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Tipsy Kitten

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░░▌┋ THE OCELLO BOSS
TRY NOT TO MISTAKE WHAT YOU HAVE WITH WHAT YOU HATE
xxxxIT COULD LEAVE, IT COULD LEAVE, COME THE MORNING


xxxxxxxxxxxxxarmine x.x cello
______________________________________________________

                                                        █ ██ ███ ██████████████████████████████
                                                        AND IF THE SUN SHOULD LIFT ME UP
                                                        WOULD YOU COME BACK? C'MON!





                                                    Carmine watched through narrowed eyes as Luciano bid goodbye to the taller Russian, and nearly fell into his lap in the process, grabbing his arm to stop himself and getting lost in the Russian’s eyes in the process, or something. Surely Luciano realized just who it was they had locked in their basement? In just a few days time he and the loud Russian could be expected to try kill each other- they were enemies already, it was just the Russians who didn’t know it.

                                                    He grabbed the other Italian by the shoulder before he could bump into him as well, giving him an appraising look before leaning down to whisper in his ear, “Why didn’t you just ask for his number too, while you were at it?” in soft Italian so the others wouldn’t hear. It was just dry sarcasm, he didn’t really sound angry. Anyone looking at Luciano could see just how strongly the vodka had affected him.

                                                    I’m drunk. If I do something dumb, I’m sorry. And for getting drunk I am sorry. I wasn’t professional or anything of that sort tonight." Luciano couldn’t even look him in the eyes as he apologized, muttering in Italian, and it just made Carmine want to tease him more.

                                                    Pfffft,” He couldn’t help but laugh, either. He wasn’t concerned for their safety, not at Dare. The owner wouldn’t let anyone cause problems in his bar- they were as safe here as they could be outside of the Ocello mansion. “I didn’t say you couldn’t drink, so it’s fine. Don’t look so worried about me firing you, this was play not work.” The other’s seriousness was endearing. Was it bad he was starting to trust the other man just a little bit now? Probably, since Carmine knew it was still only loyalty stemming from fear of violent punishment, and therefore not loyalty at all. Physical intimidation worked well for Domani, but it wasn’t really Carmine’s thing. Unless he was very angry, and even then it was all too likely he’d break a bone if he didn’t hold himself back. “Just don’t forget they’re Russians, and if they had any idea who we were, well...they wouldn’t have happily treated us to vodka.

                                                    Lightly pulling the other away from the drunk pair at the bar and towards the door, he pulled out his phone. “I’ll call someone to come pick us up.” Driving was probably a bad idea, no matter how sober he seemed. As he waited for someone to pick up, Carmine shot Luciano a little taunting smile. “I would have never guessed tall, handsome Russian men to be your type.” “Handsome” was a bit relative here- Carmine wouldn’t have described him as such personally. “He seemed a bit clownish, though.” That was putting it lightly. Uncivilized would have been a better term for it. “But if that’s what you like...” So he was poking a bit of fun, sue him. It wasn’t like anyone in the family knew how to take a joke, except Domani, and the brothers didn’t always share the same sense of humor.



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c a f e bean's avatar

Dapper Codger

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                    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxA N D I M C A U G H T I N T H E C R O S S F I R E O F M Y O W N T H O U G H T S

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                                        Despite what some people may think, sitting alone in a mostly dark room all by your lonesome while you wait for your best friend to come and kick the everliving s**t out of you isn’t very fun. In fact, Niccolo could testify against it with great sincerity. He was already feeling crappy because of the bloody mess that was currently soaking into his skin and clothing, but with this added pressure because of his impending doom reigning down upon him, he was close to a breaking point. He didn’t know what Domani would do. He knew very well what he was capable of, (which was pretty much anything and everything and some things that Niccolo could never even dream up) so it was a bit tough not to be freaking out right now. Niccolo gripped the bed post a little bit tighter, fingertips turning white with the effort and hand beginning to shake. Dealing with cutting into another person’s skin was a lot harder than he thought it would be. Pulling a trigger was a one second ordeal, let your finger tighten and then it was done. Cutting and slashing was a lot more personal, especially being so physically close to the person while you were doing it. Breathing the same air while they screamed and shouted! That was a sick kind of self-torture in itself, in Niccolo’s opinion, and he did not want any part of it. But then again, voicing his opinion hadn’t worked out so well before, so maybe he should just forget about that philosophy all together.

                                        Niccolo was snapped out of his inner turmoil by the sound of a door opening, and all of a sudden his stress hiked up to its highest level yet. This was worse than sitting right in front of his Russian torture victim with that knife. He knew that he would be punished; the question was to what extent? How far would Domani go to get his point across to Niccolo? Even when Niccolo had mentally and emotionally wrecked himself more than Domani ever could in the past ten minutes just standing there alone and thinking of a million possibilities, he was still scared out of his wits, and it showed in the way that his shoulders hunched forward when Domani first spoke up. Niccolo had no doubt that Domani would follow through on that threat, and as the other Mafioso’s footsteps grew closer to him his body tightened, fully expecting to be hit with a baseball bat or something equally as painful. To his surprise and relief, it was only Domani’s hand that came into contact with him, but that didn’t stop Niccolo from flinching again. He looked very much like a frightened puppy as he was whirled around, one hand quickly reaching out to take hold of Domani’s arm so that he could steady himself, then pulling away as he realized what he was doing. Weakness had already been shown once today, and this was not the time to show it again. His head was swimming from the trauma and pressure, and now he was being practically thrown around. This probably would end with another fainting spell if it went how Niccolo assumed it would, especially with the way Domani was yelling at him. Oh, yeah, he was pissed. Niccolo was probably going to get cut up and burnt and he didn’t know what the hell else wou—only a punch?

                                        The tail-between-the-legs expression melted into something more like ‘Wait, what?’ but before he could even think of questioning why, (which wouldn’t have been a good thing in the first place, so it was probably better this way) Domani’s fist was colliding with him. Caught off guard, he didn’t have enough time to tense his stomach, so the blow came a lot harder than he would have expected, nearly knocking him back. If Domani hadn’t been holding on to him, he probably would have fallen over right then and there. He did indeed buckle with the force of the blow, falling into Domani’s shoulder and coughing loudly. Ow. [********], Dom could throw a hit. He should have expected that after seeing him knock Pascal’s lungs out of commission. Niccolo would definitely feel that in the morning. His hand shot out once more, catching onto the arm that had launched the punch in an attempt to get himself back up, but instead he was pushed onto the bed. Still coughing, Niccolo rolled onto his side, on hand wrapped around his abdomen. It took him a few seconds, but he stopped coughing and he caught his breath, looking up to Domani and doing his best to listen carefully before he went off into the bathroom. Honestly he could throw up very easily right now, but his body was so exhausted from the stress, and he just didn’t want to move. Thank goodness Domani had ordered him to stay in the room. He probably wouldn’t have been able to make it to his own without some kind of help after a hit like that and the gore-induced dizziness that he was still recovering from. But he at least had to get his sweater off. If he was going to end up sleeping in Domani’s bed, he did not want to get it filthy with the Russian’s blood.

