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OPEN POST 2022
1. Post here with the character you want to play with in the header or body
2. Put your prompt in the body of the comment (or leave it to me - i don't mind coming up with something!)
3. ????
4. Profit
IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE:
BUT ANYONE IS FINE . . . (full muselist)
abba calling him boss is extremely cute
Come with me.
[ his hand slips away again, and he turns to start navigating through the hall, very much hoping that nobody who knows him and wants to talk to him stops him. He's done a good job making a name for himself; he wears it as a badge of honor when he's out and about on the streets, or among others from Passione, but in this setting, it's almost a nuisance. Some vaguely-familiar suit does catch his eye and give him a small smile and wave, despite his efforts; apparently, though, Bucciarati looks busy enough that he can get away with a simple nod in return. Having his man trailing behind him probably helps.
Normally, he'd just call out Sticky Fingers and create a private doorway for them. Considering the number of non-Stand users present who might see him, though, he resists the urge, and simply hopes that no one else has decided to flee to the balcony. Fortunately, luck's on his side: it's not very big, and so not well-suited for holding any group conversation. Especially any that might involve Polpo. Once he hears the door close behind them, he sighs, then turns to face Abbacchio. ]
Sorry. I needed an excuse. [ to get away, that is. A soon-to-be-capo pulling one of his men aside for a private conversation is nothing anyone would blink at. ] I'm fine. You have cigarettes on you?
[ Bucciarati, theoretically, doesn't smoke, and so doesn't carry them. Only when he's offered one by a friend - or when he's anxious about something out of his control. ]
gotta make sure everyone else knows it too
Following behind Bucciarati is a welcome relief, not that it's evident in how he's looming ominously behind Bucciarati's shoulder, the tight set of his jaw and the crease in his brow implying anything but relief. Eyes narrow minutely at anyone who looks particularly interested in stopping Bucciarati for more mindless chat, posture and expression a well-practiced facade intent on keeping people at bay.
Once they're finally on the balcony and out of sight from the people inside, that act slips away. Leaning back against the stone balustrade and casually propping his elbows up on the top, a snort that sounds more like contempt than humour and what sounds like 'you and me both' muttered under his breath. It was stifling in there, unpleasant. Abbacchio might be the less personable of the two — to put it generously — but that doesn't mean it doesn't take its toll on them both. A quirk of his brow at Bucciarati's question, and a small nod, but nothing more. ]
You know I do. [ predictable in that respect. ] Not like you to ask, though.
[ Considering Bucciarati's position and notoriety, more people were likely vying for his attention; it's him who drew the short straw tonight. He fishes around in his jacket pocket he produces a battered-looking packet and gives it a small shake — the rattling from inside confirming it's also where he stashed his lighter and holds it out towards the other man, making eye contact. ]
That bad in there?
no subject
Even I have my limits, [ he says coolly around the cigarette in his mouth. ] Thanks.
[ he lights it, and it tastes awful, as usual, but he takes a drag anyway; it's a welcome distraction - an excuse, like he'd said. (He likes pretending it's not a nervous habit.) The night air is a cool relief from the overwarm hall, too: a breath of fresh air, sans the cigarette smoke, and he resists the urge to loosen his tie. Eventually, they'll have to go back in, annoyingly stuffy as the suit feels, and he'd rather not have to petition Abbacchio to re-tie it for him. Bucciarati settles for unbuttoning his suit, coming to lean on the balcony beside him. ]
I can tell when they're lying to my face. It was starting to wear on me.
[ he could go into detail, but he'll save that for if Abbacchio asks - he's not one to share his troubles. ]
no subject
Bucciarati is free to pretend it's nothing more than an excuse. He'll do nothing but quietly enable Bucciarati each time he asks because Abbacchio won't be the one to call him out on it, even if that was how he'd picked up the habit back at the academy in the first place. Instead, he glances sideways towards the other man, eyebrow raised. ]
Oh? [ he does have a knack for spotting lies a mile away. ] I don't think some of them are actually trying to cover up the fact that everything coming out of their mouths is bullshit.
[ Some of the men inside carry themselves with arrogance, most of their communication done with a nudge and a wink, subtle underhanded comments that are easy to miss unless you're in the know. It pisses him off and has him huffing out a deep exhale in annoyance. He wasn't going to join Bucciarati in smoking, but the reminder that they're not done here has him taking one out. A quick tap against the box before he places it between his lips, words coming out mumbled as he clicks the lighter. ]
How long exactly do we have to stay before it's socially acceptable to get out of here, anyway?
[ Regardless of his own feelings, he'll endure the unpleasant company for as long as he needs. ]
no subject
at the question, Bucciarati sighs, a light hum following it. ]
It's only the third floor. I could call Sticky Fingers right now and have it carry the both of us down to the ground.
[ it would be so easy, too - so easy, in fact, that the only thing keeping Sticky Fingers from manifesting from Bruno's desire to do just that is his wealth of experience in controlling his Stand. Alas, it's only wishful thinking. The brief respite from the party would only cause more (and worse) problems later, tempting as it is. He is, unfortunately, responsible, as his mother often laments. Another puff on the cigarette, and he continues, putting a swift end to the escape fantasy. ]
The capo will signal when we can leave. Either that, or we go when he does. [ Unfortunately, Polpo does have a taste for the finer things in life, which means their chances of getting out early are slim to none - he loves sitting around and downing bottles of expensive wine. They taste better outside of prison, he'd told Bruno, and pontificated on how the atmosphere of a room can affect the flavor of wine almost as much as the barrel it's aged in. Bruno thinks that's probably fanciful bullshit, but he remembers it anyway. Proof that he's listening. ] Unless there's an emergency, it's his call.
