circle7 | Steal a Kiss (or two)

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Steal a Kiss (or two)

It was early morning when Vico and Adamo had made it to Barcelona. They had traveled by boat from Roma on a mission for some vital information. Actually, it was a lead up to that Spanish noble who waltzed his way through Roma just two months earlier - one of his connections. They were to find out where the iron was being transported from, and to sabotage the operation.

However, it required a little courting. The official - a Senator - had an adventurous wife, it turned out, and they - well, one of them - was to court her while the other distracted the Senator at a party they were having that very night. (They would be under the guise of Borgia officials.)

As it turned out, though, sea travel did not get along with Adamo. He was heaving half the time, huddling in the most stable corner he could find. As they finally docked and reached an inn, he flopped into his bed, groaning into the pillow as he held his stomach. Everything still felt like it was tilting back and forth over and over.

"Let's take horses back. Ugh."

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"That would take days," Vico said, for once in a brighter mood than his companion. He was making his way around the room, opening the windows and hiding a few throwing knives near their pillows just in case - normal, customary precautions that they always took before starting a mission in earnest. "And unless you want to ride them while they are swimming back, which is most likely worse than sailing on a boat, I'm afraid there'll be none of our fine, furry friends for you this time around."

This was going to be easy, he was certain. Adamo could do what he did best once he had recovered from his green-faced nausea, and they would be back in Italia in no time. Spain, after all, was much better than Germany. It was, in general, a warmer country, full of a more lively people that had a passion for life that almost matched the Italians, and if it weren't for the fact that the Borgia were Spanish, Vico would have almost gone as far as to call the Spaniards the Italians' next-of-kin.

Throwing open a window, the small room was bathed in sunlight and the smells of the Spanish streets - unfamiliar spices, peppers, perfume and very distantly, the salty scent of the sea, because they hadn't strayed too far from the shore. Vico turned around, leaning against the sill, and raised an amused brow at Adamo's prone form. "I suppose I will have to go out and carry out some reconnaissance this time? Do not vomit into the pillow, amico - if you do, you'll be paying for the damages out of your own pocket."

"Days I can handle," he responded, turning his head on the pillow. For once, Adamo wondered how Vico could be in such a great mood while he himself was cursed with sea sickness. The tightening of his stomach was slowly subsiding, though, and surely after that, he would be his usual uppity self as well. He squinted when sunlight invaded his vision, shielding his eyes.

"I will go with you. Just give me a few minutes. An assassino should be able to work past these things after all, si?" Even as he said it, he frowned, knowing full well this was hardly acceptable behavior. If he weren't in the presence of such a close friend, he probably would have hid it to the best of his ability and carried on. (But he liked to pester Vico with his complaining, and something about complaining just made one feel better.)

The ocean scent that blew into the room made Adamo's lips tighten again, and he did his best to focus on the other smells of Spain. They weren't so bad, he realized - maybe his appetite was coming back. The room was also beginning to stop rocking.

"Let us not start counting the things an assassino should be," Vico said, coming to the side of the bed to smirk down imperiously. "For one, I do not think any self-respecting assassino would let water get to them in the first place."

Adamo, though sick, wasn't enough so to the point where his fist couldn't fly out and punch the man in the side.

"If I could help it, I would."

Vico stumbled over, but he was chuckling irregardless. The jostling only made him fall onto the edge of Adamo's bed, making it bounce under his weight in a way that was not all that exhilarating for the seasick assassin. "Maybe you should start taking Maria out on gondola outings, no? Then, you might start getting used to it."

Adamo frowned as his stomach gave another lurch.

"Who is Maria?"

Figures.

Vico leaned back, resting his elbows on Adamo's back as he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Oh, was she not named Maria this time? Must have been very good, then." It was half bravado, though - Vico certainly wasn't the type to laud his conquests, and he could probably count them on one hand if it really came down to it. He was simply not blessed with the gift of flattery and ingratiation like Adamo, and his teasing stemmed not from experience, but simply from knowing Adamo well enough to pick on him. "Maybe the madonna this time will be just as good, if you are lucky."

