circle7 | in which adamo and vico learn to WORK TOGETHER~

Vico's expression was tightly contained and thoroughly uncomfortable. Assassins were adaptable, of course, but even they had preferences, and right now? This sort of scene, with its high-profile participants and a thousand flashing lights from a thousand different cameras? This was not anywhere near what he preferred.

To his credit, he hadn't complained (yet), even if he had been shoved and had his toes stepped on a few times already by taller, more glamorous event-goers. "I can see why they passed this golden opportunity," he said dryly, fidgeting with the high collar of his dress shirt. He had escaped (but only barely) a full three-piece suit ensemble and he had strictly drawn the line at makeup, but that didn't mean he was comfortable now.

"Since it's such a blast and all."

"Great!" Adamo proclaimed. Well, he already dragged him here - they couldn't just hide in the hotel's bar the whole time. Even managed to find him a nice, loose vest that passed as fashionable and dressy. So long as Vico didn't outshine him; he needed Vico to disappear in the crowd while Adamo did the drawing out.

"We should get going then. They will be starting to call us into the convention room soon," he said as he stood. Adamo gave him a wink. "Thanks for being my date. It would've been lonely."

Vico balked. "Your date? You said this was a coworker thing!"

Adamo grinned and ignored him.

He tugged Vico into the main hall, where they made their way down to the quieter group of people waiting outside the big, wooden and gold-outlined double doors that lead to the convention. They were just in time for the usher of the event to start allowing people in, who gracefully made their way in two-by-two. Not necessarily with their dates, Vico would be happy to notice.

"I wonder if they will have that chocolate fountain this year," Adamo thought out loud as they passed through, handing his passes off to the usher who gave them two stubs back.

Rather than wondering about luxurious fondue, Vico seemed distracted by the architecture of the convention room - or rather, the climbable pillars, the scalable center statue of some nude Adonis-like figure, the ornate tapestries hanging from the ceiling, secured tightly enough and thickly-woven enough to be swung from. He was looking for exits and passageways, and if there had been someone present who knew the telling signs of an assassin, he'd be making a poor show of disguise and subtlety.

The room, though clearly spacious, with high ceilings that opened into a glass roof to let light in, covered partly in turn by what looked like a retractable screen for when shade was required (such as in the case of a movie showing), was filled with people, all looking as mightily important and well-dressed as Adamo, if not more so. There was a carpet along the nearby wall, lined with photographers and celebrities slowly making their way down to their seats, and the quiet chatter of pleasant idle talking rose above the crowd.

"Where is the executive office we are supposed to be infiltrating?" he muttered impatiently, trying to see past the sea of tall shoulders. Everyone here was so tall, so to be fair, he really didn't have much of a choice other than to look higher than their heads, at the balconies and the railings.

As a fellow assassin, Adamo could already tell Vico was looking for the best routes of escape, or concealing himself if he needed. Lucky for the actor, he already knew this place well. He gave Vico a small nudge to get his attention elsewhere; to look less obvious. There were enemies about, surely, even if they didn't know where. They knew when to recognize an assassin.

Though, with Vico's stature, the man looked more like a child admiring the candy of a sweets shop.

"Put on your best smile," he reminded him. "We'll go when they start announcing awards. Third floor somewhere. An insider told me Creed of the Heart won't be getting anything more than an honorable mention."

A host stopped in front of the two, holding a tray full of glasses of champagne. Adamo helped himself to one, giving him a smile that surely could win an award on its own. (Was the host blushing?)

Vico's attempt at a smile looked more like a grimace, though he did loosen up the tiniest fraction once he retrieved a glass of his own and then promptly downed the entire fizzy alcoholic concoction in one go. It took a bit off the edge he felt at being so out of his element, but it also made a rush of heat bloom up his face for a second as the drink hit his system hard. Compared to his circle of friends, he had always had the least taste for liquor.

"What a shame, what with Creed of the Heart being such quality entertainment and all," Vico commented dryly, still showing too much teeth in his grin. It looked a little feral.

"You're going to scare people away like that," Adamo said bluntly, raising an eyebrow at his friend's 'smile', but not without a laugh of his own. He couldn't blame Vico for feeling out of place, though; and at the last minute thrown into this arrangement. Adamo made a mental note to treat Vico to something for the trouble.

