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circle72011-03-05 10:32 pm
fightfair.livejournal.com) wrote in circle72011-03-05 10:32 pm
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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.
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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In one of the rooms, Adamo found his stowed away uniform. (He hadn't worn all of it to the barracks to begin with - he knew their rules about armor and weaponry.) He left his larger weapons, settling for his hidden blades and daggers. Though dressing took some considerable effort, he managed fine, frowning at Vico's lone tunic. It was stained all over; patches of hardened fabric the telltale sign of dry blood. He considered getting Vico a new tunic instead of going through the trouble of washing this one, but didn't have the money for it. Instead, he left it with his things and set out to the small plaza outside the hideout to look for Vico (and something to eat).
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It was at the blacksmith that Vico was standing, head bent over the counter as the owner spoke to him about something. He nodded occasionally, listening intently, and like Adamo, he was not yet fully armed. His hood was drawn, but that thick tuft of curly hair peeking out from under it was recognizable anywhere. Shortly after, he passed a bag of florins over to the man, drumming his fingers against the wood it rest against as he waited for what he had paid for, an impatient tapping of his foot already starting up. Vico never had been very good at waiting for anything.
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When he finally reached his target, he leaned a hand against the building, looking deceivingly smooth despite his voice. It was hoarse and accented by heavy breaths.
"Aren't you going to miss me?"
ANACHRONISM AHOY FOR THE SAKE OF SNARK
WHOO
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The blacksmith was soldering off the ends of a few crossbow bolts, attaching the pointed tip to the blunter tube that would hold it in place on the end of the wooden shaft. Vico was watching his handiwork with a careful eye, and if it had been anyone but a master worker, the intense observation may have been unnerving, but the old man inside seemed accustomed to both the scrutiny and the task. He worked briskly and efficiently.
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Reaching for his waist, Adamo pulled a pouch off his belt, holding it out to Vico. He was going to need it if he was going on a mission, and even more so if he was in need of crossbow bolts already. He probably already received mission funds, but Adamo figured it would be his fault if Vico fell short on his own money.
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"I have enough," he answered. "At least for today. I'll take up an easy mission."
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"I can at least make a delivery," he protested. "I'm not mad enough to get into another fight."
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As if right on cue, the blacksmith sauntered back up to the counter and deposited a quiver full of bolts for inspection.
if there was a modern!verse with these two, adamo would be a pro hacky sack player
"I'll take back roads and alleys," he said with a small huff. "And I'm simply trying to thank you for your help yesterday. You don't seem to be accepting it any other way. You get mad at me instead."
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"A walk down the street is nothing," he complained quietly once he had caught up. Adamo paused for a long moment. "But I guess I will take it easy. Just for today." Vico of all people knew one could not stay bedridden for too long in the Brotherhood, and Vico of all people would never let himself be bedridden.
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He flashed a hint of a smirk.
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His hand fell, both retreating to his pockets. "And I'm sorry about last night. I would've looked for a watery ditch, but I was too tired."
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