The assassin grunted under the pressure, stomach pressing into the bed, and his back uncomfortably being leaned on. When Vico was superior in something, he sure liked to flaunt it. Even if it was something trivial like not getting sea sick. Adamo tilted his head back with a glare.

"They are all good, rest assured," Adamo scoffed. "Some are just more... memorable than others. Maybe you are right and Madonna Ángelita will prove to be."

Vico made a face, clearly regretting this line of thought that he had started. "Just spare me the details when you do," he said, with a wince, waving a hand as if to dispel the topic. Back when they were young, Adamo had always been the most eager of them to share his newly acquired knowledge about women and the world, and while Valentino had always listened with rapt attention, Vico had been...well, more subtle about such things. (Recollection of Valentino made him frown, and Vino sat upright, expression darkening suddenly.)

"Are you well yet?" he asked, suddenly impatient.

Adamo grew silent as he noticed the look on Vico's face. Vico never cared much for this sort of talk, and while sometimes Adamo used that information to his advantage, sometimes it was unintentional - like now. He turned his head, sighing into his pillow before pushing up. Maybe he should've held his tongue, then Vico would still be in his good mood.

"Si, at least enough. Let's go."

A hand pushed Adamo back down by the shoulder. That was almost an instantaneous reaction. "You are sure?" Vico asked, suspicious.

Adamo grunted as he fell back onto the bed.

"No, but let's go anyway."

"I am not going to risk being noticed for you," said Vico, but he stood up, allowing Adamo to pull himself up. It was less a discouragement than it was an easy excuse, if Adamo chose to take it. Vico was perfectly capable of managing this part of the mission himself. He was perfectly capable of managing the entire thing himself, even if seducing wasn't exactly his forte. They were assassins, after all, and they did what was necessary.

Dropping his heavier weapons to the bed and strapping the more easily-concealed ones to reachable hiding places (under his tunic, into his boots, up his gloves), Vico patted himself down once again to make sure everything was secured before glancing back at his partner. "Dodici assassini in the Order, and I get stuck with the only one who gets seasick."

"It's not as though it's an assassination mission, amico," he said quietly as he got to his feet, because you never knew who could be listening. "Besides, I know you like missions with me the most." Ah, there it was - even if it wavered a little with queasiness, Adamo's usual boisterous grin was there.

Vico turned around, unfazed and waving an expressive hand. "I like missions with boats the most!"

Adamo glared at the back of his head, muttering within Vico's hearing range, "Ti odio."

Despite Adamo's handicap, their legwork went smoothly. The premises were heavily guarded, but the rooftops were less so. With their disguises (requiescat in pace, Eduardo Bianchi and Marco Marino - reborn so quickly), it wouldn't be a problem, so long as they didn't blow it. Considering how their last two missions went, particularly in Cologne, it would be a nice change in pace. A nice, smooth, Spanish banquet. Considering that Vico was actually enjoying himself and the surroundings, Adamo already had high hopes. So long as he didn't have to get on another damn boat for a while.

Back at the inn, after some lunch and exploring the general area, they had some time to kill before having to show up at the Senator's home. Adamo was using the minutes to sharpen his sword and throwing knives, cleaning each with cloth until they practically shined.

"Maybe we should try to have fun for once."

Sitting at the opposite end of the room, Vico was looking...absolutely bored. Though necessary, watching other people tend to their weapons was not exactly a choice form of entertainment, and pretty soon, the chin he had in his hand was going to slide off and bang itself into the table, at the rate he was zoning out. Finally, when he had had enough, he slapped both hands on the table and stood up. "You do not even need those for your part of the mission! Shouldn't you be-" He made strange, vague gestures with his hand. "...Making yourself handsome, or something?"