[ his eyes wander to Abbacchio's profile. ]
You're going to have to endure this for a while longer.
he wasnt supposed to sound jealous but—
Mhmm, and I'm sure your absence would be greatly noticed by people desperately falling over themselves to get a minute of your time.
[ Even with his attempts to sound neutral about the whole situation, the sardonic edge to his words is more than obvious. It shouldn't bother him, people vying for Bucciarati's attention — it's part and parcel of the job after all — but it's the type of people that have his hackles raised and glaring daggers from across the room, ready to step in at a moments notice. Of course, he'd handle it with significantly less decorum and class than his leader would…
The confirmation that they're here until Polpo says otherwise pulls a quiet groan from him, exhaling smoke and making sure to direct it away from Bucciarati. Their capo certainly enjoys his indulgences and has made that much perfectly clear this evening, showing no signs of slowing down. If they're to leave when he does, this could wind up being a longer night than he'd first anticipated. ]
Y'know, [ he turns a pointed stare towards Bucciarati, ] maybe you should have brought Narancia. He'd have caused half a dozen emergencies all by himself in no time. Could've been out of here already, eating a calzone on the way home instead of whatever hors d'oeuvres they have on offer here.
teehee
I'm the one who would have to clean up after him.
[ which would just end up being more work for him, specifically, and he'd probably have to do more brown-nosing to make up for it; he's a generous man, but he's not that generous. He rests both elbows on the top rail, letting his gaze drop back down to the Napoli streets. When he joined Passione, he'd been prepared to get his hands dirty doing unsavory business, and to bow his head to unsavory men. This is part of the job as much as being down in those streets is. Perhaps it says more about him that he prefers the nights where his role is to pass judgement with his fists on some poor fool in these alleys over ones like tonight. But Bucciarati made his peace with his own nature long ago. Violence comes easily to him - or, at least, more easily than playing the fool and yes-man, trying to navigate this political maze.
Abbacchio, he thinks, isn't really suited to either. ]
It's not that I'm surprised that they're lying. Even when I was a kid, I knew this was how the city worked. [ he continues explaining himself, taking a pause to inhale from the cigarette again. His tone is an open one, a bit more honest than usual. Again: in front of Abbacchio, it's not as necessary for him to put on airs. ] I just don't like it. It's an unpleasant reminder.
[ of the world they live in - the world that drove both of them to their current positions. After a moment, he looks over to his companion again. ]
Are you upset that I brought you?
no subject
True enough.
[ Bucciarati speaks, and as is often the case, Abbacchio listens. His words serve as a stark reminder that even though their point on the road is the same, they reached it from different directions. How it is that Bucciarati ended up here isn't something he has all the details on — not in the same way that Abbacchio's are easy to find through newspaper clippings or official records discretely swiped — what he does know, or has managed to piece together, is that Bucciarati's involvement with Passione has gone on far longer than he'd originally believed.
In hindsight, it makes sense, and while he's never had the sense that Bucciarati is passionate about this life the way others are, he finds it hard to imagine the man doing anything else. He's pulled out of his thoughts at the question, though, answering with little delay. ]
Of course not. You really think I'd have let you show your face at this thing with any of the others? I may have a reputation, but at least I'm not likely to embarrass you by getting into a debate over someone getting their facts wrong, or being a loud menace. [ A pause while he takes another drag of his cigarette, before smirking lightly. ] Besides, do you think Mista would have been able to keep the pistols under control with so much food on offer?
[ What he means to say, is that he thinks Bucciarati made the right choice, and also that it feels nice to be needed for something once in a while. ]
no subject
He smiles a little, closing his eyes. ]
Mista would be my last choice. [ yes, even beyond Narancia. The reasoning, unfortunately, is left to Abbacchio's imagination, as Bucciarati continues on. ] Mm. You're reliable. And unlike the rest of us, you still know how to function in society.
[ he's clearly painting himself with that brush, too, lending some credence to the idea that he has no life but this one, though he obviously has no way of knowing Abbacchio was thinking as much. ]
I used to go alone, but I liked the idea of having someone I could fall back on here.
[ there is the matter of "seeming weak," yes, but the greater truth is that he finds these parties stressful -- and, as far as he's concerned, Abbacchio is the singular member of his gang that he can be honest with about that. The others would be depending on him. It's a role he cherishes. But, once in a while, it is nice to be able to depend on someone else in equal measure. ]
no subject
The jab at Mista's expense has Abbacchio grinning, lopsided and with the tiniest hint of teeth, head dipping with the action. Without their gunslinger here to defend himself, it would be all too easy to come up with outrageous scenarios he might get into. He doesn't, though, instead focuses on that latter statement, shaking his head in disagreement. ]
No, no— I think you're giving me far too much credit there. I just got good at pretending.
[ Functioning in society is not something Abbacchio would claim he knows how to do. Years spent mimicking the adults he looked up to that surrounded him as a child, doing as he was told and keeping his head down. ]
Sounds miserable. [ And in contrast to Bucciarati's thoughts: ] Bringing along someone from your team probably looks good for you, no? Reminds people you have a team, one you can trust, one at your beck and call. You're climbing the ladder.