He slid something from under the base of his glass; something that was there when he grabbed it - a folded piece of paper that Adamo opened in the palm of his hand, where only Vico could view it. It looked like a phone number:

302-0342205

"I believe we have what we need, now," Adamo said as he slid the number into his pocket. "This will get us where we need to," he whispered.

Vico may not have noticed (but it wasn't a hard guess), but the doors in the hotel were activated either by card, or by a code. This particular code on the paper indicated the room number and it's combination. The first three were the room, and the rest, minus the zeroes, made up the key code.

Silently, Vico stared at the sequence until he had it memorized - a matter that took a few seconds at best. Afterwards, he clapped Adamo in the hand as if initiating a friendly handshake before slipping his palm away and in the process, closing his coworker's fist. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, with an expression that suggested he was commenting on this year's films or the inaneness of the weather instead. "I thought you had someone else on your team do recon."

"The drink boy," he answered. "So eager to give me his number."

Adamo faked a short laugh.

"He's just the inside eye. Has to keep up appearances. What I needed was someone to watch my back as I get in there. Or to watch someone's back as they get in. I'm flexible." Adamo grinned stupidly for just a second, and it wouldn't take the man's best friend to know there was a double entendre there. "I may have to use my pretty face to distract people."

Vico put on a mourning face. "I'm very sorry to inform you, but you really do have little else in your repertoire."

Adamo scoffed. "It was a joke. Besides, these things are boring - I have to have fun somehow."

"Preferably not on the job, though," muttered Vico, yanking on Adamo's jacket hem to urge the actor to quit with the melodramatics and get on with it.

Though they went slowly, the minutes did tick on and eventually, the hum of conversation began to die down low as people began ushering themselves to their seats, the slight dimming of lights indication that the ceremony would soon start. For the media elite, 'soon' might as well have meant 'whenever it is convenient for you,' though, as self-important socialites nonetheless lingered near the bar or their groups of conversation. By the time everyone was seated - Vico near the edge, wedged between Adamo and a skinny, knobby-elbowed old woman who kept on sniffing distastefully at him - at least half an hour had passed.

"Merda," Vico swore under his breathe, sitting up as straight as he could like a child in their school seat. "Why are all you actors so tall? I can't see anything."

"To block out the short fry," he answered with a small smirk, but he moved just enough to give Vico a bit more of a view.

An enthusiastic man took the podium at the front of the hall, starting to discuss the film industry - how it has evolved over time, how it has inspired people, and many other mundane facts. Every now and then he would make a small joke, getting a collective polite laugh from the crowd. Adamo made an effort to look amused, though much like Vico, his mind was elsewhere.

After about five minutes of talking, he went on to show some clips from particularly well done films. The convention hall was dimmed; their signal to go. Adamo excused himself from the table silently, slipping away to a side exit.

As not to arouse too much attention, Vico waited about five minutes (three hundred seconds, to the dot) before following after Adamo, throwing apologetic looks at the two or three attendees he had to disrupt in order to stumble into the aisle. There was little surveillance guarding the doors - they stepped aside without even a second glance when he flashed his fake identity badge.

The lobby they had been in before being filtered to their seats was now empty. There were a few employees shuffling about the tables, stacking used cups and corking unfinished champagne, no doubt to indulge in themselves later. A few looked up as Vico entered but just as soon went back to what they were doing.

Slipping behind a pillar, Vico looked about for Adamo.

In the corner of the lobby, hiding around the edge of a wall, was Adamo waiting patiently, propped against it with a cell phone to his ear. There was a sign to the left of him, indicating the stairs were just past him. The small hall offered privacy, and no high class person was going to use the stairs, anyway; not when there was a convenient elevator at the press of a button. He looked up when there was the slightest shift in the corner of his eye, and motioned Vico when he saw him.

Quietly, with footsteps that didn't echo against the tiled marble floors despite the fact that they shined as if just polished, and the awkward slight heel of his dress shoes, Vico circled around the perimeter of the large room until he was standing at Adamo's side, waiting expectantly for the other man to drop the pretense of the phone call. Despite the real initiation of their mission duties, Vico felt a little tension ease from his shoulders. This was much more of his kind of stint. No more stuffy collars or worrying about stepping on ladies' gown trains. He even reached up to loosen his tie, breathing a sigh of relief as his collar finally seemed inclined to let him breathe.

