What's It All About? I Asked Her. She Said She Wasn't Sure.

In Cycles, In Circles

- A collection of fractal inspired shapes and patterns alluding to ink,paint, glass and smoke. Infinite possibility woven into instant consciousnesses.

Star Wars: Lightsabers - A Guide To Weapons of The Force by Pablo Hidalgo ANATOMY OF A LIGHTSABER notes of interest: (NOTE:  This is the 2018 version, so this is a canon reference book.)

A true lightsaber cannot be assembled by a machine, only those sensitive to the Force can construct one.

“Once the energy is focused, it leaves the handle from a positively charged energy lens inside the blade emitter.  The beam is trapped inside an energy field created by the kyber crystal, which bends the beam back towards a negatively charged high-energy flux aperture in the emitter.  To an observer, it looks like the blade simply stops growing, but this loop of energy creates the lightsaber’s distinctive hum as well as the spinning effect in the blade’s movements, making the weapon difficult to control for those without training.”

(This is probably what makes the blades so bouncy against each other, because they’re–as someone once described them–a bit like energy chainsaws, in the way that they’re a loop going around and around, rather than a steady beam.)

“A lightsaber is an extention of a Jedi’s Force awareness.  Becasue Jedi let the Force guide their selection of the crystal, the vibration the crystal creates in the lightsaber blade helps Jedi center themselves and find balance in the Force.”

MYTH:  Only a Jedi or a Sith can wield a lightsaber. FACT:  "Anyone could pick up a lightsaber and use it, but lightsabers are extremely difficult to wield. Those used to swinging solid swords often find using a weightless blade a challenge–one that can have dangerous consequences.  Only through rigorous training and enhanced senses through the Force can a Jedi use a lightsaber to its full potential.“

“Training lightsabers emit low-intensity blades that cannot cut and are not lethal.  Contact with a training blade will only sting or numb an opponent; however these blades do convey an accurate sensation of holding a real lightsaber.”

“Most lightsabers incorporate a pressure activation lever that causes it to power down if dropped.  They may also have a ‘lock’ switch that keeps the blade active, so a Jedi can throw a lightsaber some distance and guide its path through the Force.”

“Beyond its use as a weapon or an instrument of meditation, a lightsaber is a practical tool.  Given enough time, a lightsaber can cut through most substances.  Even shield-rated blast doors will melt after extended exposure to a lightsaber blade, making it nearly impossible to imprison an armed Jedi Knight.  Most Jedi will not risk slicing through bulkhead walls or high-energy force fields, though, because cutting into such a powerful source could be explosive.”

MYTH:  A lightsaber can cut through anything.   FACT:  The key to creating a solid weapon that can clash with a lightsaber blade is not the metal used in construction but rather the energy the metal conducts.  Energy transmitted across a metal blade or polearm can foritfy a weapon so it can block a lightsaber blade.  The electrostaffs of the MagnaGuard droids or the energized weapons of Supreme Leader Snoke’s Praetorian Guards, for example, pose a challenge to even trained lightsaber combatants.“

“Standard lightsabers and water don’t mix.  While some protective measures do exist, such as flashback waterseals, lighting a lightsaber underwater can be a problem.  The weapon may boil the surrounding water, spinning turbulance and making it difficult to control.  Should a Jedi become submerged in water during the course of an assignment, he or she had best make sure the lightsaber is prepared for such a journey.”

“A Jedi who loses a lightsaber often builds another.  In times of great need–such as the emergency of the Clone Wars–the Order kept replacement lightsabers for Jedi to use while they built a new one.”

“Above all, Jedi must keep track of their lightsabers.  Should a lightsaber fall into the hands of an unpracticed or dishonorable person, it will almost always lead to tragedy.”

Tea Sets | Teapots, Cups and Saucers | Fresh Biscuits | Strawberry Jam | Fresh cut flowers | A friend's laughter | Long train rides | Glittering lavender afternoons | Wagging Dog tails | Hot tea on a cold morning

Halle Berry training for her role in John Wick 3 is pretty wonderful to watch! On point on all levels!

Thanks to our friends @tarantactical & @xtreme_props!

Weekly Writer’s Prompt

Language is a beautiful thing. It enables us to share emotions, ideas and stories.

As a public artistic experiment, I have decided to present the: Weekly Writer’s Prompt.

