with, Vico swung a fist in Adamo's direction with a growl. "I have nothing to do with it!"

From Vico's perch, the fist hit Adamo square on top of the head.

"I was joking," he whined, rubbing his head through his hood. He slanted his glance up to the other assassin, giving his face a good look over. "I'd say you're decently handsome. At best."

Curling his lip back over his teeth in a look of exasperation, Vico turned back to observing the crowd. There were men coming in and out of the establishment, thanks to Lady Claudia's stern-fisted leadership, but none had really met the description of 'handsome' quiet yet. Most of them were older, round men with obvious wealth, hanging from their pudgy fingers in big, jeweled rings, fur lining all of their custom-fitted clothing. Having grown up with little to hsi name, Vico could only imagine what sort of lavish lifestyle these men led. "Your observational skills would be better used looking for the target, idiota."

With a scoff, Adamo turned back forward to the task at hand. "Fine, fine."

When a couple of minutes had passed uneventfully, Adamo almost suggested they give up the mission - but then, he spotted what had to be Gonzarale. His cape was not only a royal red with fur-lining, but bordered with golden thread and embroidered with Spanish designs. His hat matched, even though it was decidedly Italian, and had a large feather which swooped down almost the whole length of his back.

And the courtesan was right - he was a rather good-looking man. His physique was fit, his hair was kept, and his mustache was well shaven and groomed. Gonzarale had an approachable face, despite his sly smile as he hooked his arms over two courtesans' shoulders.

"Dio mio," Adamo muttered. "He is handsome."

But, alas, it changed nothing.

"Guess I better go make my diversion. Ready, Vico?"

"Don't get distracted by his dashing good looks now, amico," Vico remarked in dry amusement, already pushing to his feet to follow Gonzarale. Even in the middle of Romagna's affluent district, he stood out like a sore thumb, with his flamboyant laughs and exaggerated stride as he walked with a woman hanging off either arm, like he was trying to make as grand a show of what a good time he was having as possible. No wonder his wife had caught on to him - Gonzarale probably didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

Pulling the crossbow from his back and notching it, Vico began to walk in the direction Gonzarale was heading. They would have to wait until the man was alone before trying anything on him - especially with the increased guard population in this area, thanks to rogue pickpockets (always a bother). "We will be ruining that handsome face of his soon enough, anyway."

"What a shame," Adamo said with a hidden grin, quietly following below the other assassin. "I was almost falling for it."

Adamo veered off into Gonzarale's direction, his crescendoing Spanish accent guiding him. And suddenly, Adamo realized: it was his best defense. Everyone was looking at Gonzarale. It would be near impossible to look inconspicuous approaching him. He cursed under his breath. There was only a few moments before he would be inside the Rosa in Fiore, and Claudia would certainly kill them - perhaps literally this time - if they caused another commotion in her brothel.

Well, maybe attention was just the thing he needed. The guy looked fit enough for a chase, after all. Adamo pushed his way through the crowd, and once he was close enough, winked at one of the courtesans hugging his arm and nodded down at Gonzarale's waist. She smiled back, and pulled his thick ornate cape back, revealing a dangling pouch that jingled while he walked. Adamo edged his way in, snatching the thing up with as little subtlety as he could manage. Gonzarale stopped, patting his side, mouth agape when he realized what was stolen. When he realized the culprit wasn't running away, he drew his sword, pointing accusingly.

"You!"

"How, exactly," Adamo began as he stopped in front of the Spaniard, "do you expect to pay these kind ladies without any money?" He raised the red velvet satchel, taking a few steps back. The courtesans gasped, playing their part well. They even slowly, almost hesitantly, unlatched off the man. Gonzarale looked panicked, before throwing off his cape. One of the girls picked it up. (If anything, this was worth their services and the trouble.) Adamo smirked, and began to run in Vico's direction.

Oh, as if their target wasn't gaudy enough, of all the half-brained, dim-witted, brazen, ill-conceived plans to follow, Vico thought sourly, watching the scene unfold before him, playing out with almost theatrical drama before he could even raise his voice to stop Adamo. So much trouble, he thought to himself, stepping back and clearing the crowd for Adamo's chase. As citizens and assassins alike, Vico knew the layout of the city well, and it was easy to part the sea of pedestrians and lead the chase into a narrower, less-travelled street. Those savvy enough fled the area as soon as they saw the blur of black and white pass them, and those that weren't were easily chased away by the hooded growl and flash of steel Vico bared at them from underneath the shadow of his hood.

As soon as the alley was cleared, Vico kicked off a wall and climbed onto one of the low-hanging arches that hung over the small street, waiting for Adamo to lead their target here for him to trap.

Vico probably wasn't deaf to Adamo's laughing, either - he obviously had much too fun on these missions. (The Maestro probably wouldn't approve.) The Spanish man was impressively fast, keeping up easily with the assassin. Once in the dead end alley, Adamo halted, whirling around on his heel.