"Never again, Adamo," he swore darkly.

"What a shame," Adamo said with a bit of disappointment, straightening the collar of Vico's vest. "You look nice."

"Don't be facetious." Vico threw his wadded-up tie at Adamo's face.

He teetered on the balls of his feet, leaning away and swatting the other's offending hands from his face. "Let's just get on with this."

He couldn't help it - he was still grinning, even as the tie hit him square in the face.

"Fine, let's go," Adamo gave in, stuffing the tie in his face (it was one of his nice silk ones, after all) and headed towards the stairs. The stair well was incredibly less glorious than the hotel. It was made up of simple cement floor, metal rails and depressing blue lighting. This looked more like the urban assassin setting the two were so used to - so much easier to climb around in. Adamo supposed he was just more flexible with his surroundings than Vico.

"So, your scar," Adamo said suddenly, speaking quietly so his voice would not echo up the stairs. "Did you really get it in an accident on a set?"

Vico raised a brow, but he didn't stop walking. He didn't look or sound particularly offended by the question, just curious. "What does that have to do with the mission?"

"Nothing. It's just, knowing what we know now," he explained, noting that they were on the second flight of stairs now, "I wondered if that was the true story."

Rather than answering, Vico suddenly inquired, "Two-zero-five?"

Oh. So it wasn't. Adamo didn't ask further, as they were at the third floor door.

"Room 302. Three, four, two, two, five. You take out the zeroes," he whispered, pushing open the door slowly. It gave a soft creak, opening to a hall lined with hotel rooms. The hall was oddly dim, though; as though the lights had been cut. Which they had. They couldn't have their faces on camera now, could they? After all, Adamo could be easily recognized, and Vico's scar was very distinctive.

"Bravo, Alfonso," he mumbled, stepping out into the hallway. "That kid is good.

"We ought to hurry, though. No doubt residents are complaining about the outage. We probably have ten minutes, tops."

Giving no more than a grunt of acknowledgement, Vico began making his way down the hall, at first with a hand trailing down the wall before ultimately abandoning that grounding altogether. They had entered the hall from the high-numbers end, making their way down from Room 334. With ten minutes to spare, they could have, of course, afforded to be a little more careful in their footing, but Vico had never been particularly patient anyway.

Room 302 was unsurprisingly ordinary. Like the rest of the doors in the hall, it was a plain white-ivory, garnished only with gold-plated numbers near the top. The lock mechanism was perhaps the most complicated thing about it, a dull red line shining from the top near a black card slot, powered by an internal locking mechanism.

"You have the card?"

"No, there's a number pad, though," he said, and he hit a metal block beneath the door handle. It opened a panel, and voila - a dial pad. "Those other numbers will be useful, now."

Adamo pulled the note with the fake phone number out of his pocket, squinting in the dark to make out the numbers as he began to key them in.

While waiting for the tell-tale beep of a correctly entered override code, Vico looked around them, inspecting their surroundings with a closer, more inquisitive eye. He was keeping an eye out for the blinking light of a camera that the shortage had missed, or even a shadow on the wall by a guard coming to investigate, but his attention caught on details like the plushness of the carpet, the expensive-looking guilded frames of the flower paintings hanging on the wall. The hotel was understated but pricey in its decor. He recognized the look from some of the fake sets that Emilio Tucci would frequent in their show.

"You always get high-end assignments like this?" asked Vico, because many of his missions entailed spending hours in the streets, in more run-down apartments on the shadier side of town, in bars where alcohol flowed easily and people didn't even bother with the 'under the table' part of an under-the-table exchange.

"Not really," Adamo admitted, the low beep sounding from the door. A small green light blinked, and the handle loosened, allowing them to open the door. "I mean, now and then. They are a rather wealthy company, after all. Makes sense that they'd have a few higher-ups that are harder to access."

Adamo pushed the door inward, glancing around the dark office. It was easier to see, with his eyes already adjusted to the lack of light. Something occurred to him, though, and he looked at Vico. Not that missions were supposed to be fun, but Vico's boredom and discomfort in the whole situation probably wouldn't be bettered if Adamo was playing spotter.

"Want me to spot?"

Vico looked up, confused. "Why?"

It hadn't occurred to him that a mission could be bettered. A mission was a mission, and that was all.

"Thought you might be bored out here," he said with a shrug, looking down the hallway.