The concept is simple. Once a week I will select a work of multimedia, like a film or television series, a novel or artwork and write a few lines that fit the theme of that work as a starting prompt. I challenge whoever might be interested to write a short story, poem, conversation ect to continue from the lines I have prompted.

There are no word limits or restrictions. Simply look at the topic and the prompt and write from there, then tag your completed work (#weekly writer’s prompt) and mention this account: @small-fortunes so I can collect your entry.

You have 7 days to  craft a submission and challenge yourself to create something beautiful with words.

If you’d like to take up the challenge but aren’t familiar with the media selected, simply Wiki or YouTube some information to get you inspired and work from there. By the end of the month, I’m hopeful that we might amalgamate a collection of interesting modern literature together and showcase it.

==========================

This Week’s Prompt:

Media: TV Series

Title: The Witcher

Origins: Part of the Witcher franchise.

Genre: High Fantasy, Action/Adventure

Restrictions: None. Any character/s, episode/s, scenario.

Writer’s Prompt:

The blade was heavy in his hand. Blood ran into his eyes dying his vision a distorted shade of crimson...

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Entries for this prompt close: Tuesday 16th February 2021

Remember to use the tag: #weekly writer’s prompt and mention me: @small-fortunes

Let’s create together!

He didn't let her finish.

He didn't want her to.

In that moment,  something inside him snapped free entirely. He had no means with which to rationalize his behavior and no desire to sympathize with anything other than the young woman's alluring invitation. He watched her for a moment, then another, then another after that. That look in her eyes. He remembered it. It was a look that he thought she'd likely never bestow upon him again. His mind was a whirlpool of hungers and unrequited desires that he could no longer internalize. Why was she doing this to him? Tormenting him like this? His heart hammered within the confines of his chest, cutting off his ability to breathe. He ached. Every inch of skin she'd touched against her lips or hands burned. His body responded on sheer instinct.

He attacked her.

Mindless, mad in the heat of pure, unbridled lust, he tore at her body, taking hold her hips and forcing her slender form to mount him anew as he sat upon his black leather office chair. When their lips met it was with sheer, carnal instinct. An explosion of force and fury set off sparks behind his eyes. He pulled at her lips, demanded her tongue in a way he ensured she was powerless to refuse. He needed her. He needed this. Her excuses and rebukes, her boundaries and her ignorance of his needs physical or otherwise were entirely inconsequential at that moment. Nothing overpowered him so much as the near galvanic urge to make her his.

He tore at her clothes, uncaring for the damage the garments suffered. He was a whir of motion, aggravated grunts and heavy Italian curses for every moment that her flesh was not revealed to him. He froze... she wore deep violet lace. That... That was something special.

"Hai pianificato questo." (You planned this.) It wasn't a question, it was a statement.  And the scent of her arousal drove him over.  He lifted her bodily atop his desk, a smattering of papers and notebooks coming heavily onto the floor. His slender fingers tore the underwear from her hips and thighs. She did not struggle, nor resist. He had consent. Consent he'd not seen in months since London. Weeks since touching down in Rome.

Mechanical muscle memory overtook his judgment. Before he grasped reason, he'd separated her thighs and plunged his length within the tender confines of her pulsing, heated womanhood, taking her in deep, almost aggressive strokes to the very hilt. The world faded away.  She encapsulated him entirely, commanded him with a depth and passion he could not resurface from. Her breathy cries at every pounding thrust came over him like music. In this moment, he needed her deeper than he'd ever needed a woman before. In that moment, Santino was lost to the primordial need that came from chasing sheer physical pleasure with a willing lover. And his willing lover, was obsessively, Lalienna.

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For two, painstaking weeks prior he'd done nothing more than fall victim to the isolating techniques his High Guard forced upon him. He raged, in fury. He'd argued with them bitterly for they forced him away, denied him access to her bedroom, guarded her relentlessly. Until it was all finally too much. He knew, deep in his heart that something was unequivocally, irreversibly wrong with his lover.  He'd heard her screams, her wailing, the piteous lies that she told or refused to tell for the sake of protecting herself. Except he began to reason she was protecting the truth from him. He'd no basis for making this accusation, but the way in which Ares cast him away, the way in which Christov and Hector backed him down, coiled a viper of doubt in his belly.

