circle7 | 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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Adamo was silent as he finally finished dressing, and he stared at Vico for a good moment. He stepped closer, grinning again.

"If it was for me, then I could've done it myself, you know."

"It was for his puttana of a wife putting her hands down my trousers. I couldn't very well punch a woman."

Rolling his eyes, Vico retrieved his beret from his pocket. It looked rather beaten up - like someone had run over it, and it took a great deal of shaking out for it to regain even a little of its earlier puffiness. Nonetheless, he put it back on, letting it lean more to the left than the right, once again matting his hair against the scar under his eye. "Now," he said, once they were both proper again, "Let's finally be Assassins again and get out."

"Wait, then how did you take care of her? That definitely wasn't enough time for you to finish the deed."

He didn't object to getting out of here, and this time, he opted for the window - a more discreet way to leave, fitting of assassins. Adamo unhinged it, pushing it open, looking below to make sure they were in the clear.

"I hit her on the back of the head. It is only a punch if I used my fist, and the bedpost does not count," said Vico, voice drifting down as he scrambled up to the roof.

Adamo followed closely behind, rolling his eyes as he closed the window.

"That is still harming a woman, I hope you know."

"I said I would not punch her. Not that I would not harm her," Vico said, snorting following some strange and muddle-lined code of honor, perhaps. He took a deep breath once they were on the roof, glad to be out of that perfume and spice-tinted air that stank up the atmosphere around where wealth and decadence collected. The open night smelled like freedom and potential and change - like all assassins, he survived sometimes on hope alone, and this was vital.

Once he heard Adamo pull himself to his feet, he turned around, face grim. "We are never taking one of these missions again," he declared.

"I did not think it was that bad," Adamo said, dusting himself off as he reached the rooftop. He was surprised to see there were no archers manning the area. "But given the choice, I don't think I'd do it again either."

"Then maybe the madonna was the wilder of the two," Vico said, slyly. He took the first jump off of the villa roof, onto the lower landing of a nearby building.

Adamo scoffed, jumping after Vico, glaring at his back. "I suppose you got away with worse than bites and scratches, then?"

Vico turned to him, face comically serious. "The Madonna has nails."

And they were in places that he wasn't about to show in public.

A pause. Then a glance down. "Oh." Now he felt kind of bad sticking Vico with the female.

Apparently not thinking much of it, Vico shrugged it off, canting his head at Adamo instead. "But you are all right, yes?"

Adamo wasn't sure if he was asking about his physical state, or mental.

"I've been through worse," he said, an answer that sufficed for both questions, however he meant it. An uncharacteristic silence took Adamo, and his mouth pinched in one corner as it usually did when he was in thought. Insecurity gnarled its ugly fingers around many people, and while it seldom happened to Adamo, he was still human, and it showed. Not everything could crush itself into hiding behind his grin. When Vico was practically the only friend he had, it bothered him worse. "About earlier. Your opinion of me... hasn't changed, has it?"

Vico stared for a moment, gaze piercing. "You are still an idiota who could stand for taking his pride down a few notches in all regards, if that is what you mean. That has never changed."

Adamo was almost pouting at this point, not appeased with the answer.

"You know that's not what I mean."

Vico frowned, shaking his head. "No, it is. You asked if anything has changed, and I answered you - nothing has." He held his hand out. "Fratello."

Vico was met with a frown. Adamo was clearly lost, but right - this was Vico he was dealing with. Things would never change between them, especially over something trivial like this.

Taking Vico's hand, he finally smiled, his shoulders easing. "Si, fratello." His fingers squeezed around his, and perhaps without warning, tugged the man into a ~~bro~~ hug. "Now, I believe we have some shipments to sabotage."

There was an immediate reaction to that. Vico sputtered indignantly, finding his face suddenly smashed into his friend's shoulder, thanks to his vertical disadvantage, and his arm shot out immediately to jam his palm into the underside of Adamo's chin and push away. "Merda, I was about to run you through with a knife!" he grumbled, pulling away, beret askew before he huffily pulled it back in place. "See? Like I said, idiota!" he shouted, turning and stomping (as much as one could stop over rooftops) off.

The only response to that was a fit of laughter.

"A stick in the mud after all," he said, following behind.

Steal a Kiss (or two)

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