Fading Memory — Roleplayer Guild

"Ayyyy, Mio Amico, it's been a while. How's it been?" Giovanni said in an overly friendly greeting. He clasped the man he spoke to by the arm, a strong and firm grip, before he pulled the taller man down for a hug. Italian men and their expressions of affection, eh? The man whom Giovanni embraced was dressed nearly as immaculately as he himself was; Giovanni in a five piece suit, the man in a three piece one.

"Business is good. Ghosts like yourself keep men like me able to feed his family, Dito."

"Ghost? Please, Manisalco, don't use such words. We've been over this, I'm flesh and blood."

"Flesh and blood doesn't keep the dons buying guns, Dito." the man called 'Manisalco' said in a hushed tone. "But I remembered you, remembered your father- everything he did for me and mine. That's why I called you here today. The dons ordered something special from the sicilians, imported the genuine article as it were."

Giovanni grinned at 'The Blacksmith', a man he called 'Manisalco'. This smuggler was one of the most high end in New York, and he had ties straight back to the motherland of the Cosa Nostra- Sicily. He always had good product- and more importantly, he always had Giovanni in mind when he got fresh product from overseas. Gio rubbed his gloved hands together in excitement before gesturing in an impatient, yet still cordial, manner to move forward.

"Well? Let's get the show on then Mani. You know I'm good for the money if what you've got is worth it."

At Gio's words the 'blacksmith' feigned offense and placed a hand on his breast. His mouth hung agape for a few moments as if stunned at Gio's insinuation that what he had might not be worth it. The man then grinned back at Giovanni and gestured for the burned mafioso to follow him. Giovanni didn't hesitate to walk along with his trusted arms dealer.

Their meeting place of choice was a flower shop near the harbor. The flower's seed, fertilizer, and soil imports were excellent for masking gun oils and lubricants, as well as their metals, for smuggling through customs. Dogs couldn't sniff out the parts, and most government workers didn't wanna dig halfway through a bag of shit to see if an assault rifle was hidden inside. The room where most of the Blacksmith's real business occured was the basement of the shop, accessible only through the store's back room, down a sealed steel door embedded into the ground and down twenty feet of stairs into an extremely well lit concrete box.

There was only a single gun case on the showcase of the usually-well-stocked room, and that made Giovanni even more excited about what the man had brought him here to show him.

"Wow. Only one spada? You're confident I'll like what you've got, eh?"

"Straight from the three dons dreams and into your hands, Dito." The Blacksmith said coyly as he moved to the box and grinned at Giovanni. "I'll go ahead and warn you, this was a special order. If you want it, it'll be a thirty percent mark-up of the asking price."

Giovanni rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to remove the fedora he wore, holding it to his breast in a formal manner as he patiently awaited the opening of the weapon case. The Blacksmith took the hint and opened it, presenting the gun to Giovanni.

Gio dropped his hat and began to chuckle, at which point The Blacksmith also began to laugh.

"Oof, I can feel my bank account bleeding out. Shut the fuck up and take my money, Mani. You're a beautiful bastard." Giovanni said as he pulled his wallet out and began to count bills.

It was beautiful. A Genuine Lupara. Break action, double barreled, true wood finish, and sawn down to fit right in the back of a man's jacket. It was detailed- engraved in what Giovanni was certain was hand craftsmanship. The more he studied the shotgun in his hand over, the more he was certain that the entire thing had received careful attention from an artisan.

"Oh, mother in heaven, what have I done to deserve this?" He smiled to himself as he gave the shotgun a little toss, twirling it in the air before catching it by the handle once more and simply staring at the absolutely gorgeous weapon in something that could only be called 'true love'. "Slugs, pellets, rock salt, beanbags-  you don't give a damn what I put in you, do you?" He coo'd at the gun as he ran his gloved hand down its barrel and felt engravings along the way. They weren't senseless engravings either, and as he ran his fingers over them he could make out the words just as well as if he had held the gun up in the light and read them;

Per i lupi, per la caccia, per il nostro popolo, or, to put it in simple terms, 'For the wolves, for the hunt, for our people'. Giovanni had received a gun that would be better suited to a collection than a hit-man's hands, but here it was. In Giovanni's gloved, expert, hands.