                                        With a fair amount of difficulty, he managed to sit up at the edge of the bed. He pulled his sweater over his head slowly, wiping his hands clean on the fabric, mentally cringing because it was one of his favorite sweaters and he really hated to ruin it. Niccolo had some difficulty taking off his boots, but eventually he was only in his jeans and crawling up to flop down onto one of Domani’s plush pillows, KO’ing almost as soon as his head touched down. Today had been stressful enough and a good sleep would rid him of most of it. Hopefully it wouldn’t haunt him in his dreams like the murder did.


Ocello Mansion / Domani's room. wwwww--- wwwwwDomani.
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                                                      Opening his eyes felt like he was being hit in the skull with a brick. It just hurt. A lot. Seriously? Roland? Seriously? You went out and got drunk last night? He went out? The boy shoved himself up from the bed, slowly forcing himself up and onto his feet. He stumbled towards the wall, knocking over a lamp on his side table as he did so. Roland shut his eyes glaring towards his door. "Sir, are you alright? I heard a crash." Roland narrowed his glance as he turned to look towards the servant. "Yes. I am fine." The servant moved forward handing the blond an envelope. "What is this?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry. You came home drunk and asked me to give this to the sober Roland. You said you'd come up with the best idea ever." The servant said giving a shrug. Roland nodded towards his door. "Get out." He demanded. The servant shut the door behind them as they left.

                                                      Alone, Roland opened up the envelope. "Let's hope you've another golden idea you drunken tard." He muttered as he dropped the insides of his envelope into his palm. Bullets. Bullets and a note. He took the letter and quickly skimmed over it. 'READ YOUR NOTE'. That meant one thing. He'd have a poorly written text in his notes on his phone. So, after pulling out his phone he read what he wrote last night. "Mm..." He said as he read what he wrote. Worth a shot.

                                                      He opened his door and made his way through the hallways. His head pounding a bit harder with each step. It didn't take long for him to find himself outside of Park's door. Without knocking he twisted the knob to enter inside. "Park, wake up." Roland moved towards the boy's computer screens and sat down moving the mouse to get the computer out of sleep mode. Annnd... Encryptions. He wouldn't be able to sign on even if he wanted to.

                                                      "Park." Roland said again turning his head towards the bed for the first time to see... Two lumps. One with the unmistakable hair. Oh god. Really? Roland's eyebrow rose, a bit from shock. "Misha. Go sit outside. I need to discuss some matters with Park." He froze, then his hand rose with his finger sticking in the air. "Wait a moment. Go find Nikolai. Fetch my new laptop for me it should have arrived by now." He said as he nodded his head. With Misha getting the laptop, that should give him enough time to have a chat with Park. Then Roland would leave the boy with the new assignments and continue waiting for Pascal's captors to contact him. Roland knew it wasn't his move. All he could do was write up possibilities and plans. Nothing could move forwards until he got some contact from the Italians though.

                                                      [ Ꮮocation ] [ Park's Room. ]
                                                      [ Ꮯompany ] [ Park and... Is that Misha? ]
Corpius's avatar

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                                          It was Misha who woke first, the lighter sleeper of the two of them, but was so entangled with the other that moving would have woken Park, so he didn’t. Instead they just lay almost nose to nose on the pillow, and the younger watched the other sleeping quietly, lost in his own thoughts until sleep started to drag him down again, eyes shutting. He’d just begun to drift off when he heard the door open and someone enter the room.

                                          “Park, wake up.” Roland’s voice, nice, loud, and irritating. Did he normally come into people’s rooms without so much as knocking? Okay, yes, it was his house and he was currently boss, but Misha wasn’t much of a morning person, not right as he woke up anyway, and certainly not when someone ruined his quiet morning with someone else.

                                          Grumpily he sat up, just as Roland turned around to say “Park” once more, and gave a startled expression to Misha, who was sleepily glaring at him. What? Was it really any of his business if Misha had slept here? The other didn’t comment, but he did have the audacity to kick him out of Park’s room. Go sit outside? Really? So what if he had the authority, didn’t mean he had to be rude. Misha yawned instead, brushing hair out of his eyes and drawing his feet out of the blanket to sit cross-legged, biting back his tongue so he didn’t tell Roland to go sit outside instead. Yeah, that would go well. No, he was grumpy and he wanted joint because that would make him far less grumpy. Might as well go get one now--

                                          “Wait a moment. Go find Nikolai. Fetch my new laptop for me it should have arrived by now." Seriously? Now he was an errand boy? He’d just started to get off the bed and he scowled at the floor, unwilling to risk Roland’s temper. A deep breath later, and he twisted around to place a feather light kiss on Park’s cheekbone, just below the left eye, then left the room as silent as a shadow and made his way quickly through the house. He knew where everyone was likely to be found, and it didn’t take much to find Nikolai and locate the laptop. Why did he even need one? Park’s room had enough for every person in the house, what was the point of so many damn computers?

                                          He hurried back on quiet feet, and paused outside the door, unabashedly planning on listening into whatever he could hear through it. He didn’t like just being kept out of things, and he tended to be particularly nosy when he was in an irritable mood.
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Perfect Glitch

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                                                      MOOD Impatientxxxxx LOCATION Café Raazxxxxx COMPANY Self
                                                      OOC Meet Beau, the weapons extraordinaire! Give him a hug or something. Toss him a coin. He just might give you a lap dance.
                                                      Also, by Kelly R. I'm actually referring to Roland... because: "Kelly Rowland"


                                                        xxxEarly morning espresso breaks weren’t supposed to be this long. Sitting at his favorite coffee shop, in his regular spot with his regular order, time seemed as if suspended for Beau. Peace at last. Or at least he was having some until some high school brats stepped in with their youth and annoying chatter. When things got too noisy, he took the liberty to pause from reading the news and spat at them. “Sheesh! Kids, kids… Kids, you’re making my coffee taste like my old English teacher!” However, they simply took it as a joke, and lowered their heads whispering something among each other and smiling. Beau bit on his lip and glared at them. In response, the girls giggled and glanced at him one last time before continuing with their talk only in a little softer tone now. Thankfully, the super-duper-ultra-mega death glare worked on them, or was it his masculine looks that did the trick? Nevertheless, as the girls moved on, Beau seemed to have as well. He was deeply engrossed at the article he was reading. Although not for the content, but how “New York Times” still had that old English font. His Italian roots had acted up again, appreciating art and s**t. He kept himself busy for a long while. Actually, he was waiting for something to come up on his smartphone.
                                                        xxxOne of his contacts had arranged a meet for them today, but the time wasn’t specified. It annoyed him for having to wake up so early in the morning to get ready for this, but it was simply all about the money. He just got the bills yesterday, and his earnings from the Ocello weren’t enough to pay them. It wasn’t like he was a man of high maintenance. He just had “extrapersonal” responsibilities to accomplish.

