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afaulkncrโ:
ย ย ย ย ever since the man caved in and participated in the schoolโs valentineโs questionnaire, he always wondered who he would get paired up with. someone soft like safiya, or would it be rhys and their โdateโ would involve a joint and lack of clothing? never did he expect to be going on such a thing called a date let alone one set up particularly by rye university. it was cool outside, almost to the point you couldnโt see the sun over the creeping dusk that ran over the sights of the sky. all he knew about this night was that all he had to do was look pretty and show up, given that his date was picking him up - what a romantic gesture, he teased himself in his head while stepping into his freshly shined ferragamo shoes that he wore so well. it wasnโt until he heard that alarm go off, the alarm in the sound of a knock on his front door, that he went downstairs to open up the door. an instant smirk landed on his lips, looking the man from the ground up to his eyes. โlorenzo aleotti. what a pleasure.โ
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He curled into the side of the doorframe like a question mark, a greeting substituted for the wordless extension of the rose. โItโs just Enzo,โ he corrected with an expression to mirror Averyโs own, that self-assured smugness echoed so familiarly by the upper echelon that attended their shared school. He wore it well, the man who stood before himโ though the way the light glinted harshly off the patent leather of his shoes made him swallow back a feral grinโ donโt get all dolled up on my accord. โYou look nice,โ he said, his voice tinged with the ever present cool indifference, and he reached out to tug on Averyโs collar to punctuate the sentiment. They werenโt a perfectly matched pair aesthetically, he noted with disappointment (science letting him down, once again), but ever the gentleman, over the eveningโs progression heโd be interested to see if any commonalities did arise. โIโve made reservations,โ Enzo added, already beginning the descent down the steps to his parked car, โItโs not Nobu, but itโs the best the humble town of Rye can offer.โ
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grace-sbโ:
Grace is not a woman easily impressed, sheโs had men swooning at her feet since she was barely a teenager, a beautiful girl thatโs come to expect attention from the people she desires it from. His reaction only falls in line with that, a pleasing stroke to her ego that tells her the same thing sheโs always known, yet always craves to have acknowledged โ that sheโs magnificent, that sheโs worth it. And yet even so the close proximity, the briefest touch of his mouth against her ear, sends a tingling of excitement down her spine, one she has to suppress from reaching her face. โGrace,โ she says, the single word curving around her smile. Ordinarily itโd annoy her, to have to introduce herself to someone, an indignant feeling settled in Graceโs chest that she should be known. Maybe itโs the cadence of his tone, the feeling that burns through her, as if sheโs the by far the most bewitching person at Birdieโs, the only one worth his attention that soothes her otherwise. โGrace Saeli-Bancroft. And yours?โ She takes a sip of the drink he offers, giving him a coy look behind the glass.ย โA man of good taste,โ she hums lightly in her approval, before setting it back down.
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He considered pulling her close to reply, to press a word to the expanse of her fine boned neck, alongside a tendon that jutted when she spoke her name. Graceโ a pretty, delicate name. Suited for someone else, he imagined, a diminutive girl with a head bowed and a gaze that rarely met another. No, she outshined her own name, all pale flame and soot black, a proud chin and clever, bright eyes. He swallowed down more of his drink rather than tell her she was beautifulโ the way she carried herself told him enough, which was that she knew. โItโs Enzo,โ he replied, lacking the rhythmic addition of the entirety of his name, in the fashion that she supplied. He said it like the rest was implied, as if what little notoriety he had developed in the shadow would have managed to eclipse into her life, enough so that two sallow syllables would be enough to illicit some kind of recognition. โIโve never been accused of anything less, Grace.โ He tested her name on his tongue, the weight and feel of it. โWhatโs a girl like you doing in a mess like this?โ Enzo asked, motioning towards the crowd, struck suddenly by the disorder of the rest of the dancers, the lack of charm and feral beauty that his current companion gave off like light.