"Let's hear you roar." He chuckled to the lupara as he clicked the break action open, a shudder of excitement coursing through him, then loaded two appropriately sized pellet shells into the weapon. He raised it, one-armed, and adopted a proper firing stance. His finger rested on the triggers of the gun and he felt a certain...rush. A new gun was like a new woman; you had to be gentle the first time.

His finger pulled the trigger gently, almost too slowly for his excitement, until the culmination of his actions brought the beast in his hands to its ultimate, climactic, moment; a fantastic bang. A mere fifteen feet away, his target of choice- a watermelon, since he could afford them and he felt satisfied when they exploded-...well, exploded. A mist of watermelon filled the air of Giovanni's shooting range- installed beneath his home, not unlike the basement of the flower shop- and Giovanni laughed hysterically.

"Oh, God, yes." he gazed at the weapon with love in his eyes. "You're coming everywhere with me, baby."

Riding the good vibes brought upon himself by his purchase of a new gun, Giovanni decided to treat himself to a fine dinner. He strode along the streets of the Haven with the confidence that only a man who had died, come back, and spat in God's face such as he has can possess. He tipped his hat, gave friendly greetings, and generally was an amicable New York citizen the entire walk across the Haven to the illustrious steak house Giovanni had selected for this evening's enjoyment.

What, expecting him to go to an Italian joint? Fuhgeddaboutit

After an approximately twenty five minute wait, Giovanni was taken to his seat and he deliberated a rather cautious amount of time before deciding upon his meal; A full blooded T-bone steak sided with a baked potato and topped off by an excellent wine vintage he personally selected from the menu. Everything was in order for this night to be a perfect evening.

Giovanni spent the time awaiting his order's arrival getting used to the shotgun's weight at his back, how his posture needed to be shifted just slightly to keep it hidden properly, gauging how quickly he could pull it if he needed to blast some goon in an alleyway and his trusted revolver just wouldn't cut it. Speaking of that revolver- he never left home without it, slung into an under the shoulder holster under his elegant jacket. He was likely the most armed man in all the Haven that didn't have a license to kick down your door and search your home, and here he was acting like a chummy fella in this fine eatery.

His attention was dragged to a prominent sporting television in the establishment, where some local team was doing God's work in defending themselves from some away team. Giovanni didn't keep up with the sports- revenge was his full time job, ya see- but when a game came on and he was in a good mood, he didn't mind indulging. His face was calm, his movements and body language almost languid, but his eyes- those dead, cold, eyes- followed every movement on the screen as if it were right next to him rather than across the room. Bodies colliding, a ball flying through the air, grass and turf being ripped up. It was all so...Brutal. Barbaric. It made Gio glad he was in this resturaunt and not on that field.

His attention was brought back to reality by the presentation of his meal before him. He thanked the waiter in Italian, not caring that the individual clearly didn't speak the language, and shoo'd him away as he brought his gaze to his food. A smile finally split Giovanni's stoic features as he looked upon the food. It'd been some time since he allowed himself this kind of luxury, and he was going to make the most of it.

He picked up the fork and knife and set to his meticulous, systematic, enjoyment of the meal.

Gio, why do you eat like that? Cutting it all up and making it all so...specific.

His thoughts always went back to her in moments like this. Moments he might actually be enjoying himself. She haunted his dinners, his dances, his dreams. Every moment that wasn't spent doing work, breaking the law, or plotting his revenge was tormented by her.

Babe, I eat like this because every meal might be my last. One day I'm gonna walk out that door and be too slow, or miss my shot, and I'll be the one who's thrown in the bay. That's why I eat like this

God, if he could go back and change how he phrased that, say it more eloquently, he would. He would do anything to stop Her from having that twisted face of sadness.

Gio, promise me something.

Anything babe, shoot.

Promise me you'll come back to me. No matter what.

She made him promise that a lot. Promise that he wouldn't die, that he wouldn't leave her alone in this world. Well, he'd kept his promise. She hadn't kept her end of it though. Not after what the Dons did to her.

Giovanni's eyes cleared and he looked down at his plate, where he'd suddenly slammed the knife down through the steak and through the plate, breaking it and embedding the knife in the table. A few eyes stared his way at the sudden uncontrolled outburst he had, and he threw the fork down in disgust at his own inability to control his rage. He waved the waiter over and gestured for the check, as he rubbed his eyes with his other hand.