                                                        xxxBeau took his breakfast at the same place. If he was left here for a day, he could have consumed all the pastries and the cakes –not to mention the liquorice whips that only cost half their supposed prices. He licked his lips and prayed to the heavens for guidance and endurance that he can overcome his gluttonous tendency.
                                                        xxxAnd so yes, he was expecting for a business transaction. But how could a simple call, or even a text take this long? A glimmer in his eye, a slight twitch in his pursed lips was a reminder that he was thinking of something dirty as to why Kelly R. hasn’t sent him the full details yet. His contact was probably busy with pillow talking his or her prostitute right now after having morning sex, Beau assumed.

                                                        xxxFinally he decided to text his contact first. After pulling out his phone from his jeans’ back pocket; and before showcasing a very fluid finger dance on the touch interface, he stared at the screen for a moment and adored his reflection. His nose of a reflection, that is.
                                                        SMS Kelly R. (Private Contact)
                                                        I’m raedy when u are.
                                                        xxxIt was funny how the gadget failed to spellcheck. Beau didn’t bother. After all, this was a burner phone - as he always chose to use for his dealings. He just tapped send and hoped for a speedy reply.

                                                        xxx“Another day in the life of this sneaky b*****d. Oh, joy of joys...” he muttered to himself as he drew his lips toward his coffee mug.

                                                      Englishxxxxx Italian
BaconBunch's avatar

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「 with ♛ Roland and Mish- No, come baaack!xxxxx 「 where ♛ A one-way train to Seriousville.
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just thinking some thoughts ya

♛ ♛ ♛




                                                Surprisingly enough, Misha's kiss woke Park up more than anything Roland could have said would. Unless he was about to utter the words "What does this button do", but that was a whole different circumstance and would involve much more freaking out on Park's part. Of course, it was Park's job to protect Roland, but that didn't mean he had to play the obedient puppy role. That may have been the reason Roland didn't think very kindly of the man, but it didn't matter. He was safe, at least, and he had the leisure to do some real work.

                                                Yaaaaaawn... Wait.

                                                Was there someone in his room? Well, obviously Misha was there, but there was someone else. Before he had time to be surprised or taken back he was sitting up in bed and tossing his blankets to the side of him, not even remembering that he was shirtless and popping his back and neck. He bit his lip lazily and his eyes were still closed as if he might as well not even have woke up, but he eventually opened his eyes and his eyebrows raised slightly as he noticed Roland was there. "Hellooo~" He cooed sleepily, forgetting that he wasn't particularly fully clothed. Although he naturally tossed and turned in bed quite a bit, his hair didn't seem phased by any of it, as if it was kept perfectly in place by some kind of magic.

                                                "Discuss some matters? That sounds serious. Sweet Jesus, it's to early to be serious." He said with a sleepy chuckle as he opened his eyes to look at the man, and his smile sweetened, noticing finally that he was shirtless but not caring enough to make a large deal out of it. "You really need to get more rest, boss." He said, knowing that he could very easily anger Roland, but not letting it bother him. Park's voice was comforting and calm when he spoke to Roland, as if he knew how stressed he had been lately and he was willing to do as much as he could possibly do in his half-awake state. "Alright, morning seriousness it is then. How can I help you?"


                                                'cause everything is never as it seems
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                                                      "Discuss some matters? That sounds serious. Sweet Jesus, it's to early to be serious."

                                                      Roland's eyes sharpened into a type of glare. Did Park not understand Pascal was kidnapped by the enemy? Surely he had hear the news. Everyone knew the news. Misha had just spoken to Roland last night about it and spent the night with Park. The two were quite an odd pair. Roland's eyes shifted to the computer desk. "You need to get more rest, boss." His fist rose to the desk's surface and he dropped the few bullets.

                                                      "There will be time to rest once Pascal is returned back home to me." Roland said as he stood. "I'm sure you got my text last night. I asked you to start hacking into the police's servers. I want to be able to watch their reports and get wind of anything they might be working on that might tie into Pascal. I want to know anything the second they know it." He pointed towards the bullets. "I've had these hollowed out and all. You know those dog trackers they have inserted in their skin so they can keep track of their pet? I want you to find a way to turn these into something like that." His attention went back to the computer. Roland stood up and rolled his sleeves up.

                                                      "I have an important business meeting I need to get to. Once Misha comes back with that laptop I want you to encrypt it for me." He pulled out a sheet of paper. "Passwords and all will be the usual, if you've forgot they're on that paper. I want it burned once you're finished with it." Once papers were burned there was no problem with them getting into the wrong hands. Not like Roland ran around giving anyone his password. "I'll check back tonight to see where you are on these projects." He said as he turned around. Roland began to move out into the hallway and pulled out his cellphone.

                                                          [ t e x t: Sasha's Sister ]
                                                          [ I'm ready. I'm calling up a reservation for our booth now. I'll meet you there soon. ]

                                                      Roland sighed as he reached for his car keys. He stopped in his room, changed into some street clothes. Something that wasn't too fancy. He slipped into Pascal's room grabbing a skull cap and put it over his head. Then he began to move for the stairs so he could sneak outside and grab his car without drawing much attention to himself. It was always hard getting around without bodyguards and people watching over his back. It just looked wrong. "I'll have to go have a chat with Kolya once I get back..." He tried to remind himself. He hadn't spoken to the man about Pascal yet. Nobody had. He could only hope it stayed that way until he got back from his meeting.

                                                      [ Ꮮocation ] [ Park's Room. ]
                                                      [ Ꮯompany ] [ Park. ]
Corpius's avatar

Tipsy Kitten

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░░▌┋ THE OCELLO BOSS
TRY NOT TO MISTAKE WHAT YOU HAVE WITH WHAT YOU HATE
xxxxIT COULD LEAVE, IT COULD LEAVE, COME THE MORNING


xxxxxxxxxxxxxarmine x.x cello
______________________________________________________

                                                              █ ██ ███ ██████████████████████████████
                                                              xxxxAND IF THE SUN SHOULD LIFT ME UP
                                                              xxxxWOULD YOU COME BACK? C'MON!






                                                              It was an early morning, or at least it was for Carmine. His position didn’t really afford him the luxury of sleeping in; not that he wanted to, as he’d always been a morning person. There was lots of little things to do, things to check on, breakfast to eat. It wasn’t until way later in the morning that it occurred to him to physically check on their little prisoner. It didn’t seem like a necessity, because the security camera had showed him as still alive, but admittedly Carmine didn’t know if he’d eaten the night before or not. Or if his clothes hid any dislocated joints or particularly bad cuts that would need to be properly tended to. Presumably not, if Domani had listened to him, but Carmine knew better than to presume anything.

                                                              He picked a man at random from that morning’s selection of guards and sent him to get something from the kitchen for breakfast. It was quite bothersome that it seemed inappropriate that Carmine do anything for himself; as don, he was expected to order other people to do things and then watch to make sure they didn’t screw up. Boring as hell, to be honest. Of the two, Domani was far more comfortable with the idea of having a small army to wait on him hand and foot.