He'd demanded doctors attend her day and night, for those screams he heard were unnatural.  Hector overpowered him, shouted reasons and placations advising the young woman was likely having yet another of her episodes, similar to that which she had experienced those months prior after her first meeting with Airoldi. That he needed to remain patient with her. That they would personally ensure a doctor attended her but he was to wait outside and let Ares attend her alone. That between her and the maids, the women were best suited to this kind of trauma. Couldn't he see? None of the other males had access to her rooms. They were as shut out as he was. But to not worry for her. It was simply an extremely bad turn of illness, coupled with an exceptionally poor menstrual cycle. That if he was to leave her be but a few days, she would recover her wits about her fully and be more accepting of his company.

What choice did he have but to comply? He'd tried threatening them. They simply glared at him and his insults, entirely unmoved. He'd considered brawling with them, bare-fisted knuckles pounded directly into their faces, for they seemed to be less arrogant when he had them bleeding at his feet. But what would this achieve? Further distress and lack of harmony. Hector was right. None of the men were permitted entrance to her quarters, and that included him until whatever agony overtook her passed. When she returned willingly to his bed and he'd made to ask her sincere questions, she'd shut him down and shut him out.

That little puppy was her constant companion but the baby animal did not have the strength he'd prayed for in terms of pulling the Spaniard free of her depression. His concerns grew deeper. She would not come down to the dining room to eat. Most of her meals were brought up to her by maids and returned to the kitchen practically untouched. He'd demanded Panchelli maintain her plates exactly as they were returned to the kitchen so as he could personally inspect how much she had consumed. His heart dropped as the days passed. She was barely eating anything at all. So he requested Chef make blended fruit juices with protein powders mixed into them. He was heartened when the glasses came back empty. That was a start. If she would not consume solid foods then at least tempting her with pureed fruits was a good start.

He'd cornered Ares on the fifth day and demanded information. The mute young woman who was being remarkably responsible in Cerberus' toilet training, used her fast hands to explain at great length that Lalienna was recovering. That she was in fact suffering from a bout of homesickness and displaced depression. No, she didn't think the dancer would need hospitalization. No, the young woman was weak and tired and spent most of the days sleeping with her puppy and the reason for her sending back her plates untouched was due to what appeared to be a rather nasty stomach infection. No, another doctor would not need to attend, for whilst he was out, she was already seen by an in-house practitioner that prescribed her antibiotics and fluids. That he should make sure Chef kept the fruit juices coming, they were doing her well. She'd return to solid foods in time.

On the eleventh day he was met by Hector whilst he was smoking on the balcony.  The Guard Commander lit up his own cigarette and started with what he thought was amicable conversation.

"She's starting back on solid foods again, boss."

"Quanto sangue perde una donna durante un aborto?" (How much blood does a woman lose during a miscarriage?) Was Santino's pensive enquiry. The question was so profound it struck Hector like a blow to the chest.  What in God's name?! Impossible... Santino couldn't possibly have guessed?!

"Woah... uh... random, boss... Uh... I dunno. I've never known any ladies that have lost kids before. I-uh... Never really thought about it to be honest." He put his head down and sucked at his smoke, taking in the rich Turkish tobacco and praying he had a few shots of strong vodka to chase it with.  

"Why you ask?" He dared. Dreading the response. He turned to meet Santino's eyes and grew relieved when he saw the Prince of Rome was miles away. He didn't answer for a long time and when he did, it was with vacant eyes.

"Me lo diceva, no? Se avesse mai portato la mia bambina?" (She'd tell me, wouldn't she? If she was ever carrying my baby?)  

"Jesus Christ, Santino!" Hector exclaimed, a tremor in his hands. The clutch of nerves sending tendrils of ice water in his veins. He wasn't expecting this. But he wasn't about to let Lalienna down. So he hated himself and played the game.

"You were careful with her, weren't you? You're both young, healthy. Accidents can happen in a fraction of a second. That's what condoms are for, Signore, fuck... You'd be crazy to do this to her now. She's so young. "

"I agree." Santino replied. His eyes narrowed as he took in the stars. The nights were growing colder. He got up, crushing his cigarette butt into the mother of pearl ashtray on the patio table before blowing out the last plume of smoke and returning indoors, leaving his shell-shocked commander behind.

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The blinding walls of release struck him from all sides at once. He'd barely had time to process his lover's powerful contractions of silken heat before he came undone in a guttural cry of animalistic pleasure against her throat. He was vaguely aware of her whimpering pleas. A string of nearly unintelligible curses as she fell apart beneath him, clutching at his clothes and hating them for denying her his skin.  When they both had a moment to recover from their dizzying high, they merely took in one another's eyes. His breaths coming laboured and erratic. A bead of sweat gathering at his brow. The room was entirely too hot. And she felt glorious as she stroked him intimately. He laughed. A chuckle first. She reciprocated. And then it built, more and more as both lovers were in a peel of merriment. Panting, laughing. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes. He loved her entirely. He told her so. He kissed her plumped lips, murmuring against them.

