circle7 | mischief managed (romagna, -15 years)

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mischief managed (romagna, -15 years)

"They're coming!" Vico whispered in a way that was not really quiet like whispers were supposed to be, but it was a universally understood fact that boys, especially of the young, rambunctious sort, commonly had trouble with things like quiet and silence. He dropped down from where he had been perched on Valentino's shoulders (Valentino having been standing on Adamo's back, and Adamo having been on his hands and knees, grumbling all the while) and landed on his feet, gathering up the stash of rocks they had collected from the southeastern outskirts of town just just for this purpose.

"Rapidamente, or we'll miss our chance!" he exclaimed, still trying to keep it under his breath and still managing to completely fail. He gathered as many pebbles as his hands could carry and began a quick-footed run. Smallest of the three, he had learned to make up in agility and craftiness what he could not match up to in strength and pure leg-power, although it might have made it difficult for someone to follow him when he was squeezing between stalls and crates, sneaking up stealthily on their targets - a group of unsuspecting patrol guards, shouting boisterously at the crowd to make way.

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Not as easily convinced as his friends, Vico drew back into a sulky pout, though he refrained from complaining. They did have a point - these guard runs were playtime and productive time all rolled up into one, but sometimes, even at his age, he doubted how long they would last before getting caught. He had seen many a confident thief get hauled in by the Borgias, never to be seen again.

Well, that was a thought for another day.

Looking up, he pointed to Valentino and Adamo's pouches. "What are you going to buy? I am going to the market. Mamma liked the cheese I chose last time," he announced proudly, with all the confidence of a thirteen-year-old boy who considered choice of cheese a victory to marvel at. He stepped back towards a path that would lead him back to the main road. "You think you two sticky-feet can keep up?" he challenged.

“We are going off to spend it so soon?” Dusting himself off, Valentinto came to a stand, his breath still lingering on the heavy side. He made sure his the pouch was secure on his belt before extending his glance back to Vico. He placed a thumb on his chin, seeming to muse to himself awhile before his face lit up with a glimmer of deviance.

“Why don’t we pay a visit to old man Papallo at the pub? I’m sure for the right price he will sell us bottle of wine.”

"And watch you two fledglings try to hold your alcohol? Sounds like fun," Adamo laughed. Being the oldest, he tended to get cocky about this age - even if it wasn't really by much.

"Alcohol?" Vico echoed, with a clear look of disgust. He was at the age where alcohol, no matter how fancy the wine or how well-brewed the lager, just tasted bitter and heavy - an adult past time that he swore he would never understand, like many things they practiced that were so far from the realm of childhood. He stuck out his tongue, shaking his head. "Euch, that stuff's expensive and tastes like cow piss!"

Of course, not all things changed with time.

“Maybe to you, Vico,” Valentino laughed. “Come on, don’t be such a baby.”

"If it tastes like cow piss, than it probably was," Adamo said. "We have enough here for the good stuff. Don't worry, amico."

He got to his feet, retreating to the opposite end of the alley that they got here from. Some guards marched by after checking a haystack with a spear, moving on when they found nothing. As long as they blended with the crowd, they were sure not to get much notice.

"Shall we, then?"

Vico eventually kicked up his step, looking as though a storm were brewing over his head. He was not all that open to the idea of spending their hard-earned coin on senseless things like alcohol, but he was too proud and too eager to prove his place to protest when both Adamo and Valentino were insisting. "It better be quick!" he warned, running a hand through his impossible nest of hair on his head before slipping into the pedestrians after his friend.

The public house smelled heavily of alcohol, even from the five foot distance between the three boys and the building. Being the one that suggested they visit, Valentino proceeded first, following the curve of the building around to the back door. He knocked a couple times before a stout, fat man answered, peering out over the three with a half-amused, half-skeptical look. “And what exactly are you kids poking around here for, eh?”

“Come on, Papallo, you know what we’re here for,” Valentino piped up from below. “We have good coin, so give us some of your best.”