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astoriamelborneโ:
she is a dangerous thing, bred from wicked beginnings and born from terrible acts. she is a shell, a husk that is carrying around darkness where her soul should be. he makes a comment about her being a lost thing, it was obvious in his dark eyes that heโs trying to inflict cruelty. a careless & casual way of spreading harm, she is aware she means nothing to him and for that she wants to burn him alive. there is power in being feral, strange & lost.ย she lives without consequence and her dark entity is just desperate to feel anything, even if itโs rejection. it means she wanted, it means that something pierced through her numb way of being. on one hand, the way he controls the masses and spreads evil through the drugs heโs brought to rye is very attractive to her, power and desire are interchangeable. on the other hand, she wishes to see his empire topple, for him to be nothing but left in ruins and ashes, to be made into nothing and she wants him to know that she is capable of leaving him in that state. she inhales on her smoke, watches the ember burn and waits for it to fill her lungs.ย โWhy have you found your way here then? Did you spot a sign somewhere that said devils are being summoned to the conservatory?โ her tone is ice but eyes have alit as if they are wildfire and she will burn them both down before he can be free of her. a chuckle without mirth falls from her red lips.ย โcareful enzo, it sounds almost as if youโre capable of caring.โ she flicks the ash off from her cigarette and wraps an arm around her torso, the elements donโt scare her and all it would take was a match to set a path of destruction.
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He watches her, painted in light and dark, eyes like old embers burned down to black coal. Enzo smiled, but barely so, the slight curve of his lips in amusement at the mention that he was something akin to the devilโ his Catholic grandmotherโs fingers, thick with arthritis at the knuckles, muttering prayers for him for each bead on her rosary came to mind. He wasnโt something good, he knew that, but evil? A devil? Maybe it was the candles lit in his name, burning low and casting long shadows in a country-side church in Italy that saved his soul, for he knew he was making no moves himself to preserve it. Finally, he gave in to recognition. โI didnโt think youโd believe Iโm the kind of devil that can just be summoned.โ He hadnโt been kind to her, he can hear the pang of that lost thing in her voice. He wasnโt kind to many, but heโd strung her along long enough, knowing that eventually it would all come together or inevitably fall apart. Enzoโs hands sought the warmth of his deep pockets, and he shoved them inside, a brow raised at another accusation. โItโd be a shame for Rye to lose such a beautiful bit of architecture like this.โ Itโs spoken sarcastically, the beauty in the place is different now than what it once mightโve been, lovely in the way Astoria was, fragile in places, but wild. โShall I leave you to it, then?โ He asked casually, shifting back to leave, his footsteps soundless in the dry leaves, โIf the place burns, Iโll be sure to tell everyone that the witchโs bones they find inside belong to you.โ
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โyour hunger hurts you awake. The sin is not the wanting, itโs the wanting more.โ
โ Traci Brimhall, from โChthonic Lullabyโ, Come the Slumberless to the Land of Nod
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ramiropalaciosโ:
He prided himself in being someone calmโ he was a still lake on a clear day, something that could be trapped in a bottle without a single walked upon the surface. Patience and understanding was deep rooted in Ramiroโs veins, but as he worked, brows drawn in to a furrow in the center of his forehead and his jaw tightening: it felt more like a rot, a cavity that he hadnโt dealt with, something now that had turned to an infection of the blood. Patience and understanding was as much of a strength as it was a weakness, it could make someone foolish: he hated to feel stupid. It had taken most of the day to decide what to do, though it became clear as his fingers finally closed around the cool metal of the door knob that he still wasnโt sure what it was he wished to say. Anger was a fire, it blotted everything out, one could only focus on its heat. The comment felt like another needle as he looked down at Enzo, he was so unbothered, as if nothing had gone wrong, as if he was someone who had no need for guilt, nor sins or crimes under his sleeve. If anything, it made him more irate. โYou didnโt tell me.โ His voice didnโt raise, it was gravelled and heavy: a ten tonne burden dropped in front of the other man. โTheyโre my brothers, and you didnโt say a fucking thing.โ