                                                              Alone with the random guard, Carmine descended to the basement and unlocked the door to Pascal’s holding room, allowing the guard to enter before him. Not the Russian boy would likely rouse himself to attack them, but if he did... Well, Carmine was at least interested in seeing just how much effort he’d put into the attack. But no, Pascal was dead asleep on the couch, wrists still locked together, and....shirtless. What had Domani been up to anyway? He was completely naked from the waist up. Not to mention the room smelled ever so faintly of....vomit. Oh, that was lovely. Well, he had no one to blame but himself- he had told Domani to do what he wanted. He couldn’t complain if he had to clean up the mess, now could he?

                                                              You, wake up.” He tossed the key to the handcuffs to the guard as he snapped at the Russian. When the guard gave him a skeptical look, Carmine scowled at him. “I don’t plan to hand feed him. Do you?” The adverse look on the man’s face was answer enough, as he handed Carmine the plate of food and approached Pascal with the key. The guard dragged him upright and grabbed for the cuffs, freeing the boy’s left hand, and then retreating take the food back from the Italian don.

                                                              As the guard passed the plate and fork to Pascal, Carmine examined him from across the room, checking for obvious signs of damage. Faint bruises, like he’d been kicked in the side. A small cut under his eye, which likely wouldn’t scar, and then (far more worrisome) the caked blood on his chest from the deeper cuts there. Don’t leave any marks, yes, that was exactly what Carmine wanted. Cared for properly they probably wouldn’t scar....as badly. One crooked finger motioned the guard closer. “Get peroxide and bandages...and a shirt.” Carmine spoke quietly, and the guard gave him a stunned look.

                                                              “I shouldn’t just leave you here-” He started to say, but the don’s sour look of b***h did you really just argue with me? silenced him. Carmine glanced at the Russian brat, and shook his head. He could snap him like a twig over one knee, was the guard really so worried? Besides, if the guard watching the camera’s was doing his job, Carmine had little to worry about even if Pascal took his chances.

                                                              Just go.” The guard nodded, and left quickly.

                                                              Watching Pascal as he waited, Carmine considered what exactly to do. The original plan had been to wait for Shaprio jr. to contact them, but time was slowly running out for that. He’d have to send out a direct message himself, because, well, he was clearly dealing with idiots. He didn’t even want to know how they’d react to being told to get the hell out of Albion.

                                                              ....enjoying your stay?” He asked, while he considered all this. Yes, this comment was heavy on the sarcasm. If Pascal really was still enjoying his stay, then it was possible his sanity was in question.



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                                              Pascal kept his eye on Domani as he moved towards the water hose and it's small control box. F***k. Pascal didn't want another shower. He would rather bleed out and fall asleep upside-down caked in his own blood before he wanted to be showered in freezing water. Besides, he was still shivering from the last one. He let a shaky breath out as he braced himself for the inevitable. What came though was another surprise. The water was actually warm, almost burning against his cold skin, but very welcomed. He shut his eyes, enjoying the sting of the heat and so he didn't get water in his eyes as it trailed off his body and chest. Once again Domani was trying to trick him by showing...compassion? No...Care? Nope that wasn't it...Maybe he was just making he sure he didn't break his new toy on the first day. Yeah... let's go with that.

                                              Either way, Pascal found himself being patted dry and examined. Obviously Domani was looking at Niccolo's work, probably giving some praise to the Sir Silent. Pascal let out a small noise when Domani reached into a bag he had grabbed earlier, kind of missing the touch and the warm towel. Pascal was actually a bit grateful that the Italian was wrapping his wounds. Though he was sure they were still going to be a b***h in the morning. Domani's harsh words caused his eyes to snap open, focusing on the Italian as he spoke. What was this man talking about? Yes, Pascal didn't handle the more important decisions within the mob, but he was not kept out of it. He knew the risks and dangers and blah blah blah. He'd just never given it a good thinking over. Ya know, when you sit at your desk or when your in bed, and you ponder life and why your here and all that junk? Yeah Pascal never does that. Pascal sort of lives day to day, not really worrying about what the future held. That was Roland's job. The closest thing Pascal did to 'future-thinking' was planning the weekly dinners.

                                              Domani continued, going on about his father, and stuff. Wait, what? Did...Did he think that their Father, owed them respect. Pfft. Obviously he doesn't know how Russians work. His father was a highly respected man in Russia, and he had to fight for that sort of respect. He obviously knew what he was doing when he spread the family business over seas and settled here. He must have known about the Italian's before he moved here. Why would he offer money, respect, or even his allegiance, when he knew that he could do so much more, and do it better.

                                              Before Pascal could come up with some snappy retort, he was cut down, having to twist his body so he didn't land on anything vital. Then he as picked up and shoved roughly back into the chair. Pascal grunted in pain and glared at the other, listening as he ran his mouth again. Kind of reminded Pascal of himself, only more threatening and anger filled. Seriously this guy needed to get out more. Meet some nice people. Maybe they'll rub off on him. Make him a less...'crazy-cut-'em-up' kind of guy. Oh wait, he was talking. Pascal shifted his attention back to Domani, as he spoke about Pascal not being a victim, and how he was stupid to go party alone blah blah blah. Sre, Pascal made a stupid move by going out alone, to an unfamiliar bar, without letting his brother know. Yeah, he'll take the blame for that one. But he didn't expect to be AMBUSHED and KIDNAPPED. He also didn't expect the Italians to make such a bold move, and now of all times. it had been at least 7 years since they had moved into this area. Why now were the Ocello's making a move. Such a bold one too, kidnapping the son of the Don. Were they trying to start a war? Also Pascal was a total victim. It wasn't his fault that Ocello's were bad at business, so bad in fact that they had to get rid their competition through petty means. He was just an innocent bystander, wanting to have a little fun. Obviously he was in over his head in 'fun'.

                                              He listened to Domani as he was warned not to do anything rash or foolish. Yeah right. Not here and not now...Maybe later though. When he was less, restrained. He leaned away from the Italian as he was patted on the shoulder. " Oh, and welcome to day one...". Pascal waited until he had exited the room, before making a silly face and mimicking the 'oh so cool' Domani, mouthing the words before glaring towards the door.

                                              Now he was alone. Odd, he thought it would be slightly more comforting. Instead, within minutes, he found himself abnormally alone. As though there were no cameras, mics, or doors listening to his every move. It was a bit unnerving and Pascal wasn't too tired to have another panic attack. But he was tired, and perhaps sleep would distract him from coming to the realization that he might actually DIE in this room. So, the little Russian pulled his knees up close to his body, wincing in pain as the cuts in his chest opened again, and maneuvered his hands under his body so that they weren't behind him. After that small ordeal, ignoring the blood that was for sure coming through the wrappings, he made his way slowly over to the couch. After managing to lower himself onto the surprisingly comfy and cushy- and oh GOD this was nice. SO much better than that stupid chair and it wasn't long before Pascal passed out from exhaustion and 'super-comfy-couchitis'.

