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It was supposed to be simple.

The assignment had barely spanned a half a page in length, almost lost within the pile of other, more involved missions that covered the flat surface of the headquarters table back on Tiber Island. It was just a simple hand-off, a delivery of sorts, set up as a small series of pass-offs for a small, innocuous package wrapped in wax paper, with a handful of recruits stationed around Roma, as to avoid Templar detection. Basically, it was an elaborate game of pass-the-baton, and Vico was was the fourth of five assassins to receive the package.

The problem was a combination of bad luck and poor awareness by the novice before him. The man hadn't noticed a pair of Borgia guards eyeing him as he ducked into an alley to meet Vico, so rushed was he to get his part of the mission over. Awareness in the city had been raised by Cesare Borgia lately, and the guards that had tailed him had lingered long enough in the shadows to see him pass the wrapped box off before they sprung, arms already drawn.

The unanimous decision had been to split and run. Rather than dividing the enemy forces, though, it had been Vico's poor luck that all three of the guards had turned to follow his trail rather than the other assassin's. It was due to an overdue bit of good luck, then that he had managed to escape at all, hiding in the shadowed balcony of some unsuspecting Roman noble near the Northwestern district of the city - but not without being a little worse for the wear.

He slid down the wall and hissed at the pain in his side. It was a shallow cut, just above his hip - a glancing blow from the tip of a well-timed rapier, but it was messy and bleeding too much to be comfortable or inconspicuous. "Merda," he swore, clamping down a gloved hand on his side. The other was holding the package, which was still the first order of business - he would have to get that to the next assassin before seeking medical help. The wound was irritating, but not fatal, and they had wasted enough time already for the chase.

Gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath through them, Vico pushed back up to his feet and swung over the edge of the balcony, climbing to his rooftop. If he recalled correctly, the rendezvous point, where he was to meet the last assassin involved in this elaborate delivery - some man named 'Pellegrino' - wouldn't be too far.

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Vico was right. Waiting on the rooftop was the final assassin. Luciano stood with his arms crossed, peering out from under his grey novice hood as he waited for the one who would finally deliver the parcel to him. He had been feeling a bit impatient; Vico was supposed to have been there 20 minutes ago. Had something happened to one of the previous four or maybe the box had even fallen into Borgia hands?

As Vico climbed onto the roof, Luciano both relaxed and tensed. While relieved that Vico had arrived with the package he noticed, too, the wound on his side. So there had been some trouble with the delivery after all... that explained the delay. Luciano's first instinct--a father's instinct, though Vico looked to be his own age--was to offer him some aid. He reached into a small pouch at his side and procured a small vial, stepping forward to offer it to Vico in exchange for the parcel.

"I'm no doctor, but at least this can help to dull the pain."

Vico looked up at the sound of his voice and the rigid line of his shoulders eased just a bit when he saw that he had reached his destination in one piece. Stoically, he still pressed the package into the other assassin's free hand before even reaching for the medicine.

He probably shouldn't have waited - he stumbled on that last step, over feet that had become sluggish with exertion and fatigue, both from the chase and the active effort to subdue the pain and not exacerbate the wound. With a short grunt, he all but fell over his limbs into the other man, barely catching himself in time to prevent them from both falling in a tangle of limbs.

"Ah...mi dispiace," he gritted out, righting himself once again and all but chugging the vial down once he popped the collar, wincing at the less-than pleasant taste. He looked up from under the brim of his hood once he was done, trying to place the face with the name, but it was to no avail. This was not one of the recruits he was familiar with in the headquarters. "...Pellegrino, right?"

Luciano tucked the package into his pouch, a look of concern washing over his face as he watched Vico. Vico's condition seemed worse than he originally thought. "Sì, but call me Luciano. I am sorry, though, I never caught your name.."

He placed a firm hand on Vico's shoulder to help steady him. Perhaps it would be best to escort him to a doctor before making his delivery. If he remembered correctly there should have been one on the way. "You're not looking so well.. Can you make it on your own?"

"Yes," Vico answered almost immediately, the wound obviously hadn't deterred his sense of pride in the least. He straightened and though the movement seemed to pull his wound enough for him to slightly flinch as he drew himself to his full height (which, in comparison, was not particularly impressive nor intimidating, considering that he still stood at least a good two or three inches shorter than Luciano), a determined grimace nonetheless set itself on his face.

"Vico," he answered shortly after, letting out a breath and finally lifting his hand from the cut in his side. It had thankfully stopped bleeding, though the area was still damp, and would have to be cleaned. He glanced down at the package now safely in Luciano's hands and back up. "You should go deliver that before you do anything else."

Luciano dropped his hand back to his side when Vico straightened and gave a nod in response. He wasn't quite sure if he believed Vico's statement, especially given how quickly Vico had answered. But still, Vico was right. It was probably best that he made his delivery before doing anything else.

"Well, Vico, I hope we can meet again under better circumstances." Luciano turned to go, but paused and added, "Though, the place for the delivery isn't far. If you find yourself in need of help after all, wait here and I'll return for you."

It was doubtful that Vico would have stayed even if it were a matter of life or death. The Italians were hot-blooded, passionate men by nature, and Vico a little more hot-blooded than most, especially when it came to vices like pride and vengeance. It was probably a good thing, then, that the wound was no longer life-threatening in the short term, though it would still have to be cleaned to avoid infection, especially in a crowded city where illness often ran as rampant as the vermin.

More rather, it was therefore a matter of chance that Luciano and Vico crossed paths at all. All assassins were expected to report back to headquarters after a successful mission, and Vico, like Luciano would be, had been making slow but steady progress back towards Tiber Island when he had happened to pass by a doctor on the way. I might as well, he thought, it's on the way, which was how he found himself sitting stripped to the waist and having his wound dressed in a discrete corner when Luciano passed by.

His brow shot up. "Successful, then, I suspect?"

Luciano stopped at the sound of Vico's voice. To be quite honest he hadn't even seen the other assassin sitting there, though he was certainly glad that Vico was getting his side taken care of. Vico seemed to him the type that would die if living meant sacrificing his pride.

"Of course." The right side of his mouth tilted up in a slight smirk, "Still alive, I see."

In response to that, Vico shot a challenging smirk back - something that truly belied his age on a face usually so serious. He canted his head back, as if daring anything to come at him just to prove he could take it. "Of course," he answered easily, even as the doctor pulled thread in and out of his shoulder. "Did you expect otherwise?"

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