Sitting straighter, Adamo looked surprised, brows high on his forehead.

"...I did not realize you were so eager to get familiar with Madonna Ángelita."

"I am eager," drawled Vico, "to do something other than watch you polish your sword like a sad euphemism for what this mission is really for."

Well. About those pulled punches?

Adamo laughed, but tucked his cloth away, sheathing his sword. "You are impatient. We have a good hour before we need to be there. Anyway, these are in case the plan goes wrong."

Vico gave him a look. "I hardly think the kind madonna will be whipping out swords to greet you."

He just rolled his eyes. Standing up, Adamo dusted off his Borgia official clothes, giving their seal a look of disgust. "I suppose you are right, though. The sooner we are out of these, the better."

Following Adamo's eyes, Vico also lowered his eyes to the seal, mouth pressing into a thin line. He didn't much like the look of his friends in those corrupt colors, either. His costume, a much more discreet assistant's garb, was plainer than the officials', less frills, puffs, bells and whistles overall, since it would do them no good for them both to appear as flashy as Adamo was, by nature (and frankly, Vico preferred it this way). Vico swept out a hand and gave a deep, mock-respectful bow, holding open the door with his head down to hide his smirk. "Then, after you, señor."

They spent a few minutes on the street just practicing the swagger, but Adamo was a complete natural at the role. Sooner rather than later, they were on their way, walking the streets like they owned it as they made their way to the rendezvous point. With ample research, Vico and Adamo had Madonna Garcia's schedule down to every minute detail - the Spanish spoke easily and freely about their local peoples of interest, especially those serving the Borgia and making lives difficult for everyone. They would be meeting her in the market, under the guise of simply happening upon here there. (Imagine the coincidence, señora.)

Adamo was a natural for things like acting. At least, when it came to acting like a pompous Borgia official. Only Vico would know he did it mockingly - anyone else would believe that was simply the arrogant air of a man in such a position. Luckily for them, it turned out the senator's wife was fluent in Italian, making the mission that much easier. Adamo knew as much Spanish as his Italian language would allow. Hearing it was one thing, but speaking it was difficult. Thankfully, Vico did not have such barriers.

As they walked into the market, Adamo scanned the crowd subtly, eyes tilted to a carefully hidden angle under his hat. There was quite a crowd to sift through, but eventually he caught sight of a noble woman who had servants carrying her things, and buying things for the sake of carrying them for her. With the way she cast her eyes upon the men around the market, Adamo was sure they had their match. He motioned Vico to follow, feigning interest in the stands around them as he approached slowly.

What Adamo hadn't counted on was the senator himself being there with her. He hadn't seen Señor Garcia on the other end of the market, walking back to his wife to rejoin her.

"Merda, the senator is here," he mumbled to Vico. Courting the wife would have to wait - they would simply exchange formalities for now. When they were close enough, Adamo took a double glance at the pair a few feet away, looking surprised. "Senator Garcia?" The man looked up, wearing particularly extravagant clothes for the occasion, Adamo imagined. His wife looked up as well, and while in the presence of her husband, only seemed mildly curious about the men before her.

"Si?" For a moment, confusion was on his face. "Ah, Borgia's men! Welcome to Spain! I did not expect to find you here in the market."

Vico only bowed, half a step behind Adamo, as expected of the role he was playing. There was something odd in the way the Senator measured them up; it was not unlike how his wife was sweeping her eyes over them, and Vico fought down the urge to fidget. Did they suspect something already? Had they given themselves away somehow? That was impossible; the Senator should have known nothing - they had ambushed the real Borgia officials long before the Spaniards would have had a chance to meet them, so then what was with that overly-curious look they were being given? By both husband and wife, no less?

It might have been just paranoia, but Vico kept his head down respectfully, letting the little red beret slide over his bangs, obscuring his face. He just hoped Adamo could handle this passably, but just in case... Behind his back, he fingered one of the throwing knives strapped to the inside of his belt.

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