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There, an indiscernible twitch of his upper lip, the only tell that dared betray him. He didnโt lieโ Enzo rarely did, under the strict rule that omission was not a sin. โGiven this tense response, I doubt anyone would blame me.โ It was a flippant comment, and unworthy of Ramiro, who heโd come to know as someone so unlike himself, a soul of a certain purity that he could never aspire to. He shifted in his seat, leaning back against the creaking backrest, meeting his friendโs eyes. He was like a father to his brothers, that much he knew, and the inflection in his words echoed disappointment, a pit stop on the way to something more familiar, a slow burn before rage. The twins had worked for him over the summer, an arrangement made not at his hand but once heโd learned of the truth he hadnโt stopped itโ they were good at what they did, two stubborn streaks that talked fast and moved quickly. Itโd been profitable for everyone, and in the end, no one got hurt. โDonโt play the beguiled maiden Ramiro, it doesnโt suit you. Did you think those two were out bagging groceries or delivering lunches? There was nothing to tell that you didnโt already know.โ
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ottobuchโ:
He wondered briefly, what Enzo thought of him. They were alikeโ in many ways, but where Enzo had turned cruel and sharp, Otto had instead stayed keen and lithe: one was a blade, the other something venomous, a snake. Both had their ways about death, a slit throat had a sort of brutality that the elegance of poison didnโt compare to. They were alike, yes, but it was in this way that they were different. โYou misunderstand my market,โ he tutted, glancing out at the crowd that had gathered. There were a select few who would readily consume pills, fewer that would be appreciative of his inability to explain exactly what it was he was peddling. Sweetened words and the promise of a warm evening, of swallowing down the feeling of love: at Rye, that was almost a greater pursuit than being high. โYou know, there was a time where everyone wanted to have a star named after them, but this?โ His smile hitched up crookedly, โGetting a drug named after you? Thatโs real romance. Are we flirting, Enzo?โ He glanced over at the mess in the ring, the viscera and the stupid freshmen who pummelled at each other until they were nothing more than pulp. There was only entertainment to be found when it was Rhys in the ring, and even then, it was scarce. โYou know the answer to that,โ he volleyed back. They both disliked getting their hands dirty, having blood stain their wrists as their knuckles were coated in blood. โYour gladiator ring doesnโt need me in it,โ Otto said, squinting at the next bulky student who started to step up, โNot when you have such a starring line up of meat heads.โ
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โIf I was flirting with you, you wouldnโt have to ask,โ he tossed back easily, attention following Ottoโs to the pit. Enzoโs upper lip crawled as the fighters crawled out of it, panting and spitting, glistening under the harsh light like something half-chewed. His tone was easy when he spoke with the other man, it had to be, when he had a tendency to spook at the first sign of things being difficult, but the hard line of his shoulders, the stiff angle at which he held them revealed more truth in the dark, hollow belly of the sinnerโs den than his mouth did. โEvery once in a while, you have to throw something soft into the centre,โ he replied, watching the next two fighters squaring off, looking too clean for the brutality about to take place. They were young, and both believed themselves to be winners, you could see it in stubborn tilt of their square chins. โAn easy fight. A massacre.โ A bellโs tone sounded, and the fight began. They didnโt bother with strategy or circling like jungle cats, but collided like wet bags of heavy sand. โSometimes itโs not about a crowning a winner, but how much the stones can soak up blood. They want to see it, how bad things can get.โ He turned his gaze to Otto then, the dark of his eyes boring deep into golden onesโ something horrible beneath the stilled surface before his mouth split into a smile. Enzo motioned at the plastic bag tucked into Ottoโs palm. โGo on Buch, work needs doing. Youโre right, youโre of more use out here."
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xxcalistaโ:
she looks for it in his gazeโ that recognition, a change in his demeanor as eyes set of her brown eyes and pretty smile. sheโs used to it, the attentionโฆ come days living for it, reaching for it, holding on for dear life: minha princesa, the voice of her father rings. โis he playing cool orโฆ?โ a sigh might as well have escaped her lips, though she masks her exasperation well. a lady should never ever ever let the world get a glimpse of the work behind the scenes, the mental battles and boards of black and white. instead, calista tucks a strand of shiny brown hair behind a jeweled ear, โthatโs a shame, I couldโve made it up to youโ. again, that search in his gaze.
