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."

"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."

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