" Nulla che io possa mai fare sarebbe nemmeno una frazione importante quanto amarti, tesoro." (Nothing I could ever do would be even a fraction as important as loving you, darling.)

"Papi... we'll draw atten-" Two sharp knocks at the office door cut her off.  Knocks that was characteristic code:  It's not important, but can I come in?

"Fuck, Ares." He cursed, smirking to himself before calling out. " Stiamo bene. Qualunque cosa pensassi di aver sentito, avevi ragione. Ora dacci un po 'di privacy o sei licenziato!" (We're fine. Whatever you thought you heard, you were right. Now give us some privacy or you're fired!)

He listened, the bark of the puppy and the sound of receding footfalls as the pair made to retreat until at last the lovers were alone again.

"Come on, amore. All your appointments have just been cancelled for today." With an unwilling groan, Santino separated himself from his Mistress and took a moment to tuck himself away to appear at least semi-decent.

"Pick those up, bring them here." He whispered hoarsely, gesturing to her discarded, lust-soaked violet lace. The young woman slid her bare-bottomed self from the desk on shaking legs, seeking to comply with the request almost wordlessly. Whatever protest she meant to make as she handed over her slightly moist underwear was promptly silenced by the heat in her lover's eyes.

"Papi?"

"Open your mouth."

"Wha?"

"Open. Your mouth. Right now." The dancer seemed to hesitate for a full heartbeat. However, the curve of his brow and the edge in his tone lead her compliance. Her lips fell apart and her eyes grew wide as she watched. Santino twisted her underwear tightly in his hands then pressed the lace into her mouth.

"Bite down." Was his command. Hot, clipped words. Perverse and filthy, perhaps. But he didn't care. And when her teeth finally took purchase of the lace, he purred in shimmering satisfaction. She was perfect. He wanted her to taste the evidence of her arousal. To acknowledge that she had willingly complied to baiting the dragon as she had.  Her eyes clouded over. Her breasts rose and fell heavily, but she did not let go of the underwear in her mouth.

So he lifted her, bodily into his arms and carried her as she was, nude from the waist down, from his office, up the stairs and into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. A mercy. They did not meet with any domestic staff or other Camorra guards on their journey. Although he had no doubt in his mind that Ares would now go gossiping to anyone that would even remotely acknowledge her frantic sign language gestures.  This knowledge in and of its self sparked a glow of satisfaction within him. It was progress. Progress he thought he deserved to be rewarded for. He'd won her back. And he had every intention of giving the young woman in his arms reason to want a full course meal by the time he considered himself done with her.

Alone as they were, in the confines of his luxurious bedroom, he stripped his lover naked. Her clothes hit the floor and were followed by her eyes. He corrected her sharply, tsking her with his tongue. She meant to spit out the lace in her mouth but again she was met with his correction. For Santino shook his head silently no.

"When I say, bella mia. And not a moment before." The order seemed to have the effect he desired, for she quickly forgot about her top and bra, biting into the fabric harder, her thighs caressing each other as though she meant to suppress the building heat that had not yet been entirely quenched at her core.

She whimpered as he kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her shoulder. His fingers attending to buttons and zips as he stepped out of his boots and socks, shrugged out of his shirt and let it hit the plush Oriental rug underfoot. A deviant twinkle in his eyes. He took hold her hands and placed them against his belt with a quirk of his brow.

"Sai cosa fare." (You know what to do.) He teased, licking at his upper lip suggestively. Minx! Even in her arousal, she was unabashedly playful.  She freed him of his belt, buttons and fly but not before taking a moment to palm his heated arousal, stroking his length against the fabric and drawing a hungry purr.

His previous exhaustion and professional frustrations with his sister, entirely forgotten. He was alive once more. Pulsing, hot, wanton in his need to not just make love to the woman before him. But to fuck her. Properly. To somehow make up for months of deprivation that self-satisfaction did little to ease.

As he stood finally nude before her, he put out his upturned right palm.

"Rilascialo." (Drop it.) He demanded.  His lover complied, spitting the violet lace into his palm with a grimace that she smothered with a whimpering giggle.