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She was accustomed to easy adoration, like all these spoiled, beautiful things. He could feel her disappointment when she found him empty of it, hollowed out like the shell of an oyster, shucked of both meat and pearl. Enzoโs expression reveals nothing save for a slight tightening, the curtains drawing closer over his true thoughts and feelings. โIโm certain youโll find a way to survive,โ he delivered cordially, a chill dipping into the syllables as he gave a passing student a nod of recognition, a courtesy that wasnโt afforded to Calista. โIs there anything else I could assist you with, or?โ He asked it impatiently, already angled as if to make a swift exit.
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rhysrhcdesโ:
Beneath ground, in a place of split flesh and horror, Rhys Rhodes is divine terror: his mouth is split to the sneer of a hell hound, ivory canines bared and marred by the slick of sanguine that curves down his chin, and with each blow he is near salivation - oh, how marrow sings at the psalm of sufferance. He looks something nightmarish as he steps from the ring, sweat a beaded gleam to copper flesh and coiled sinew within the warmth of low light, droplets of blood trailing in his wake - he is not a wounded animal, but the beast that tore out its throat.ย
Pupils dilated to the obsidian of lechery sweep the broad length of Lorenzo Aleotti on approach, an eclipsed vision that would lead seraphim to sacrilege, lambs to slaughter. Rhys returns to the ring routinely for the desolation that unravels - how digits carve control from bone to be birthed anew, something vicious, something with teeth. That, and for him: the godling from the blaze of hell, a vision that elicits heat to stir beneath a naval, that multiplies the delirium of bloodshed that coaxes Rhys dizzy. Itโs palpable: the recoil, the disgust. Ichor sings at the taste, something acrid in the back of his throat; a fist would slip beneath a waistband that night, surely. โAnd what would you be without your dogs?โ the carve of a chest heaves with each breath, a lean and theyโd touch, โnothing,โ he parrots, a grin peeling back a full mouth, blood wedged between teeth; a split lip had already begun to swell. โJoin me in the pit, Lorenzo,โ a chin tilts, and his syllables are barbed honey: โIโll be gentle.โ ย ย ย ย
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In the pit, a boy cried. He was still a boy, though his fist had grown thick and heavy as he grew into a manโs body, but his cries were a pitiful, truthful thing. A childโs mewling, all vibrato, that only quieted as he was dragged out of sight, a limb cradled close to his body. It was broken, Enzo was certain, a bone break is a sound you donโt forgetโ a wet sort of crack that sends a ripple down the spine, signalling the instant the violence is over. Rhys Rhodes evaded his control, and he knew the crowd worshipped him in the same way that they loved superhero movies and the impossible power of villains. Thereโs something alluring about all that darkness, all that bad, brutal power. They pressed into it, digging fingers into the darkness of a bone bruise and coming out broken, twisted birds at the end of it. This was dangerous, letting a gladiator sun in this much glory.ย
Join me in the pit, Lorenzo. Heโd even considered it for a half-beat, indulging in the ugliness he hated to feel the heat of the low lights on his bare skin as he faced Rhys in the ring in the belly of the earth. It wouldnโt be so uneven of a match, his body was carved lean but not hungry, a little bulkier than the frame of the taut wolf who paced a breaths width from him. It could be so simple, just strength against strength, a dance so ancient and primal it was natural as breathing. He could fight, heโd won them before, the skin on his knuckles had torn and bled just like the rest of them. It wasnโt easy to build what he had, to gain the respect of the men who watched now, waiting for a reply. No, there would be no fight. Not the kind that Rhys was good at, nothing so familiar. For now, there was a challenge that required answering.ย
โIโm grateful to my dogs,โ he replied, his voice carrying loudly, stepping forward, dragging his gaze from the cold blue of Rhysโ eyes, his arms opening and extending out to the crowd. โDonโt I treat you well?โ Enzo asked, eyeing a few of the more loyal members, old alliances, forged in something that now felt ancient. His smile split the seriousness of his features, a wicked sort of grin, all showmanship, the expression of the ringmaster before the crack of his whip. โThis world is hard, and I keep you all fed.โ The crowd rippled with laughter, unsure as it was, as if they werenโt sure if the joke was for them or about them.ย
He turned back to where Rhys stood, his eyes so dark there is no end to them, no light, tracing the track of sweat mixed with blood that ran down a split at his temple. His words were said quietly, privately, as the space between them once again narrowed, and he could feel the fighterโs hot breath on his skin, the traces of old blood drying on the fabric of his pants. One could almost mistake the exchange for something intimate, if it werenโt for the cruel tilt of Enzoโs head, the injection of venom into his low voice. โIn another life, we would fight in that pit. In that life and every life, you do not leave it.โ The blood stained teeth, that horrible, cursed smile. His nostrils flare with an anger so carefully contained, a storm that brews beneath the surface of his skin. There are words for what Rhy is, barbaric, brutalโ everything untidy and uncivilized that Enzo recognized in himself and despised.
