mischief managed (romagna, -15 years)

[fightfair.livejournal.com]

"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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[tunafish.livejournal.com]

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."

[loadsavepoint.livejournal.com]

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.

look at me not waiting a month

[fightfair.livejournal.com]

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."