"You'll play gently with me, won't you, Papi?" The question was phrased innocently enough, but the heat in his glare and the sharpness of his commands was enough to make her second guess. She'd tasted his passionate aggression in London and feared its resurgence. She'd confessed her fears to Hector a fortnight prior. While her primal hungers urged her to submit to his darkest carnal needs, a foray into a mistimed Scene was well above what she considered herself capable of.  Though he didn't appear to glower threateningly, her fears were banished when he murmured,

"Of course, amore mio. What am I to do with broken toys?"

She watched through heavy lashes as he laid her underwear like an offering upon the ottoman at the foot of the bed.  And when at last he returned his attention to her, it was with the heat of his lips. His hands, his skin.

He walked her back to the bed.  Guiding each footstep with one of his own until at last she sank against his black linen.

"Let's see if we can't do something about your appetite, amore."

The hours rolled by to the sound of Rome's many belfries chiming out in the distance. The warm Roman morning gave way to a glorious, pink and violet-hued afternoon. And twilight set in thereafter, with the glitter of the first star in the evening sky. The day cascaded into the deep velvet of night.

And all through those long hours, Santino loved her.

Deeply.

Repeatedly.

Over and over and over again.

From one dizzying high to another, he forced her body from extreme to extreme. At his fingers, his tongue, the power of his length. In her mouth, her maidenhood, her feet... he even dared to massage and oil her heated flesh and let her taste the first lash of deeply intimate anal pleasures. Fleeting at first, so as to not frighten nor intimidate her. But enough that in the heat of the moment, he assured her,

"If you want it... you'll beg for it."

Minute after minute, hour after hour he shackled her to the smouldering heat of his passion. Three, four, five times in a row he had her hit the sheer wall of screaming climax. When his own body could no longer meet her demands, he took her overheated flesh with hot oils and passionate embraces until at last she grew exhausted, over-sensitized, aching. She begged release of a different kind. He had conquered her completely. She could take no more. And at last... she begged.

"Papi...please.... Please Papi... I'm actually starving now."

He laughed in absolute triumph and collapsed beside her. His body drenched in perspiration expended by hours of heated passion. They both coiled together, awaiting the slowing of their heartbeats until at last, Santino rose from the bed and crossed the room to serve his lover a glass of water from the pitcher at his sideboard. Himself another.

"Two weeks you deny yourself solid foods, evade my company, suffer alone with a stomach virus, struggle with your cycle. Two weeks you drive your poor Santino almost to the brink of insanity so that I brawl with my men and women in your name as they fight like dogs to protect you and now... after a single afternoon... and evening, in my bed, you tell me you're actually hungry?" He shook his head at her knowingly.

"You mean to tell me all of this could have been averted if only you'd let me give you a good, hard, fuck...hmm? Amore?"

Laughter shook his chest.  She looked so innocent as she averted her eyes, pouting and making pretty excuses.

"Come on, bella... Let's get showered off. Get some clean clothes on and then we can go downstairs and see if Panchelli has kept a few plates warm for us in the oven. Can you bear to sit with us as a family like you did at breakfast? I'd recommend it. If you let me have you alone, I can't promise you I won't consider force-feeding you dessert, eh, tesoro?"  

He blew a kiss to the air, paired it with his most disarming wink. His emerald eyes shimmering. His russet curls a dishevelled mess. He made a show of swallowing down the last of his water before setting the glass aside and padding off to the ensuite bathroom.

God he was bitter. Blood boiling, red anger. Ares had texted him as he was sorting his bags, ready to leave, take his car to the air port. Unfinished business in Vienna. He left on a "family medical emergency" but they wouldn't hold her papers forever. It had been three weeks now, he had to go back. Even if he did want to slap her face. he pulled out his phone and read the message: 'Boss... you're being a fuck. Her real dad is here. The bastard that left her and her mother to die. He's actually come right into the hotel and he's downstairs with her now. Hector and Chris are guarding. But she's fucked over. And she's aching for you. You gotta let this go, Tino. It's not fair.'

He texted her back. He shouldn't have. But he'd finally had enough of her constant digging. Her and his entire Guard. He couldn't free himself from any of them. Christov, Marcus, Tony, Hector, Curtis.... Ares just added to the fire. So he gave in. Jabbing at his screen. His eyes stinging with unshed tears. And his shoulder burned where he'd be shot last week. Grazed by a bullet because he'd been careless on the field thinking of her in the middle of a hit job in Whitechapel that didn't go down according to plan. She was doing this to him. Making him lose focus. Lose control. 'She fucked another woman.' He pressed Send. Threw the phone on the bed and went to get his jacket out of the wardrobe. His arms had just slipped through when his phone went off again. He picked it up...Though he didn't want to. Unlocked the screen. And read Ares' reply. 'Marissa Conti Mark 2. Your call Boss.'