Adamo was a foot behind Valentino, beside Vico. Now and then he would glance over his shoulder, making sure no guards followed them here. Not that they couldn't outrun them, but Papallo would probably get in trouble for fraternizing with them (and then he would have to play hero again). A nice relaxing drink while watching Vico struggle to like alcohol sounded much more appetizing.

"We'll be sure to mind our distance," Adamo promised with a grin. "And we won't cause trouble."

"Or we could just go home," Vico didn't fail to mutter sourly, eyes downcast to his feet. If his Mother found out... He raised a hand to his ear and winced at the very thought of the repercussions.

The stout man put one hand on his hip and only seemed to look more amused, clearly entertained by their precociousness. "Ah, but the problem is, I wonder if you three will be even able to appreciate the difference between good vino and gutter water." He bellowed out a short laugh and stepped back in the doorway, his back to one wall to make room for the boys to enter, and swept out a hand, gesturing for them to come inside. "Don't make trouble now, bambinos."

"Oh no, sir. We would never," said Valentino cheekily, bowing graciously to emphasize his words.

“Don’t be so glum, eh, Vico?” Giving his reluctant friend a doting slap on the back, Valentino ushered Vico along. Valentino seemed no less excited about the idea than did Adamo, if not more-- his face was beaming like he was opening a birthday present.

"Yeah, Vico. Live a little! La dolce vita," Adamo encouraged, circling around to Vico's unoccupied side to give him a pat on the opposite side of his back.

The man heard Adamo's use of the phrase, and laughed in amusement again.

"I would almost say you are too young to understand it, but by the time you are my age, you'll be too old to understand," he said as the three boys bustled into his kitchen. Adamo laughed in return.

"You definitely sound like a nonno."

Vico snorted loudly, half bravado and half childish impatience. "I will show you who sounds like a nonno!" he snapped, easily rising to the bait his friends had set, before shoving between them and stepping into the establishment first - only to rigidly halt after two steps at the sheer stink of alcohol and sweat pervading the space.

Immediately, his face twists into a grimace. "Dolce, you say?"

Valentino went ahead and grabbed a seat at a table not far from the back door, where he was delighted by the presence of a large bottle of wine and a basket of (rather stale looking) bread. He uncorked the bottle, letting a healthy measuring of the liquid flow out into his glass. "Let's not waste our time with him, Adamo."

The boy really was easy to bait. Adamo grinned to himself, dragging Vico the rest of the way to the table. The small restaurant only held three other parties, though they made enough drunken noise to sound like ten. They were too busy with their gossip and wine to take any notice of anything going on in the back of the restaurant.

Adamo wasn't stupid, though - he knew the owner would give them staling bread and cheap wine. But after a tiring day of pranks and mischief, he would accept anything. After all, wine was a treat either way.

"You said it, amico," he laughed, pushing his glass towards Valentino.

Letting himself be dragged (Vico knew enough about his friends to know that this was a lost battle he was fighting), Vico cautiously slid into a chair, eyeing the surface before sitting down on it, as if there was pure alcohol-induced vomit and stench coming off of the weight-worn wood. Chances were there was, or at least had been at some point in time, but this was not a pristine, filth-less life they led in the first place, even if he eyed the bread and the wine the same way.

Unsurprisingly, he reached out for the bread first. All that running and energy expenditure had him, as it would have any young boy, hungry at the very sight of food, like his body had forgotten that it needed sustenance until it was readily available (a life skill, perhaps, for the particular brand of life they led). As it looked and as it was suspected, the bread was, in fact, rather stale, but it was readily available fare, and surely they had all braved putting worse things in their mouths before. Roman weather this time of year was somewhat dry and arid - a good portion of the patrons' breads would be somewhat stale today.

As for the glass - Vico took one look at the dark, pungent liquid and wisely waited until one of the other boys tried it first, but not without a wise, well-meaning opinion like, "That looks like sewer water."

Edited 2011-09-05 14:50 (UTC)

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mischief managed (romagna, -15 years)

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look at me not waiting a month