"Looks like you've got me, Spaniard," Adamo said with a tsk, shrugging in mock defeat. Gonzarale stopped in his tracks, sword still raised. His breaths were short, but he still looked ready to fight - he suspected something was up if the thief was giving up this easily.

Gonzarale pointed his sword at Adamo. "Hand it over, and I might think about sparing you."

A rustle of cloth, the sound easily lost in the daily orchestra of sounds of life in Romagna, and Vico dropped down behind the Spaniard, crossbow drawn and effectively blocking out the only other path of escape for Gonzarale. The man turned on his heel, but only halfway, glancing between the two Assassins with dread as realization crept into his eyes. Those hoods, those weapons - so these were the Assassinos he had heard about, stalking the streets in increasing number these days, even despite the Borgia's steel grip on the city.

"I need you to answer some thing first, and then we can talk about how you can stab him through, Frederique Gonzarale," Vico said, baring his teeth in a toothy smile, all promise of what was to come. The bolt could impale the Spaniard before he even managed to lift his sword, and they both knew it.

Edited 2011-02-09 19:24 (UTC)

"Aw, so cruel, brother. We didn't agree he would get to stab me," Adamo held a hand to his chest, feigning heartache. Then, lifted it again, flicking his hand out. The metal slid out smoothly; so quickly it could be missed if you so much as blinked. "I thought that was my job. If he misbehaves, that is."

Gonzarale may have made some very, very poor decisions, but he was smart to know he was outnumbered, and definitely bested when it came to skills and weapons. He sheathed his sword, licking his lips anxiously and swallowing away the tightening in his throat.

"What do you need me for?" he answered slowly. "I'm simply in Italia for a good time. Is money all you want?"

"For one thing, Madonna Gonzarale does not particularly like the act that you're having such a good time in Italia, signore," Vico said, with clear distaste, flicking out a finger as if counting, but not unsheathing his own blade. "If I recall the words on the note correctly, it went something like this: 'Put that figlio di puttana into a boat and sink it in the Tiber for all I care! He has slept with so many whores on the street that it would do the country some good to not have to suffer his seed!'"

Edited 2011-02-09 19:45 (UTC)

The Spaniard scoffed, and for a moment, his normally pleasant features distorted into something uglier. Adamo just shook his head in silence.

"What does that have to do with a couple of asesinos? It's none of your business!" Gonzarale yelled.

"True, true," Vico remarked, tilting his head, and if he hadn't been an assassin, he might have been better suited to theater in another life, considering how convincing the relenting expression was, if only for an instant. "Frankly, I don't care where you 'sew your seeds,' as she put it, but I do feel for the women of Romagna." He jerked his head, just barely, in a gesture to Adamo over the target's shoulder, a signal for him to close the distance between them and disarm the Spaniard now that there was no pointed edge in his way. "Personally, we are more interested in the iron you have been importing to the Borgia, for their weapons."

Adamo took precise, practiced steps toward the man, reaching out to the hilt of the blade at his hip. He ripped it from the sheath easily, tossing it aside and jerking the man back against him, the blade at Adamo's wrist close to his neck, the flat pressing against his chin.

"W-what are you doing?! You are mad! There is no iron! You are mistaken!"

Vico made a noise of disappointment, setting the crossbow back on his back now that there was no longer any threat. He was hardly unarmed, though - stretching back his own wrist, Vico slid the hidden blade on his left arm out, pressing the point to the Spaniard's chest. "That's too bad. If you have no information, then you're useless, and we'll just have to dispose of you - too bad, I almost was looking forward to seeing you slash at my friend, here."

"Tch, you wound me," Adamo said, peering across Gonzarale's shoulder with what would've been a pout, if the majority of his face wasn't covered. "But since it turns out he's useless..."

"N-no, wait," Gonzarale piped up, oddly calm. "I-I think I may have the information you need, after all."

"Oh? Is that so?" Adamo tapped the flat of his blade against their captive's chin, earning a flinch. "Go ahead and tell my dear amico here, then."

Gonzarale raised his hands defensively, though the blade at his throat and the one pointing into his chest made it difficult for him to make them useful in any way. Instead, they just hovered around his shoulders, as if he were in a constant state of abject horror (and he might have been, all things considered). He kept his eyes on the glinting edges of steel as he talked. "Th-there is a shipment due at the end of every month from the B-Borgia. They offered a price we couldn't beat, señor, you must understand. We were not told what the iron was for, but there is a great deal of it, enough to build an entire house completely out of iron if Cesare wanted it. Por favor, if he finds out I have told you this, he will have me executed!"

Vico wondered if deep down in his heart, Gonzarale realized he would have been either way. He slid his hidden blade back. "And that is all?" he prompted.

Adamo stayed perfectly still, waiting for confirmation from the Spaniard. He could see the sweat bead down his forehead, sliding all the way to his jaw (which really was a rather nice jaw). His Adam's apple twitched as he swallowed again.