That cut him. He turned and with a roar he threw the phone into his bedroom mirror with such force the glass exploded in the antique gilded frame sending shards smashing out into all directions. The sound of glass cracking and giving way to impact. Like his heart was. Like his torn soul. Chaos... pain and chaos... Her father was here? Her biological father?   Really? He checked his holster. Four magazines, his beloved Baretta 92S, loaded and ready to go off. He flicked his thumb over the safety, releasing it. Fuck hotel rules. Fuck this stranger in his head. In his heart. He wanted to kill her. That's why he took to the streets and got reckless. Coming home shot up and bleeding over Sable's counter. "Rough night, Mr. D'Antonio?" The concierge asked. "Sempre duro, ultimamente." (Always rough, lately.) He'd answered.

He left the room behind. In the ruins of a broken mirror. His phone on the ground... the words appearing on the spiderweb of cracked glass that made up his broken screen. 'Marissa Conti Mark 2. Your call Boss.'

Ares sent the whole crew an SOS text. 'Guys... I think Tino's coming downstairs. He's going to be pissed off at us, big time. I just learned why he's been so salty this month. Lali's fucked another girl! No wonder! Guys, I mentioned Marissa again... I'm fucked right?'

Curtis responded. Marcus responded. 'We'll make your funeral arrangements babe. What colour you want your casket?' 'I'll go get a priest. Last Rites in Latin. Riposa in pace, Ares Vanguard.'

Sir Sable greeted the Italian crime boss with a bow of his head. "Good afternoon, Mr. D'Antonio. Your car is awaiting collection out front. Is there anything else I can do to ease you into your flight?" Santino's eyes were hard. He'd lost his smile a month ago and walked like a man ready for war. "Mr. DeMentriento, Lalienna's father is here?" "In the drawing rooms, Sir. With Miss DeMentriento. And she appears extremely distressed." "How much to make you lift house rules?" The question was fired as a bullet. He came at the counter now and looked Sable dead in the eyes. The two men glared daggers at each other. Sable was furious. Murder? In his house?! Unthinkable! "Can you really afford Excommunication, Mr. D'Antonio?" A growl, through gritted teeth. Sable reared like a wolf. He asked without flinching. He meant it. He'd make the call to Jeremy. "Can you? Prince of Rome?"

He won. Santino backed away. A smile that didn't reach his eyes played about his features. "No." He stepped away from the counter. Away from Sable whose hand was on the phone. And he stalked the lobby. Ares appeared from the gardens. And Marcus from the stairwell. The pair flanked him. Silent. They were tense. Tight. Militant. Marching two paces behind the Italian prince. The doors of the drawing room were opened back for the trio. There she was.... This was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in a month. And there was a man beside her... in front of her. Talking. Chistov eyed down his employer. Anger and pity upon his face. Fucking Ares.... she'd told them everything, hadn't she? Did they read the text? Did they now know the truth? Why he was angry?

Hector was appeared now, tense and aggravated. He’d gotten the text. He read everything. Christov signed to him: ‘Dude, you were supposed to hold him up? Distraction!’

Hector replied with quick hands: ‘Bad timing. This could get ugly. Watch for his guns. Protect Lali.’

"Lalienna. Santino stopped his march just inside the room. Waiting  for her to turn. To face him. He wanted to see the damage. The ruins he'd dragged her through. Was that her father? That man right there? He breathed in... a shuddering breath. Breathed out. Stepped forward. Extended his hand. This was his lover's father. He'd pay his respects. Even if he did want to put a bullet in his fucking brain. "Signore.... I'm your daughter's intended. Santino D'Antonio, how do you do?"

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You...you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt... and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this...this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So...worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness? Or: The Monstrous Beauty of Medusa

caravaggio medusa details

"Cerberus!" He loved it! The name rolled off his tongue with his Italian accent. He tried the name a few more times.

"Cerberus, Cerberus... Baby Cerbs... A baby... Oh Lali, congratulations Mami, amore mio, you're the proud mother of a darling baby boy! I'm so happy for you amore! God... look at me, I'm crying!"