Vico's face stayed stuck on his look of mild perplexity, making it hard to say whether he would jump into an indignant response or take explosive offense at the offer, as seemed to be his normal modes of reaction.

Then a beat passed and he did neither. Vico scoffed a low laugh, muffled and barely an expulsion of breath as he kept his voice down. The hallway might have been abandoned, but it never did an assassin any good to draw needless attention to himself. He thumped Adamo on the shoulder with the back of his hand, rolling his toward the ceiling. "This is a mission, amico. It's not supposed to be fun. Now hurry up."

That's right, Vico was the hardest person to convince of fun.

With a roll of his eyes, Adamo disappeared into the room. Everything was neat, and looked just as expensive as the rest of the hotel - a marble desk, leather chair, shining wooden floors... Not even Adamo's home had things this cushy. Instead of admiring, he carefully navigated his way to a file cabinet stashed underneath the desk. How careless to leave this unlocked.

He slid it open, sifting through carefully. They were organized neatly, except one unlabeled section in the very back... That must be it. He pulled the papers out, and sure enough, they were labeled to a 'confidential medical company.' Not a hard guess.

Folding them with care, Adamo tucked the papers into his blazer. He wiped the file cabinet's handle clean of his prints (you never knew), and made his way out, closing the door behind him - cleaning that, too.

"Let's get out of here."

"Good," said Vico, already heading back towards the door, slightly ajar, and pulling it back open . "Let's get g-"

An explosive sound shook through the halls. Instinctively, Vico's knees folded and he dropped. The bullet was off-center anyway - it glanced off the edge of the doorway and embedded itself into the partly-open white door. Wood splintered, a particularly sharp shard catching Vico across the cheek, but considering the sudden chaos outside in the hall, he didn't even notice. Kicking a leg out, Vico slammed the door shut and immediately locked it, bolting the metal latch above the knob for good measure.

"Change of plans!" he snapped at Adamo, pulling back towards the windows.

Considering the smoothness of things thus far, the bullet shocked Adamo far out of his 'fun' mindset. He jerked back into the room, close behind Vico.

"Merda," he mumbled under his breath, feeling his pulse jump. Whoever the shooter was most likely didn't get a good look of their faces - he was shooting in the dark. If he had some sort of night vision equipment, one of them would certainly be dead by now. As it was, their identities were safe.

Adamo yanked back the curtains of the window, searching for the latch. The light from outside barely helped. Judging by the footsteps outside (running from the sounds of it), they didn't have much time. Finally, his fingers caught on a handle, and he pushed the window open.

"Go!"

He didn't need to be told twice.

The shooters had clearly moved. The door was being shaken shaken on its hinges and it was only a matter of time before their pursuers came to the end of their patience and simply shot the lock out of commission. By then, however, Vico had already slipped through the window opening almost as immediately after the gap was wide enough to fit his torso through. As if he were climbing mere set platforms and lighting rails, Vico maneuvered himself around the outside of the hotel's architecture.

"Only way to go is down," he muttered, glancing between his feet. The drop was at least a couple stories too tall for a safe drop - they would have to climb. "Up for some exercise?"

Adamo followed shortly behind Vico, sliding out the window. Luckily, the building was made of brick, providing some ledges and a rough surface for footing. He made his way down closer to Vico, glancing below them. Three stories was just a little too high for comfort.

"Always," he responded. From above them, through the window, the slamming was only getting louder. There was another shot - most likely shooting at the handle - but one wouldn't be enough to get through it. Of course, Adamo wasn't about to wait until they did.

The closest ledge (a smoking balcony) was to Adamo's left, a couple feet down. He pushed off the wall, grabbing the railing once he fell within reach. The last time he leaped around like this, he realized, was when he was chasing Vico - who'd have thought they'd be jumping around together like this? In suits no less.

By the time the third shot rang out, the slam sounding shortly after indicating that the pursuers had finally made it through the door, Vico was touching his feet to the pavement below, all but yanking on the back of Adamo's suit the moment he landed to pull them around the corner of the building and temporarily out of sight. It was a good thing indeed that they were fast climbers - not a second later, a few men in suits and large, dark shades obscuring their eyes stuck their heads out the window, swearing under their breath in raspy Italian before pulling back in.