                                              Though he had fallen asleep easy, Pascal spent the rest of the night waking up every hour. Sometimes it was due to extreme pain from his chest, other times it was because he was so cold that his shivering had woken him up, and a few times it was because he had nightmares. Some were about his brother, others were about Domani and Niccolo. None of them were good.

                                              _~_~_~_~_~_~_~

                                              It was no surprise that the next morning Pascal was going to be grumpy. When he heard the loud words coming from some loud mouth, his eyes shot open and he let out a moan of aggravation. "Chertovski rano..." he muttered into the back of the couch, snuggling closer to it in attempts to show the other that he was really not in the mood to wake up. Of course, the world was never good to Pascal. Ever. So when he heard more talking and felt a pair of rough hands grapple him up into a sitting position, Pascal groaned and accepted his fate. What was nice was that the guy, who had roughly positioned him in a vertical-like position, had also freed his left hand from the clutches of the nasty cuffs. Awesome. Pascal sleepily rubbed his wrists, before rubbing his eyes as though he was trying to rub the 'sleep' out of them.

                                              Then the man had returned with...what smelled like...FOOD! No way! Another meal? Pascal wasn't sure if these guys were actually crazy or not. Not that he was complaining. Little known fact, Pascal loved breakfast. It was his favorite time and meal of the day. Even more than weekly dinners he prepared. Pascal smiled lightly at the plate of food. Scrambled eggs and bacon. Yum. Pascal began to dig in, reaching for the bacon first when he noticed that it was black. He frowned. How does one burn bacon? Seriously? It was almost impossible.Their chef really needed to learn how to cook. It was no wonder the Italians were always grumpy looking; they've never had a proper breakfast. Pascal opted on not eating the bacon and instead used the fork to scoop small mouthfuls of egg into his face. Luckily he remembered he had manners and used them, like a proper Russian. So there wasn't egg flying everywhere, even though Pascal was sure that would've happened if he was alone.

                                              As he ate he watched the two men talk, recognizing the other one who had not given him food. The Boss, but Pascal couldn't remember if he had said his name or not, nor did he care. He tired to listen in on their conversation, but he didn't really hear much of what was said, except for the cut off sentence from Rough Hands. He caught the look that The Boss had given him, and watched as he shook his head. What? Did he think that he could be alone with Pascal? Whatever. Pascal could fight...kinda. He knew a few moves that he would use to take out guys who had been too grabby at clubs or alley ways. Though this guy looked as though he was confident he could break Pascal in half....but....BUT! Pascal had a fork. Ha ha ha! Who had the upper hand now? Pascal was probably 10 times more dangerous with a fork. Remembering all the times he had chased his co-workers/family members out of the kitchen with such a weapon. Though it wasn't like he was going to actually pull a silly move like that. What if this guy knew how to counter a fork? That would end so badly for the little Russian. So in the end he kept munching on his egg's watching sleepily as The Boss snapped at Rough Hands to leave.

                                              The Boss returned his attention back to Pascal, watching him, before asking him if he was enjoying his stay, sarcasm dripping form every word. Oh. Oh no he didn't. Pascal gave him the best annoyed look, before swallowing his current mouthful of eggs. "Oh yes. I gotta say, I'm honestly surprised. Why I didn't book a kidnapping earlier." He began, setting the plate down next to him on the couch but maintaining eye contact. "I'm certainly enjoyed myself last night with that man you left here, what was his name? Domani!?" He spat out. He tried to keep his cool, he tried to keep up the cocky and sarcastic Pascal when he spoke, but he had lost his temper when his thoughts flashed back the previous night. He took a breath, eyes closing only briefly before he looked back at the other. "I mean, these" he gestured towards his chest. "Memories to last a life time. Good job! I am definitely impressed with the joint your running here." He finished looking away, eyes attempting to overflow, but Pascal refused to let them.

                                              A couple moment later he sighed, recovering from his little out-burst. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. I'm just tired; as you are probably aware." He picked the plate up off the couch, then swinging his legs slowly he laid himself back down on the couch, setting the plate on the floor. "Not that i'm expecting pity or anything. Not sure if I even want it. I mean, if I can't handle it, then I shouldn't be dead or something like that." He paused, his arms were crossed behind him, his hands supporting his head as he turned to look at The Boss. "So, has my brother come begging for me yet? I hope not. I'm hoping he has a bit more sense than that. I mean I would....probably not have as much as he does, but at least I would know how not to go about kind of...situation. Also do you have a name? I don't want to keep referencing you as The Boss, even though I'm sure that's what you are." He finished, giving the other a curious look.


                                              [ location || Kidnappers Room/ Le Dungeon ] xxxxxxx [ company || Carmine ]
                                              [ ooc || Super long post. I think so. ]

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「 with ♛ The Boss Manxxxxx 「 where ♛ My humble abode!
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just thinking some thoughts ya

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                                                ******** fatcats. With their inconsiderate scattering of useless commands like a sprinkler system of bullshit. Hack into the local police servers? That was the majority of Park's entire job. Didn't Roland assume that he had been doing that already? Which he had. Hacking into police servers was elementary. And even so, it was useless. The Police wouldn't have the information they needed. If they did, both mafias would have been run down decades ago. The reason the Shaprio's were so powerful was because they were, for the most part, incognito. Roland knew that. He would have to be a moron to not think the Ocello's were privately run as well. Which Park did think he was -- A moron, that is.

                                                Oh well. That was just Roland. A big, loveable idiot with a desperate need to get laid.

                                                When the two bullets were revealed, Park's eyes widened the tiniest bit. At first, he couldn't possibly see how it could work -- When the Ocellos are injured with a bullet wound, the only logical thing for them to do would be to remove the bullet. But then, a theoretical lightbulb dinged on top of his head. Where would they go to remove the bullet once they were injured? The answer was obvious.

                                                The Ocello headquarters, of course!

                                                And, if not, then it would be one of their other safehouses, which would give away just as much, and might even hold Pascal. The only thing Park would let utter out of his lips the entire time was a quiet and almost menacingly happy, "Yes, sir," Although by the time Park was able to finish the phrase, Roland would be out the door. How rude. He would shrug it off, however, as just a subconscious act of losing a loved one, and sit back on the bed, holding the shells in his hand as he waited for Misha to return.


                                                'cause everything is never as it seems
                                                ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟ ♞ ♝ ♜ ♛ ♚
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                            If there was one person who could help Roland at a time like this - it was the one connect he had to the Ocello Family. With his bodyguard dead, and his best friend out of the picture Roland needed to up his personal security. He needed more guns to hide around his room. He needed more pistols to carry with him. He needed more promise that Pascal wouldn't be killed and left on the side of some road.

                            Roland entered the restaurant nodding towards the hostess. "Reservation for two. The one for the booth." Her face quickly lit up.

                            "Oh hello sir! Yes! Right this way! He's been waiting for you the past few minutes." She said rushing through the restaurant, bringing him to the closed off area. He moved inside and took a seat across from the man already seated.

                            "Hello, sorry I'm late. Someone was holding me up." He said as he picked up the menu. "How have you been, Beau?"