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grace-sbโ:
location: daddyโs
who: @lorenzo-aleottiโ
Grace loves Daddyโs. The atmosphere is what she craves when seeking a night out on the town, and more importantly, great for updating her Instagram story. She records a small video of herself in the changing lights, just enough for a taste of her nightly activities, before uploading it and putting her phone back into her purse. The dancefloor is where Grace gravitates, vibing to the rhythm as her hips sway and she fervently ignores anyoneโs attempts to catch her attention. Itโs only when she pauses in momentary reprieve to seek a drink at the bar that she finds someone interesting โ and pretty โ enough to catch her attention. She slides into the bar stool with a poise that lives up to her name, hands gently clearing dark hair out of her face by tossing it casually over her shoulder. โAre you going to buy me a drink?โ
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If heโs surprised at the sudden companionship, Enzoโs expression never betrays him. He nodded at the bartender, a thin, reedy looking man who sold for him on the side when nights were slow. It was a transaction that required no words, which was perfect for Enzo, who preferred to speak as little as possible in places like this, where language was precious and had to spoken delicately into an ear or shouted at an unseemly volume to be understand. A cocktail appeared on the top of the bar in record time, and he slid it towards her with the lazy languidity of a jungle cat, his hungry, near-black eyes taking in her entire form. Many of the girls who came to Daddyโs to dance were beautiful, but heโd be lying if he denied that heโd been watching her, those long limbs stretching towards the lights, dark hair that twisted and tumbled down her shoulders. Up close she was dazzling, large, doll-like eyes blinking at him with un-tested confidence, a smiling red mouth. Enzo leaned forward, speaking towards the delicate shell of her ear, โIโd buy you a dozen drinks to know your name.โ
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astoriamelborneโ:
who: @lorenzo-aleotti
where: conservatory
Sheโs smoking, ash hitting broken concrete. sheโs recovering from a bender, not a sober day since the party at the house on the hill. life intoxicates her and she knows little about consequence or responsibilities, trying to be numb and drink away all the sorrow that she wonโt allow to touch her soul. people live life without attachments, she knows sheโll never be anything to anyone and sheโs learned to laugh in the face of that loneliness. she enjoys the sex and organisming so she has little to complain about and wouldnโt waste her breath. her serotonin is depleted from a bender from constant indulgence, booze and drugs so she feels hollow. a waif who is trying to shake off the empty feeling. she hears a crackle of a leaf under foot and when her eyes slide to connect with lorenzo, thereโs a twist in her gut and she wants him.ย โfancy seeing you here, do you come here often?โ her mouth is pulled into her simper, trying to pull a move from casablanca. of all the rooms in the world, he walks into mine.
