circle7 | a wager or two

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a wager or two

The crowd reeled back as one of the men in the ring was thrown back, stumbling over his feet but not enough to take him out of bounds. Vico could barely see the fight as it was going on, lingering near the stairs leading to the barracks basement. The mercenaries were crowding around the ring as if there were a courtesan strip show going on in the center, and no doubt, to some of them, the prospect of a hot-blooded fight probably offered the same level of intrigue. He could barely see past the line of their shoulders - unlike the Assassins, these were all broad-framed, large, stocky men, wearing heavy armor and heavier weapons at their waists, waving thick arms in the air as they cheered on the combatants.

No doubt, Adamo was the underdog here if it was such a mercenary he was fighting against. Although Adamo was taller than Vico (which really wasn't as much of a feat as one would have thought), he was still much smaller than even el Maestro himself, let alone such weathered, burly soldiers. By necessity, an assassin's build was naturally more lithe and quick-footed, after all.

A chorus of "Oooohs," swept through the crowd. Perhaps a particularly showy blow had knocked a contestant off his feet? Perhaps it had been an underhanded move? (Though these men were honorable, they were still not above using such tactics.) Perhaps it had been a jaw-dropping, acrobatic, complicated maneuver with insurmountable grace that had elicited their awe, but ha, thought Vico, rolling his eyes, as if Adamo would be capable of it, as much as he would have liked to be. He huffed in amusement to himself, shifting his weight from one foot to another, simply waiting for the spectacle to end so that he could collect his bet money and be done with it.

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Vico's brow shot up under his bangs. "Oh, it is better than the leeches, my friend, trust me," he said, patting Adamo on the cheek.

Though he had had his doubts about the doctor's integrity when he had been feeding his leeches on his friend's blood, the man did make quick and efficient work of closing up Adamo's wounds, and without gaping gashes littering his arms and shoulders, his friend was looking much better already. The good work was not without its price, either - almost as soon as he had cleaned and packed away all his supplies, the man was holding out a gloved hand, expecting it to be filled and weighed down. Vico frowned, glaring at him for a second for the tenacity, but holding a staring contest with a mask was really a very poor decision, and ultimately, he reluctantly pulled the necessary coin out of his pocket and deposited it in the doctor's palm.

"Ahhh, grazie mille!" the doctor exclaimed, standing to make his exit.

With a low groan, Adamo pushed himself up. He looked down at the doctor's work, black thread knotted down his chest. It stung, but Vico was probably right - better than leeches, and much better than nothing at all. He ran a finger over them, feeling the small but certainly present ridges of string. With the way he stared, you'd think it was the first time he ever had stitches. Other scars on his body suggested otherwise.

"I'll make it up to you," Adamo said once the doctor had left, voice coarse, frowning down at his stained trousers. "Was that your bet money?"

Seating himself on the floor, Vico smiled wryly at the picture they made - el maestro surely would not have approved. "The bet money I put on me having to haul your sorry ass out of there, perhaps. Can you stand?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Carry me?"

Adamo grinned at him.

Now, that was a suspicious answer indeed. Vico narrowed one eye down at Adamo, taking off the topmost layer of his commoner clothes and depositing it on the other man's head. "Maybe if you were prettier. Now put that on, before you catch a cold and die of that."

Adamo made a muffled sound under the tunic, shifting it until it was upright and pulling it over his head. He furrowed his brow as he tried to push him up, but he only managed to get to a kneeling position. His leg was still hurting from the fight as well, and it stung in protest when he tried to push up.

"Actually, looks like I meant it," he said with a pout. "I must look so pathetic." Adamo still laughed.

He had been hoping for the best, but the worst didn't come as a surprise either. Vico was already at Adamo's side, hooking his arms under Adamo's shoulders to catch the man before he all but toppled over, aggravating the wounds the doctor had just spent the last half an hour closing. "Easy," he muttered, allowing, if not encouraging, Adamo to use him for support. The older man still sagged - it couldn't be helped, considering Vico was a considerable bit shorter in comparison, but at least it took off a large portion of the strain on the man's own legs, which would make transferring the burden of his weight onto Vico's back that much easier.

"Figlio di puttana," he muttered, but it was relatively calm, considering Vico's worked-up insults took on much...more creative forms. Nevertheless, he bumped his head against the side of Adamo's - his friend deserved that one, for causing so much trouble in the first place. "No more fights, Adamo."

"Ow," Adamo said instantly, frowning. "Don't you think I have enough injuries? And fighting is the furthest thing from my mind, amico."

Now that he was up, standing seemed much easier - but it always did when you knew someone would be there to help you. Rather than letting Vico switch him to his back, he put a hand over the arm around his shoulders, patting him to let him know this, too, was fine. His head butted back against Vico's, but not nearly as hard. He paused there for a moment, thinking about how it was odd to be the one looked after.

"But va bene."

"Ever, I meant," Vico said with a sigh, ignoring Adamo's pat and pulling the man's arms around his shoulders. Despite being younger and more prone to fits of flying off the handle, there was no evidence to say that Vico was incapable of taking care of his older comrades - he just didn't show this particular facet of his personality that often, that was all, either out of lack of necessity or lack of desire to. "Now get on."

It took a bit of struggling, but struggling took a bit of effort - too much for Adamo in this state, and he gave in, sighing on Vico's shoulder as he settled on his back. His arms hung over his shoulders, covered in bandages from the doctor.

"But I am an assassino. I must fight," he protested - but then he grinned, and in sure Adamo fashion, teasingly whispered by Vico's ear. "Unless you want to fight them for me, il mio principe."

An unpleasant shudder ran down Vico's back, and he may or may not have exaggerated it to get the point across. "I am going to drop you," he threatened. "And then you can crawl your way back to el Maestro and explain to him yourself why you look like you just walked, empty-handed and naked into Borgia territory."

Adamo laughed, and despite the following coughs, it sounded much more lively than it did before.

"You wouldn't," he said in the same tone one might say 'the sky is blue', his chin resting on Vico's shoulder.

"I would tell Bianca you had an unfortunate run-in with half-naked mercenaries, all at once," Vico quipped flippantly, keeping his eyes ahead even as he smirked. "And that, amico, is worse."

Adamo's mouth tightened into a line, and his eyes slid into a glare in Vico's direction, because it was worse. Bianca would never let him live that down - true or not. (She probably wasn't going to let him live down the real story as it was, which was why he made no plans to tell her.)

"I'll tell madonna Emiliana that you were the one who courted Señor Garcia," he countered.

Vico sputtered, though his steps remained even and steady. "She would not believe you!"

Gaining some even ground, Adamo grinned again. "Oh? I can be very convincing, you know."

Vico rolled his eyes. "Only if you get them in bed with you, unfortunately. I believe you are overestimating yourself yet again."

"I think you're underestimating me."

Vico thought about this for a moment. It was a long, considerable moment, full of thought. Then, he said, "No. I don't believe I am."

Adamo scoffed. "I think you are," he whispered by Vico's ear again. Maybe to prove a point, maybe to tease and see if he could draw that same reaction from earlier. (Just in case he really did drop him, though, he latched on tighter.)

This time, Vico just knocked that thick skull of his into Adamo's face.

"Ow!" Adamo raised a hand to his head - using his opposite arm, so that it pressed into Vico's face purposely when he rubbed the spot. "What was that for? I've been hit enough for one day. Really."

"My head slipped," Vico answered flippantly.

"Tch. If I have to see the doctor again, you're buying," he said indignantly. "Again."

"I am afraid that even the doctor cannot fix your head, idiota. That is a lost cause, and more likely your mother's fault than mine."

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sorry short tag

back at'cha

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