                            "Early - late - not late - super late, it doesn't matter. So long as you're here and we're down to business. Although, I almost got too impatient," Beau responded with a raised brow; then continued, "You talk like you haven't got the slightest idea. Of course... I'm still alive ain't I? Though I've been feeling I'm being tailed for the past few days, or it's just the nerves catching up on me. It's not really a bother." Small talk, it was. But then again, who wouldn't want one? The gangs have been at each other's throats, and Beau was only doing them both a favor, right now cutting some slack and forming ties.

                            "Paranoia finally catching up with you?" Roland asked. He knew paranoia was enough to break people down over the years. He'd watched it happen in the past.

                            Beau rested his elbows on the table with hands clasped under his chin, and leaned forward. "I have new rifles and Swiss knives. Just sold a crate full o' magnum pistols to the police, too, so orders for them are postponed until next week. Also, I hear the boss got your brother. I haven't really looked into that. Nobody tells me any s**t!" he spoke in a hushed voice.

                            "Yes. Well you should be thanking whatever God you pray to that I'm not trying to bash your head in over this. I can't put into words how outraged I am." Roland said, calmly. "Which is actually half the reason I called this meeting as of now." Roland reached into his pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper that read: I'M COMING FOR YOU. "Your going to find a reason to see my brother. I want to know what damage is done and what he's dealing with. That's the first thing on my plate. Show him that paper, burn it after he sees it. He'll know it's my handwriting." It's not like Roland could try to give his brother any other message but that. He couldn't send this man with a knew skull cap or some type of warm meal. The only thing Roland could do was try to flash his brother a sign of hope.

                            "Wow. Harsh words, coming from a -" he was cut off and simply nodded thereafter.

                            "Anyways, onto the business you're probably more interested in." Roland didn't think this random Ocello would want to listen to him sit around bitching about how he missed his brother. Roland's eyes dropped down to the menu a moment. Was he honestly about to say what his mind was telling him to say? I've just lost a rather close bodyguard." And his best friend. "I need to up personal protection on my part. I'm going to need two large guns. Three pistols. I wanted to know if you had anything like the Smith Wesson MP Compact. I want to get my hands on something small that's easy to hide."

                            Beau pressed his lips together and thought before his reply: "As I've said, there won't be any pistols until next week. The factory has been in a tight spot since the speculations came up, thanks to my efforts and the boss being.. well, the boss. Most of the staff were replaced in the process. Getting you them might take a while, but I'll see to it that it's worth your wait. On the other hand, I have a pair of Galil ACEs lying around, ready to be delivered later in the afternoon."

                            "Perfect." Roland said with the nod of his head. At least he'd be getting something. Until he got some smaller guns to hide on him he'd just have to keep laying low... Which was difficult to do, with his brother in the hands of the Ocello's.

                            "By the way, does your brother smoke?" Roland didn't answer for a number of moments. His lips tightened and he lightly lifted one eyebrow in the air.

                            "Why? You planning to bring him out for a smoke?" He asked. Roland hated the idea of Pascal smoking and drinking. He was under stress though. Pascal at least deserved a smoke if he could get it. "Although yes. I suppose he will if he gets the chance..." Another pause. "If you can get a picture of him, take it. I want to know what shape he's in and what I'm dealing with." He glanced to the side. "I hope you have trust in your boss. If he's not careful I'm not going to hesitate to start a whole turf war with the b*****d. Plenty of deaths will be caused that could've easily been avoided."

                            "Nah... Maybe? Was just asking is all," he said with a sly grin. But his expression changed at the next demand. He narrowed his eyes and scratched at his temple with a slight shaking of the head - a habit he had whenever he was about to disagree: "You see, kid. I can't lose my head just yet. Ya think Ocello's dumb, huh? Pshh... Take a pictu-what? No. Just no... They pat us down before we can enter the mansion. And the chamber where they keep your brother probably has hidden cameras. You know that, 'cause you probably do that too." While the words came out, his hand was chopping through the air for emphasis. Before calming down to continue, he retracted back to his seat and caught up with his breath.

                            "And I doubt he's gonna kill your brother this soon... Pascal, was it? Boss thinks he's leverage," he said in a matter-of-fact tone and quite proudly. "I'm risking my position just by seeing you here today. What do I get if I give you the picture and show him the message without getting caught?" The latter was an easier task. Beau already has something planned for that. The Italian put a mental note about buying the kid a pack of cigarettes.

                            Roland was silent as Beau went on. Just staring at the table. It took the blond a few more moments to gather himself. With Beau getting all worked up Roland wanted to get all worked up too. Having to stay calm throughout it all was difficult. "What do you get?" Roland asked. "Are you kidding me? Now you're trying to pull this leverage s**t over my head?" Even after trying to calm himself down, apparently it didn't work. "If I didn't value this partnership, I'd have your a** become a hit target from the whole Ocello family. They won't want you alive if I allow them to know what you've been doing. You'll be on the run for the rest of your life." Roland reminded Beau.

                            Two brows raised at Roland's retort. A wrinkle formed at Beau's forehead and he was grinning. "Aha! You're one to talk... And what will become of your men if they knew you're having breakfast with one of the Italians? Mutiny... Now how do those damned French say it-Oh right: 'touché.' Besides, what do I have to lose if I die? Nothing," he bluffed, shrugging with a smug grin plastered on his face.

                            "I will repeat myself. If you have the opportunity I want any information I can get about my brother. Pictures. Messages. Anything. Be my eyes. Make sure he's fed. Offer to watch him. You help me, I'll help you."

                            "Yes. Our relationship is clear." This time, Beau was the one to cut the sentence. "We've got guns discreetly pointed at each other below the table, I keep that in mind." Slowly, he rose first in his seat, showing utmost disrespect to the opposing gang leader, when in all honesty, he wanted to avoid any argument. "It's a pleasure doing business. Consider it done... halfway," he added, tipping his fedora hat before disappearing into the din of restaurant noises.

                            Roland's sullen face watched as Beau wrapped up their meeting, then rose to his feet. "Of course." He said waving his hand to the side. What was he supposed to do? Ask the other male to keep him company and start talking about non-business affairs. No. You didn't do that. Beau left and the waitress moved over.

                            "I'm sorry... You didn't order yet. Did he just leave."

                            Yes... Just get me... A lot. One of everything on the menu." Roland said as he tapped his fingers on the table. "No. Forget it." He stood up and pulled out a 5o dollar bill, giving the waitress a large tip as he made his way towards the door. He opened his car door and roughly slammed down in his car's seat. The skullcap was ripped from his head and thrown to the passenger seat. [******** Pascal... ********]
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                                                      MOOD Chillxxxxx LOCATION Café Raaz – The Mansionxxxxx COMPANY Self - The Ocellos
                                                      OOC I took the liberty to move things a little. It’s after breakfast now.