He couldn't help himself. His eyes flooded as he looked at his prospective wife and their furry child. His heart was singing, and breaking... Fuck... Fuck... He wanted to get her a ring. He wanted to make it official.

Cool it.

Cool off.

It hasn't even been three months yet. It had taken him four years before he finally proposed to Marissa. He wasn't ready to rush something so important with Lalienna. But he was Italian, hot-blooded, impulsive, and she was holding a furry son. Loving him. He was praising himself. This had been his idea had't it? Oh... yeah... No it wasn't. It was Hector's.  But it didn't matter. He wanted to make her happy.

No matter the cost. Anything. Nothing would stop him from bringing a smile to this young woman's face. She was only twenty-one but she'd suffered so much. An addict and abuser for a mother, dead now. A father that wouldn't acknowledge her in the slightest. Selfish, too caught up in his own life to take responsibility for the fact that he'd be instrumental to birthing a bastard.

The Ruska Roma... The Director. That was no life, the Russian clans. They were monsters. Hard, brutal, born on blood and torture and torment. John Wick.... Fucking John Wick was revered in the Underworld. He'd come from the Ruska Roma as well. A dog of The Director. A powerful family clan. A Prince of the Underworld.

No, no don't think about John. John was... dangerous territory. He didn't want to remember that man's face right now. Somewhere deep inside his heart, he was aching at the fact that Lalienna had confessed to Wick being her first true lover. And it had been recent. Too recent. That... and the Powell Family. Gianna had been sending him missives and updates from her time in London. She would not be pleased to learn that her brother had taken flight back to Italy and removed the entire High Guard when House Powell had just declared open war against the White Women. Fuck... He was gonna get caned for this when Gianna found out. She probably already knew. He was surprised she wasn't blowing up her phone.

Perhaps... if she did... He could contract someone else to take over on his behalf.

John's face flashed in his mind's eye again. Prince of the Underworld. Lord of Darkness. They called him Baba Yaga now. The killer of the boogeyman. He'd make the call if he had to. But there was no guarantee John would accept the work. Not if he knew the depth of the back-story that proceeded the job. Perhaps he'd refuse on principle when he learned that House Powell summoned the feud because of his love affair with Lalienna in the first place.

That would be an awkward conversation. He wondered how it would play out.

'Benvenuto John, vieni a sederti con me, prendi un caffè. Ascolta, ho bisogno che tu uccida qualcuno per me. Il potenziale pretendente della tua ex ragazza a Londra. Ci stai?' (Welcome John, come sit with me, have a coffee. Listen, I need you to kill someone for me. Your ex-girlfriend's prospective suitor in London. Are you in?)

He could almost imagine that man's dark eyes darken even further at the mere mention. He wouldn't have to tell him the truth. Just that it was all business. He'd met Lalienna in London at the Continental. And he'd offered her a job considering she was unattached to any other syndicate or clan. She'd accepted. She was Camorra now under the D'Antonio's. On his payroll. That would do, wouldn't it? He didn't have to say, 'Yeah, I've also made Lalienna my girlfriend. I'm fucking her for you. Because you don't have the balls to keep doing it. Your loss motherfucker. She's my slave now.'

No way. John would empty a magazine into his head so fast he'd not have time to speak his mother's name as his last words. This was dangerous. He'd have to chose someone else. He and Wick had history when their paths crossed in the past. The Russians and Italians acknowledged each other as superpowers in the underworld. Coupled with the English, they were practically unstoppable. They'd taken on the Triads and the Japanese before and won. And lost... but mostly won.

That didn't matter now. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it. What mattered right now was Lalienna as she sat on the bed with his tiny, furry son. He was in love. Absolutely in love. Nothing could make him any happier. He wiped at his tears with the back of his hand and kissed her forehead and the baby Cerberus'  tiny ears. The little pup looked up sleepily and snuggled deeper into the young lady's arms. In his little mind, baby Cerberus had decided that this human girl smelled warm, friendly. She... smelled like blood. Mummy blood. He remembered that smell. His mummy smelled like that too. His brothers and sisters. He missed them already. Mummy and Daddy had told him that one day, soon, he would be separated from his pack to find a forever home with a new human family. That his mission would be to grow up big and strong and protect them whoever they were. This human lady was it. He was sure of it. She smelled like she needed protecting. He was tiny, sleepy and still much too little and new to this interesting world to be of any use yet. But he promised to himself, as he heard his name christened. He was Cerberus. Hmm, he liked that name.