Forget about an errant tie - their clothes were entirely in disarray now. Wrinkles everywhere, with a tear Vico had managed to rip in his left shoulder seam from a particularly trick sharp protrusion on the second floor. They weren't at any leisure to spare any thought for that now. Still breathing hard, he glanced at the busy hotel parking lot and then back at Adamo. "Where's your car?"

If they had the time, Adamo would make it a point to give his poor, torn shirt a sad look. Later.

"Across the parking lot," Adamo said, his eyes darting from car to car, trying to identify it. When he spotted the exact row, he pointed and started to run, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. "There!"

Vico didn't need prompting to break out into a run following Adamo. The car wasn't far off, but it seemed to be leagues away when their pursuers finally made their way to the ground floor, the shouting behind them giving away the fact that they had spotted them. One or two silenced gunshots rang out - as not to alarm the high-profile guests inside, no doubt, but thankfully, their aim wasn't all that great in the darkness of night, with only far-off streetlamps and the glow from the windows indoors to provide for light.

They all but tumbled into the car, its passenger compartment open in wait for them, and Vico twisted around without even waiting for Adamo to retrieve his leg from under where Vico sat on it to pull the door shut. "Drive!" he hissed to whoever was at the wheel.

One bullet nicked one of the taillights as they ran, Adamo jerking to the side. That was too close to hitting him.

Adamo jumped inside after Vico, staying low in his seat. The driver hardly seemed alarmed, a cigarette tightened between his teeth, pulling out of their parking space and immediately slamming on the gas. Adamo all but flopped onto Vico at the sharp turn they made out of the parking lot and onto the road. He peered into the rear view mirror - no one behind him but two shrinking silhouettes. They were clear.

"Thanks, Alfonso," Adamo eventually gasped out.

"Get off of my face," Vico hissed, nose smashed against where Adamo's shoulder had fallen against it with the turn. He managed to pull one arm up from where it was squashed between the other man's larger weight and wedged it between them, using his elbow to free some space for himself, even if it was less-than-kind for the other party involved.

A quick glance at the rearview mirror confirmed that the driver was the same waiter from inside the event hall, another of Adamo's teammates. He had probably been waiting for them after the lobby chat-and-dine had ended, when all the guests had been ushered into the viewing hall. Vico had never thought he'd be so glad to see a face from that whole stuffy ordeal again, but this clearly proved him wrong.

"Who was that?" he asked, figuring one of the two would give him an answer. As guest-backup, he was less clued-in on the details and background of the mission than the actual team involved; it was a fair question to ask.

"The scary part?" Alfonso started to say, exhaling smoke - hardly the shy champagne boy they saw inside. "No idea."

Adamo straightened himself up in his seat as the car became steady, strapping in. He preened his suit, frowning at the dirt and dust all over it. He gave Vico's own attire a similarly sad look.

"Not a hard guess to say they're Abstergo agents," Adamo piped in, much less dramatic than his partner up front. "They must've caught on."

"Maybe just hotel security?" Vico offered, tapping fingers against the armrest inside the car door. "We were technically breaking into a high-profile room."

As if they would be that lucky.

He sighed, shaking out his shoulders and closing his eyes as he leaned back against the leather seat. He didn't hear any indication of a motorized chase, which meant they were in the clear for now. Whoever their pursuers were, they obviously hadn't gotten a clear enough impression of their targets to follow up on the investigation. "At least that's done with."

As exciting as Adamo's brand of missions seemed to be, at least Vico's didn't require a dress code.

"I don't think they would shoot anyone," Adamo mused. "I don't think security is even armed."

Reaching over, Adamo tugged on the tear in Vico's vest with a sigh. It was special tailored by none other than Luciano. In retrospect, inviting Luciano might have been the wiser move - but in honesty, he trusted Vico working by his side. He wanted to test the waters, see if they'd make compatible partners in missions. Of course, he didn't expect things to go so awry.

"He's gonna have a fit over this."

in which adamo and vico learn to WORK TOGETHER~

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had to make this icon appropriate at least once

that is the ugliest icon I have ever seen

that is unfortunate a good friend of mine drew it

It's horrific.

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whoops it's my turn isn't it

forgot me again huh...

NO... I just... have a cluttered inbox...

NOW I'M A SLOW TO REPLY

NOT AS SLOW AS LAIN

No one is as slow as Lain.

true this