                                                        xxxAfter the scene at Café Raaz came to a close, Beau made quick work of his job. The two rifles Roland had ordered were on their way, and the blueprints for the pistols were already being prepared at the warehouse. So he was left for one more task.
                                                        xxxIt took him an hour snaking his way through the Albion traffic on his chrome motorcycle to the Ocellos’ warehouse at the docks, and another to reach the mansion. While he arranged for the previous delivery, he had carefully repacked a cigarette stick with Roland’s message on it. With the help of a little bit of chemistry, the handwriting would seem invisible, not unless you subject the paper into blue-light or intense heat. So Pascal had to smoke this time – just not for leisurely reasons. Whoever thought that cigarette smoking could be means to shedding light and hope for the youth?

                                                        xxxBeau parked his Harley-Davidson at the side. He said hi to the guards, they greeted back; he kissed their asses, they let him in – those were the ropes.
                                                        xxxDownstairs wasn’t what he had expected. He’d never really seen the place in person, and only saw the recordings from the cameras, but he knew where it was. Oh, he knew what they did there. Actually, he feared it – that someday instead of the Ocellos’ captives, he’d be the one bound, blindfolded, and beaten ten feet below the ground.
                                                        xxxIt was quite ironic though. For the first time, he had managed his guts to willingly enter the dragon dungeon. With a smile, he greeted their boss. He offered him a slight gesture by tilting his head and shrugging, as if to say “Yeah, I’m being cute, and I’m here.”

                                                        xxx“Carmine, you look rather fetching today,” his first words came, mocking an old English accent. “Isn’t it a little too early visiting pets? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind giving a little tender loving care for the puppy.” For that, he gave the sweetest smile he could offer before peeking behind Carmine to take a look at Pascal. It dropped jaws, oh yes. Perhaps calling the kid a puppy was a mistake. This here, what Beau saw a mangled mess, was a pitbull!

                                                      Englishxxxxx Italian
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Tipsy Kitten

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░░▌┋ THE OCELLO BOSS
TRY NOT TO MISTAKE WHAT YOU HAVE WITH WHAT YOU HATE
xxxxIT COULD LEAVE, IT COULD LEAVE, COME THE MORNING


xxxxxxxxxxxxxarmine x.x cello
______________________________________________________

                                                              █ ██ ███ ██████████████████████████████
                                                              xxxxAND IF THE SUN SHOULD LIFT ME UP
                                                              xxxxWOULD YOU COME BACK? C'MON!






                                                              Apparently his mistreatment hadn’t been so bad- Pascal was still capable of eating and mouthing off. He wasn’t too happy, but he was quite well off considering. “I’d like to think we run a five star establishment. Count yourself lucky, we had to brick off the fireplace over there because Domani wouldn’t stop branding people or just lighting them on fire...” Effective pain method, but god, the smell had been terrible. “And you still have your tongue, which might be first to go in the next few days.

                                                              Surprisingly, where most people would have just shut up, Pascal simply went on to apologize for getting angry. Apologizing to a kidnapper for having a bad attitude, well, that was a new one. Carmine wasn’t sure if it was amusing or pitiful. The young Shaprio was acting as though he was a belligerent student in afterschool detention than anything else, and was asking questions as if he thought he had any chance at having them answered. Did he really think Carmine would just tell him how negotiations were going? No, it was better to just ignore the question and let Pascal ponder without answer, hoping Roland had sense. Which from what Carmine had witnessed, he didn’t.

                                                              Carmine Ocello.” It was no longer a surprise that neither of the Shaprio brothers had any idea who their enemy was. A bit of a disappoint, but not a surprise. “Domani is my little brother.” Not that Carmine was opposed to being called ‘the boss’ but he really did just prefer his name. Though if Pascal took calling him Mister Ocello or something similar, he’d probably smack him. “Surprising that neither of the Shaprio sons know anything about the other local mafia. Perhaps you’re both a bit sheltered. Roland doesn’t even know what we look like, imagine my surprise when he was all too happy to buy his brother’s kidnappers a round of vodka.

                                                              The guard returned as he spoke, and as Carmine gestured, knelt down to change the blood stained bandages on Pascal’s injuries. The Ocello boss merely observed as the cuts were cleaned so they could be freshly bandaged. He’d probably move Pascal rooms later that evening, if just to discourage Domani from any more playing until it was really necessary. Besides, you never knew when you’d have a traitor to look in their makeshift dungeon instead, so they might as well keep the room open.

                                                              He’d have to contact the Shaprio family after this, and then wake Luciano and drag him down to the warehouses until they got a response from Roland. Of course, there was the matter of getting ahold of Roland- pity, Carmine should have just asked for his cellphone number the night before. Oh, the shock that would have been. He’d just have to send someone disposable with the ransom message, someone who the Shaprio family couldn’t use as leverage because they were simply replaceable. Unfortunately, no one who fit that description was coming to mind--

                                                              His head twitched as the the door behind him opened, and Carmine turned, expecting a servant or maybe Domani and finding neither. And what the hell are you doing here? curled on the tip of his tongue, as he examined the stranger, trying to place a name to the face. The blond wasn’t the sort to forget anyone after he met them, even once, and if his memory served correctly, this was.....Beau. One of the many underlings, an attractive if unimportant man in Carmine’s memory, the sort whose presence somewhat rubbed him the wrong way. Sort of like that loud mouth Russian from the night before.

                                                              One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, arms folding across his chest as he heard Beau call him fetching. Really now. Did he have a point to being here or....? “So now we’ve adopted a puppy.” More dry sarcasm, he probably had a never ending supply of it. “And we pay you to do what, exactly...? Play with the puppy? Is there some reason you’re intruding or did you just stop by to say hello?

                                                              Then, after a few moments, an idea clicked on in his mind. A replaceable underling. “Actually, you came at the perfect time. I need you to take the ransom message to Roland Shaprio, or rather, I just need you to tell him where to meet us and what will happen if he doesn’t show, hai capito?” The smile on his face was chilly, showing his annoyance at being interrupted, and the equally icy tone of his voice made it clear that Beau didn’t have a choice in the matter. “You have a phone? You can just call me with his answer, and then escort the Russians to the specified location. Hopefully his mood isn’t so sour he doesn’t just choose to shoot the messenger.

                                                              He glanced back to Pascal, as the guard began to apply fresh bandages to his cuts, working quickly and efficiently, before handing the Shaprio boy the shirt he'd found and standing again, waiting to be told what else he should be told. "Recuff him when he's dressed." The guard nodded at Carmine's words.



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                      Luciano made a noise that sounded like a cross between a snort and a sneeze. His eyes were shut and he was sprawled over his bed wearing exactly what he had been wearing the day before. He hadn’t even bothered putting the two guns he carried away before collapsing in slumber. Now is was regretting it. His side and lower back were sore from the relentless jabbing throughout the night. It was going to be a long, painful day. He just hoped that it would be an uneventful day. If he had to do anything remotely laborious he would not be amused.