"Really. That is all," he said, and though his voice was shaky, Gonzarale sounded sure. The assassin's hold on him loosened, and he looked to Vico.

"Seems we've gotten what we can." The arm holding Gonzarale fell from his waist, but the blade did not fall. It raised, and Gonzarale's breath halted. "Tell Madonna Gonzarale this is for her."

For a man with a pretty face, well, a cut right across the cheek is considerable damage. Gonzarale jerked away, grasping his face as blood began to trickle down his fingers. He cursed in Spanish, and Adamo gave him a good kick on the rear (leaving a satisfying, dusty footprint on his dark pants), pushing him outside the alley.

Vico's eyes widened, and he turned as if planning to go after the fleeing man. "We are going to let him go?! Che bastardo!"

"He is not a Templar," Adamo reminded him, cleaning his blade on his arm before sheathing it. "A bastardo, si, but not worth killing."

"He works with them, it is just as bad!" Vico protested angrily, already kicking off in chase - Gonzarale already had a head start as it was, but it was nothing an Assassin couldn't handle. "Romagna is better off without them!"

Edited 2011-02-10 19:27 (UTC)

"Wait, Vico!" Now it was Adamo cursing under his breath, quickly giving chase to a man giving chase. Vico had a terrible temper, and at times like this, Adamo would venture to say it was a pain in the ass.

Luckily, Vico hadn't made it too far ahead of him, and giving way into a sprint allowed him to catch up. Not quite enough, though - but a few boxes on the side of the street easily helped him. He leaped on top, one after another, and jumped down at the assassin from the air.

Vico was easily taken over by Adamo's larger frame and superior weight, and he crashed to the ground, never having expected to be taken from the back quite like that. He hardly went down quietly, though, and the two of them caused quite a ruckus, with Vico kicking and shouting out curses colorful enough to put sailors to shame (they really were rather creative, because it wasn't as if you called a man the illegitimate bastard child of an ass and a lame pig with the boils every day). They were lucky, in that regard, that no guards were patrolling this street at the moment, or else they would have both found themselves in very unfortunate predicament. "Let go! He's getting away, testa di merda!"

There was, however, many citizen spectators, gasping as they stared at the scene. Intimidated by the insults Vico yelled, they started to spread out - especially when Adamo yelled in turn for them to go away and mind their own business. (Never mind that it was a perfectly public street.)

"What did you plan to do? Kill him in front of everybody?" Adamo hissed under his breath once the area had cleared, pushing up, his weight pressed down on Vico's back through his palm. Even if he was larger in size, Adamo was still jolted by the smaller man's thrashing about. "He's just a pawn, Vico. He is not our real target. Killing him will change nothing."

Finally throwing Adamo off, Vico quickly got to his feet and looked about, scampering up the side of a building as fast as his feet could carry him. It was no use, though - the Spaniard was clear out of sight, having tucked away in some building or having been so scared that he fled like the wind. The target was lost, and Vico swore under his breath, keeping his eyes on the street in some vain hope that the man would reappear, even as he heard the sounds of Adamo following him up. Though quiet, he was angry. It was obvious in the way his frame seemed to shake, his fists trembling at his side.

"It would have changed enough," he said coolly, making the obvious effort to keep his voice level. "Romagna would have been free of one more good-for-nothing bastardo, and that one would have been enough for the people he was hurting."

Adamo stood silently beside him, and one glance around the rooftops and streets already told him Vico didn't find what he was looking for. He lowered the fabric covering his face.

"I'm not leaving it alone, amico," he clarified. "I am going to ask for the courtesan's assistance. He will surely retreat there for his belongings. I will get the names of the Borgia who are in charge of the shipments. Without Gonzarale, we have no other leads."

Stepping closer, he gave Vico a hearty punch to the shoulder, well knowing that at this point, he could easily tip that balance of his angry calm.

"Then you can kill him however you like, idiota."

Though he looked entirely skeptical of that, Vico seemed to ease, just a little, and his hands loosened to hang at his sides, no longer threatening or looking like they were going to fly, at any given moment, straight into Adamo's face. "...Did you think that up all on your own?" he asked, curiously, almost suspiciously. "You are not intelligent enough to think of a plan like that."

Adamo placed his hand over his heart again.

"Full of cruel words today," he complained, tilting his head as if one of those fists did hit his face. He wore a smile, though. "Who else could have thought of it, hm?"

Vico turned, hopping down from the roof onto a nearby balcony with a shrug. As quick as his anger was to flare, it seemed to calm just as quickly given the right appeasement. "One of the courtesans, perhaps. I don't doubt that they are infinitely more clever than you are."

"Sheesh. One moment you hate them, then the next, you give them all the credit." Adamo shook his head as he followed the man.

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beat a cheat, yo

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in which Adamo is a M

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...wait I meant S, not M. :'|

LOL I WAS WONDERING...

Vico is welcome to take up the place of M if he wants-

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