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Enzo was rarely alone anymore, not completely. It came with running his business, of being who he wasโ people have come to rely on him, on his presence, on the steadfast will of which he uses to captain the ship. Itโs nothing he didnโt ask forโ didnโt demand, but still, from time to time he craved a certain type of isolation. A moment without distraction. Short of walking directly in the Wyvern and letting the icy water dull his senses into nothing, a brisk, destination-less walk into the woods would have to suffice. His shoes were not made for hiking the unkempt trails, fresh snow over them concealing patches of black ice, the expensive Italian leather letting in melt water between the seams. By the time he reached the conservatory he was near ready to head back, done with solitude and content with his fill of nature for the next week or so. Still, something intrigued him about the old building, the memories he had of the ancient, rotted place. Pulling open the door, he stepped inside. Near silent, its the rustle of dry material underfoot that gives him away, and the girl who sits there alone turns her gaze to him, hollow-eyed like some creature of the forest. His expression twists from interest to a cruel defaultโ that nothingness, the cold lack of recognition.ย โOf course not,โ Enzo replied, brushing at the spotless sleeve of his dark wool coat. โThis is a place for strange, feral creatures. Lost things.โ His gaze dragged from the way the beams that supported the ceiling sagged, to the windows with long cracks running through like lightning-paths, finally resting on Astoria Melbourne. A girl he once knew. โYou look moments from freezing to death or setting this entire shit house on fire.โ The observation lacked his own opinion, though he didnโt need to verbalize how pathetic he found it all, his tone did the work of it for him, the hard glint of his coal-black eyes the punctuation.
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location: averyโs house
for: @afaulkncr
His car was a black stain along the quiet streets of Linacre, quiet and proud, rolling along like a cat moments from springing. It was an unnecessary indulgence and one of the few he allowed himself, beyond the fine, tailored clothes and suits he preferred. A sports car like this was not uncommon in the gated community, but Enzoโs two-seater had something wicked about it, no modded muffler or loud, screaming engine. Near silent, the black gloss shone like an oil slick under the wide pool of light from the street lamps. Reservations had been made at one of the finer restaurants in Rye, but the whole thing felt like such a cold and unfeeling affair. There was a sense of duty to the pairingsโ for the sake of science and research, all things he stoutly believe in and championed for, but there was that other nagging annoyance at the idea of his fragile, self-constructed peace being broken. Still, no one could say Enzo was a bad date, groomed and well-mannered, the thorns shorn from the long-stemmed deep red rose he held in one hand, the other rapping a consistent and firm rhythm on the door belonging to Avery Faulkner.
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location: rye grad student lounge
for: @ramiropalacios
Maybe by this time next year heโd have the department convinced to switch to electronic copies, he thought, as his tired eyes scanned another poorly formatted lab, ink smeared and dubious stains crowding the bottom of the page. He did like the methodology of it, the big marks of red pen circling incorrect sections, his neat handwriting in the margins, but he tired of it after a few hours, night creeping up on the campus asย afternoon sunlight faded from the high window he sat under. The grad student lounge was quiet at this time, when classes were still just barely in session, and TAs were running to finish their own assignments. He could only really ever count on one other body to be in the room at this hour, a silent companion typing away at his own laptop, or matching the scratching of his pen on hundreds of papers. Enzo didnโt concern himself with looking up when the door opened and shut quietly, and a shadow fell across his work as the seat across from him found itself occupied. He spoke first, typing a grade into a spreadsheet as well as a comment that a professor would later take credit for. โYouโll have to get your team to watch the Azzurri practice tapes, Ramiro. Defence was looking a little lack lustre last scrimmage.โย
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๐๐ฏ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐จ: ๐ฏ๐๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐๐ฌ ๐ช๐ฎ๐๐ฌ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐ง๐๐ข๐ซ๐.