                      He forced his eyes opened and languidly rolled out of bed. He managed to approach the table that he kept his firearms and tools on without crashing into it and placed the two guns he had on it. Then he stepped into the bathroom to wash up. He stepped out of the washroom wearing an expression that someone would make when they had just discovered that their lover was cheating on them. And he had every right to. Since he had just discovered a quarter sized ketchup stain on his favorite Hugo Boss shirt with French cuffs. He was so close to swearing off hamburgers and vodka. With a sigh he tossed the ruined shirt onto the bed. Yeah. The day wasn’t going all that well. It was a good thing Luciano hadn’t noticed the horrendous scuff on his shoe.

                      While murmuring to himself rapidly in Italian about all things horrible and terrible, from the color ecru to macaroni and cheese, he pulled on a pair of black pants, a charcoal colored dress shirt, and a black sport jacket. He then wiped the two guns on the table down with a polishing cloth and put them in their respectable places. One in his jacket and one tucked into the back of the waistband of his pants. His shirt might’ve been ruined, but he was glad that there wasn’t anything wrong with his babies—er, his guns. If he found anything as small as a scratch, he would’ve ran out of his room sobbing like a madman. Not caring that his just washed curly wavy hair started drying, frizzying up, and sticking all over the place, he decided to go out and attempt to seize the day...not really.

                      It was one of those days where Luciano just wanted to sit and just take apart and clean his assortment of firearms, but as a bodyguard he had stuff to get done. Stuff. Some sort of stuff. Anything really to keep his mind of how miserable and terrible the day was going to be.

                      He walked aimlessly throughout the manor and stopped when he came across another guard. Luciano stared at him for a long seconds before uttering, “Um.” The guard looked at him blankly before telling Luciano that Carmine was in the prisoner’s room. Luciano nodded and walked away. He knew where the prisoner’s room was right? Of course! He was just there yesterday. Or maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he would end up walking all over the manor a thousand times and then end up falling into a crack in space, meet Moby d**k and...—he could really go for a cup of black Italian roast. That sounded nice. A giant cup of dark roasted, bready, black coffee. No milk, no sugar. French press.

                      As he made his way down stairs repeating the word ‘caffe’ in his mind until it stopped making sense, and even then continued saying it to himself. He reached the door, opened it, and opened his mouth to ask if Carmine needed anything. But he quickly closed it when he saw that there was another person in the room...besides Pascal, that is. The other person was Beau. The slimy rat who was going around the backs of the Ocellos to sell firearms to the Russians. Definitely not the sort of person Luciano was expecting to see in the room. Didn’t he have a schedule that involved sucking Russian c**k from dusk till dawn?

                      Though Luciano was now further agitated than before, he managed to maintain a placid expression. Actually, he was so fatigued that if he did, he was pretty sure that would probably end up looking demented. And plus, he already looked bad enough. His hair was unkempt and his under eye circles were looking extremely dark. “Do you have any work for me to do, Carmine?” ******** English and ******** the formalities. He would get back to them once he chugged down a cup of coffee or ten.

                          - Italian
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                                              Like one would expect from a filthy rich, slightly Americanized boy, Dom's bathroom was huge and unnecessarily expensive. The one surprising aspect was that it wasn't as modern as it could have been. He walked into room and almost instantly felt relaxed. It was a side effect of the nature like theme. Created by the dark brown marble tile on the walls and the white yule marble making up the floor of the bathroom and coming up halfway inside the shower before connecting with the other marble in a piano key like design. Domani twisted the chrome knobs controlling the hot and cold temperatures of the water. Adjusting each until the water pouring out had just the right amount of steam rising from it. He yanked off the clothing of the day and quickly pulled open the glass door that was separating him from his much deserved shower. Once he made his way inside he closed the door and if on command the five well placed shower heads kicked in and blasted Domani from every angle that mattered. He rubbed his face cloth with soap and let it explore every inch of his body. While he scrubbed the dirt and sweat of the day away, the annoyance and drama of the day washed away as well.

                                              After a few minutes he was clean but refused to turn off his shower. Normally Domani would spend this time of total bliss planing out his next set of moves but everything was already falling into place. There was no real issue for him to focus on other than the way his closest friend acted. While he could understand it he still didn't like what transpired; but he knew one thing, from now on he'd have to take baby steps with Niccolo. Anything too sudden would only heighten his fear and cause Dom to be doing the total opposite of what he intended. Which would mean he'd be wasting his time. A concept that he never really enjoyed. The jet of water gently crashing against the top of his head reminded him to actually wash it to get the smells of torture out of it. He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and emptied some of it's contents into his hair. When he felt he had enough he put the bottle back where he got it and lathered up his hair. Domani put his hair into a makeshift mohawk and laughed at bit at his reflection in the glass. The laugh was definitely well needed, and before long Dom stood back in the middle of the shower and let the shampoo get rinsed out of his hair.

                                              With that he opened the glass door once more, cutting off the shower, and exited the steamy environment. Just now realizing that he forgot to grab any clothing, Domani used his towel to dry off and then wrapped it tightly around his waist. Bracing himself for the temperature difference that his room was going to provide, Domani walked back into his bedroom and headed straight for his dresser. He slid on a pair of boxers before snatching off his towel and drying his hair the rest of the way. He glanced over at his bed and noticed Nic's sleeping body for the first time. Luckily he had gotten comfortable far enough from the center of the bed that Dom would still be able to sleep in the middle, but close enough that he wouldn't fall off. Domani crawled into his bed and pulled the warm blankets over his exposed skin. As soon as his head made contact with the oh so soft pillows, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

                                              He growled and slowly opened one eye as he felt something in his bed moving. The feeling that something was vibrating woke Domani up and he could feel his anger level increasing. There are two things you don't do to Domani...take his guns or wake him up. His second eye opened as he watched Niccolo shake and constantly reposition himself. The look on his sleeping face just screamed nightmare but his nightmare would become very real if Dom couldn't get back to sleep. He sighed and closed his eyes again, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the movements. As soon as he felt the comfortable hand and sleep bring him back under, Dom felt Niccolo jolt up and let out a small whimper. Domani sat up a bit and wrapped his arm around Nic's waist, yanking them both back into a laying position. Niccolo's freezing body almost caused Domani to pull his hand away but he fought the urge. Actually he couldn't tell if NIc was cold or not. He happened to be a natural heater and his body temperature always went up when he was sleeping. Domani curved his body, bringing his knees up slightly, and pulled Niccolo's body in until it was pressed against his own. “Now get some sleep." Domani's voice was heavy with exhaustion and before long he felt Nic's heavy breathing die down to a gentle inhale exhale; informing him that he could return to sleep. Not needing a second invitation, Domani closed his eyes again and passed out.

                                              He awoke to the sound of one of the house keepers gently knocking at his door. Once they received no answer the knocking stopped and Dom opened his eyes. Once his eyes came into focus he noticed that was no longer looking into the messy brown hair from before but at the side of Niccolo's face. Somehow during the night the two repositioned themselves and Dom's right arm was still wrapped around Nic's waist but his left arm had taken the place of Niccolo's pillow and his face was snuggled into Domani's shoulder. Domani smiled and gently nudged Niccolo with his right hand in an attempt to wake him up.

                                              Out Of Control:

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