Not one special meal could go by without him ruining it for himself, these days. It's why he stopped going out, started taking his meals home. Outbursts like this would only get the wrong kind of attention brought down on him.

He boxed his food, paid for it and the damages he caused, and left the resturaunt to walk home. Only it wasn't to his house he was heading- when his mood got squashed like it had this evening, that's when he slept with the Wolves. He made his way down the streets of the Haven, the evening street lamps shining the path he took towards Amaranth.

He stopped at the edge of the Haven and tilted his head a bit. There was a Homeless boy, blind, sitting on the side of the road with a tin can in his hands.

"...Aren't you usually here for the morning traffic, kid?" He asked as he crouched down to the homeless boy.

"Ayup, mister De Luca." The blind boy said in a raspy voice, thick with dehydration. "Nobody came to pick me up today so I'm still here." He shivered and trembled into his heavy coats, the tin can he carried jangling with loose change.

"I need the good karma today. This'll hold you till someone comes and gets you. don't mention it, kid." He dropped the tray of food he had taken out into the kid's lap, before rising up and walking down into the darkened streets of the slums of New York.

the blind kid felt in his lap idly as Giovanni left, before realizing what it was and devouring the meal with fervent speed. Giovanni could feel like he did something good, at least for a little bit.

Giovanni walked through Amaranth quite differently than he walked through the Haven. He still carried himself with confidence, but this time it was the confidence of a man that dared anyone to try and steal his suit, watch, hat, or wallet. A confidence that terrified many of the petty thieves from even trying to approach him. It was the eyes that did the trick- anyone who looked at giovanni in this light, with the shadows of his hat covering his face, and saw those eyes would cross the street to give the revenant a wide berth. So he walked through the streets unharassed by prostitute, thief, and honest man alike.

When he reached the hideout that the Amaranth wolves occupied, he strode in without a word and made his way down into the basement.

"Is Mama here?" He called out to nobody inparticular, and nobody inparticular called back; "She's out right now, Grilleto!"

Giovanni nodded and half-dance half-walked his way through the wolves' hideout, snapping a tune to himself. Music is what he needed right now, and music is what he'd have.

"Now where did I leave it...In here? No, no, that's some shitty idiot's bedroom...Over here?...No, I don't go in Mama's room...Ah right, there it is."

Giovanni kicked over a pile of beer bottles and hoisted the large Cello case he had left here a couple nights ago, when he last chose to play. He raised it up and rubbed it down, resting it on its endpoint as he made sure there was no damage. Once he was satisfied, he lifted the case and started to walk from the room.

"I'll be up on the roof. Tell Mama where I am when she gets back." He called out to the ever-present nobody-inparticular, then waltzed his way on up to the roof, dancing in his gait as he climbed up and up and up. When he finally reached the roof, where the night sky was evident and apparent through the clouds above him- and through the heavy light pollution of the city, mind you- he set the Cello case down and removed the instrument from within.

It took  him some time to re-tune and properly maintain the elegant instrument, but once he had taken the necessary precautions he applied rosin to the bow, and began to play the instrument over the sounds of the Amaranth nightlife. A slow, sombre, song that resonated with the turmoil he himself felt. He channeled the feelings into music, and let the wind carry the pain away.

He'd play for some time, and when he finally finished he was calm once again.

"Mama, I hate restlessness. I need somethin' to do, and soon." he said to himself, envisioning his boss' face before him as he walked to the edge of the roof and sat down. He pulled out a case from his breast pocket, and opened it up to reveal a small array of cigars. It was a night where smoking was appropriate, he felt. Heat, anger, conflict- it was all in the air, and he had just thrown his own emotions into it as well.

He lit the cigar with  a flip-lighter, then set it into his mouth and watched the streets down below with his soul-less eyes. This is where he spent his nights, when able, while in Amaranth. Out here on the roof with the pulse of the city down below him, his fingers dancing a tune on the edge of the roof beside him.

With a deep inhale, Giovanni pulled the cigar from his lips. He then exhaled a plume of smoke into the sky and watched the smoke fade. It was gonna be a long night for him.
Fading Memory Member

The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts