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญโ๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ง๐๐ฆ๐, ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ ๐ซ๐๐ฆ? ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฌ๐๐ฑ๐ฎ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ ๐๐ง๐๐๐ซ ๐ข๐๐๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒโ ๐ข๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโ๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ญ๐๐๐ฅ๐?โ
โLorenzo Aleotti. Iโm 26, a chemistry masters student.โ He levelled his gaze with the interviewer, eyes dark as blackened coal. โIs that necessary?โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฏ๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐๐ ๐? ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฏ๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐๐ ๐๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐๐ฌ ๐จ๐ ๐๐๐๐ข๐ซ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง, ๐๐๐ญ๐ฌ ๐จ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ซ๐ฏ๐ข๐๐, ๐ซ๐๐๐๐ข๐ฏ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ ๐ข๐๐ญ๐ฌ, ๐ช๐ฎ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ ๐ญ๐ข๐ฆ๐, ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐ญ๐จ๐ฎ๐๐ก.โ
He scoffs, though considers the question. He liked action, wheels churning and things being set in motion. He didnโt care about pretty words, not when his own where so often clipped, or gifts when he wanted for nothing.ย โActs of service, I suppose.โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญโ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐จ๐ซ ๐ฆ๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ฆ๐๐๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ ๐ ๐ข๐๐ญ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐๐ฏ๐๐ซ ๐ซ๐๐๐๐ข๐ฏ๐?โ
He was so goal oriented the future was nothing but a list to be checked, each stepping stone never savoured once hastily reached. The gifts he could think of were tasks accomplished, jobs done. It wasnโt the answer the student was looking for, so he shrugged. โA silk tie, in a tasteful colour.โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญโ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ง๐ข๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฆ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐ญ๐ง๐๐ซ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ, ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ญโ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ง๐ข๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฆ๐๐จ๐ง๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐๐จ ๐๐จ๐ซ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ?โ
He didnโt care about compliments or pretty wordsโ he hated wasted breath, and they were meaningless. His ego didnโt require careful stroking like others. โThis feels very inconsequential,โ Enzo replied flatly, growing bored. โThe nicest thing one could do for me right now is ask the questions a little faster.โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐ฌ๐ญ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐๐๐๐ญ ๐๐๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ?โ
He wasnโt that nostalgic either, but he still thought of his childhood in Italy, of the sprawling estate thatโd heโd had full roam of. He missed late afternoons in the vineyard, eating fresh fruit and smelling the sweet rot of fallen grapes in the sun. โAnyone where I donโt have to teach.โ
โ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ซ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ฅ ๐๐๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก ๐๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ญ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ๐๐ฅ๐, ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐, ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ ๐จ๐ซ ๐๐ง๐ฒ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ฅ๐ฌ๐, ๐ฐ๐ก๐๐ญ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฐ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ค๐ง๐จ๐ฐ?โ
Premonitions, superstition, prayers said while fingers clutched wooden beadsโ he was raised religious, but it never stuck. He thought of the candles lit in his name in a chapel, his grandmothersโ wavering hand carrying the flame. The warm metal of the cross he always wore under his clothes felt heavy as he considered it. The future was temporary, and it would be what he made it. Knowing a version of it,ย praying towards itโ it felt like a distraction from the final design. โI wouldnโt.โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ญ ๐๐จ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฏ๐๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฆ๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ข๐ง ๐ ๐๐ซ๐ข๐๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐ฉ ๐จ๐ซ ๐ซ๐๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐ฉ?โ
โLoyalty above all else.โ The answer comes quick, easily. Relationships required trust, a business deal secured with a handshake, a promise spoken between two people. He didnโt trust easily, and he asked a lot of the few he kept closeโ never, ever betray him.ย
โ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ ๐๐๐ญ ๐จ๐ซ ๐๐จ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐จ๐ง?โ
โDog,โ he replied definitively, the ghost of something despicable visible through the fine cracks of his cold exterior. โBut only if theyโre mean.โ
โ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฌ๐๐ง๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐: โ๐ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฌ๐ก ๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฆ๐๐จ๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก ๐ฐ๐ก๐จ๐ฆ ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ ๐ฌ๐ก๐๐ซ๐โฆโ
โWhy would I want to share anything?โ
โ๐๐ก๐๐ง ๐๐ข๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ข๐ง ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ง๐จ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ซ ๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐จ๐ง? ๐๐ฒ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ๐๐ฅ๐?โ
His eyes narrowed with annoyance, jaw set at a sharp angle. A stupid question, and one he couldnโt remember the answer to. Likely when he was a child, small and still fighting for first place openly, tears tracking down a rounded face. The years that passed were a whet stone, the blade that heโd made of himself had a more sinister edge now. Letting out a sharp exhale, he said nothing until the interviewer finally moved onto the next question.
โ๐๐จ๐ฐ ๐ข๐ฆ๐ฉ๐จ๐ซ๐ญ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ฆ๐๐๐ฒ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ?โ
His mouth took on a wicked tilt as the question was asked, though his dark eyes betrayed nothing. He was cold, but not stone. โFairly.โ
โ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ ๐ฌ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฅ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐โ๐ฌ ๐๐๐ฒ?โ
โAs of right now?โ He asked, an eyebrow inching up. โYes.โ
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xxcalistaโ:
closed for @bambi-norcross / @lorenzo-aleotti
many would not guess it being so, but calista appreciates a routine. what most find rather dullย and mind-numbing, sheโs just found rather comforting. the repetition, the consistency, the little nuances oneโs able to notice day after day, serving as enough entertainment. she steps out of the classroom, things still hanging by her chair and resting on her bench and quickly makes her way to the fancy vending machine that pulls up a bar to set the product and lets it down gentlyย instead of just dumping her glass-bottled pink lemonade into the machineโs opening. itโs the simple things, the ones that bring up that soft smile on her lipsโ the one she wears as she presses a couple of buttons andโฆ oh,ย โdo you have any spare change? i can give you aโฆ twenty if you have 5 in coinsโ. she turns, eyes meet the other and her lips immediately swap the smile to a fine lineโ lips pressed together, too late to back down now, isnโt it?
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The grad student lounge was an oasis that Enzo picked his way towards, weaving through crowds of students hurrying to their next classes or making their way home. There were a few who insisted on stopping him, plying him with what they thought passed as intriguing questions, likely looking to gain some secret favouritism from him. He was patient, heโd always been, smiling and nodding along at the right moments, the ghost of a scowl appearing in place of that fictitious charm as soon as their backs were turned. A voice calling out caused him to pause once more, shrugging on that persona like an ill-fitting suit by this time, it slipped and sagged in places. Enzo looked down at her, recognition flickering but never registering on that cold, impassive face. โI donโt carry cash,โ he replied sharply.ย
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avaturnerszekelyโ:
Science. How hard could it be? Even kids were able to pull off some sort of science experiment. She isnโt sure whatโs she doing or what in the world sheโs mixing but isnโt that part of the fun? Hand over her chest as the knock on the window almost give her a heart attack.ย โI havenโt broken anything,โ she says like a child who has just been caught redhanded. She knows she probably should know better than to annoy Lorenzo yet that doesnโt stop her from trying, if anything, it encourages her more.ย โOkaaaay. Iโm sorry, Dr. Frankestein, I didnโt mean to disrupt your lab,โ she says with a roll of her eyes as she puts the beaker aside.ย โHow hard can it be to clean? Just throw some Dawn soap and call it a day.โ
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โI know youโve never paid attention in my class Ava,โ he began, his long strides reaching the bench she was working at, quickly pulling apart whatever experiment sheโd been playing at, โbut there are certain dangers when mixing common chemicals. Some compounds, like chlorine and ammonia, have their own set of risks when they are incorrectly handled. Chlorineโโ He gave her a wary look as he sealed an open jug of the stuff, โwhen combined with ammonia,โ this container was mercifully sealed, โcreates something called mustard gas.โ Enzoโs work tidying complete, he turned to face her, as stern faced as a father. โWhile seemingly harmless at first, the effects of the compound will arise within hours of contact. A cytotoxic blister agent that will burn deep into your lungs and cause burns and blisters along your skin. Severe cases have led to blindness and permanent disfiguration.โ His chin tilted up, plucking one last wayward beaker from her hand. โYou can see how this might present difficulties quite challenging to clean up with just a little Dawn soap.โ
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