a wager or two

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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.

Comments

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"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."

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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."

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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."

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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.

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"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."

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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.

sorry short tag

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

back at'cha

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

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

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"I think you're underestimating me."

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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."

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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.)

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

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"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."

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"My head slipped," Vico answered flippantly.

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

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"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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"How dare you insult my mother!" Adamo scoffed again, and if it wasn't for his state and dependence on Vico at the moment, he would've hit him - but getting worked up as it was made him lightheaded, and his forehead fell to Vico's shoulder with a muffled groan.

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"I wasn't insulting your mother!" Vico answered, indignant on his end this time. He huffed, jolting Adamo where he was slouched across his back for a moment to rearrange his arms, hooked under the larger man's knees, and better manage his weight. "I was just commiserating with her plight. I can't even imagine having to deal with you as a child-"

A pregnant pause, no doubt for dramatic effect.

"...Oh wait, yes I can."

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"How heart-breaking that you would almost forget our childhood together," he whined, mouth still muffled in Vico's hood. Aside from their bickering, this was comfortable, he found. He closed his eyes, fidgeting only a little when Vico adjusted his weight. The other man was smaller than him by a good amount, no doubt, but he made up for it in agility and strength - and blind rage, sometimes. "You were no bundle of joy yourself, y'know," he mumbled back. He always had a short temper, but ever since Valentino left them behind, it had gotten worse. Adamo knew better than to bring up that name.

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"Oh?" asked Vico, making slow but steady progress toward where he could lay Adamo down to rest. They both had homes, of a sort, but ultimately, sometimes just finding a spot to stay in the Tiber Island hideout was safer. Many of the other novices did the same, and since their numbers were few, and the space was large enough to accommodate them, it had become somewhat of a common occurrence to see at least one or two recruits there at all hours. If Maestro Ezio minded, he never said so, but the man was scarcely around as it was. "Have you spoken to my mother? She adored me."

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"Did I mention you're a good actor?" Adamo's voice was clear this time, having looked up. They weren't far from the hideout now - he could see the tall building in the distance (where he hoped to one day take that leap of faith as a true assassino). Night was closing in on the evening, the streets becoming quieter and less occupied. That was to say, there would be less people giving them odd looks (and less provocation for Vico to get wound up). Adamo propped his chin up on Vico's shoulder, watching as the buildings grew denser and closer together. It was certainly more welcoming than the Barracks.

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Vico smirked, looking pleased with himself. "I do try, amico," he said, picking up his steps now that they were so close. Soon enough, they crossed the bridge, and the Tiber Island building stood before them, standing high and proud over their heads, facing the water. A few stray pigeons were still making their way back to roost on the message tower a few floors up, for the night was not too far into the small hours, though it certainly wasn't young.

Vico set his friend down against the wall slowly, bracing a hand against it to make sure he didn't topple over with him. "Can you walk now?"

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"I think so," he said, one hand on the wall, the other still on his friend's shoulder. Once he gained his footing, he let go of both. His stance was more slouched than usual, as though he were consciously protecting his wound by leaning his chest in. His hand rested on top of the borrowed tunic. The pain was starting to return to his senses. Adamo smiled. "I'm sorry."

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Vico pulled a face. "You should be," he said, and now that they were safe, he allowed his anger to boil through to the surface. His expression tightened, eyes growing dark underneath his hood. "But all this apologizing is making me sick. It would do you better to save your breath and not pull stunts like this in the future. I will not always be there to carry your sorry hide out of there."