He'd like to tell Mummy and Daddy and his puppy pack that the human lady had given it to him. She smelled warm. Gentle. Young, like him. And she smelled of blood. Young blood. Birthing blood. He knew what that smell meant. She had had a pup too... Was he her pup? Now he was confused. He was tired. The other humans were so very nice to him. They were big and strong and they held him gently and made sure he felt safe. They were boy humans. He liked boy humans. They were just like him. And they smelled warm and tender and big and strong. They were protectors. He wanted to grow up just like them.

Mmmh, his Lady Human. He loved her. She was warm... He would sleep here a little.

'Wait for me, Lady Human. I will grow big and strong for you. Just take care of me. I love you.' Were his final thoughts as he drifted in her arms to a comfortable sleep.

"Amore, I'm going to give you and the baby some time alone to get acquainted. I'm so happy you love him. The boys and I wanted to give you someone special. Someone who could love and protect you deeper than even we can. He's yours forever bella. You have to promise me to look after him with your heart and soul. Remember, he has to go wherever you go. You have to protect him and he will lay his life down for you as soon as he gets bigger. You're a mother now. He's going to make you grow up quickly. We're all here to help you raise him. Hector has raised dogs since he was a child, Panchelli as well. I don't doubt the other guards have all had occasion to look after dogs and other animals in their history. We're  all in this together. But  you are his sole legal registered owner. You'll be responsible for his training and feeding and cleaning. Because you're strong and intelligent and it will do you good to focus on his up-bringing. Never let his care make you feel overwhelmed. If you ever need a break, we're here for you. All of us. Bring him to me, I will care for him in your stead. Day and night. He's welcome to sleep on the beds and sofas.  Just be careful he doesn't get in the way of the maids when they're working. And if it rains, make sure he doesn't track puppy paws all over the house. Panchelli is particular about clean floors. . and...." He had so much more to say...

"Lalienna... I love you amore mio. I meant it when I told you there's nothing going on with Chris and I. We're idiots. Playing around, being silly. We didn't mean it. Look, you know us. We're family now. Sure, we're going to kiss and hug and sleep in the same beds some times. That's natural in my house. I do it on purpose because guards that are kept safe and warm become better attack dogs when they have something they feel they really want to protect. If I treated them like mercenaries, paid muscle... They'd treat me like a paid employer. Camorra or not. They'd go where the money and the power goes. It's love that keeps them here. My love. Our love for each other. We're tight babe. Really tight. We have history and you'll have to accept it runs deeper and longer than yours. This is still very new to you, I know. We've been together less than three months. Let's just... grow together a bit. Get your heels dug in. Feel the way we work with each other. Learn that we are family first and foremost. Business partners second."

He kissed her cheek again. His fingers caressing the puppy's warm, soft hind legs as he slept in her arms.

"Lali... we have rules babe. Lines we don't cross. We talked about this in the past but not clearly enough. We make vows to each other. There's a legitimate code of conduct that even though it's unspoken its contractual and we have to adhere to it so we don't get ourselves over-complicated when we shouldn't.  I know... what you saw last night looked like a mess. We were both pretty fucked up. Actually, we all were. I don't let them get loose like that very often. We almost never have hard drugs in the house for that reason. When we're working, we have to keep sober, straight. No booze, no nothing. It clouds your judgment, your perspective is off. Imagine having to make a business deal or negotiate a border skirmish between rival gangs when you're stoned off your face? We didn't get to be number 1 in Rome by taking potshots and injecting crack. We've got a reputation to uphold. We're operatives under The High Table. The Table in Italy is guarded by my father, Lorenzo. He's your boss now as much as he's mine. And beneath him is Gianna. If she says we do something, we do it. We don't ask questions and we don't push back. Rome is ours babe, but there's rules we need to respect. The politicians, the police, the feds. Lorenzo keeps them paid off. Yes it's corrupt but the Mafia has existed for centuries, from Sicily to Venice and back again. If we can't respect each other, and our rules. How are we going to respect them, eh?"  He got to his feet now and made for the door, smiling at her. Loving her.

"Whatever you think you've heard about my past, whatever you think you know. I urge you to ask me up front, tesoro. I mean it. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm loyal in a relationship. I'll be the first to admit I've whored about a lot when I was younger. Guys, girls, anything I wanted. But when I said, enough. That I was gonna settle in with one woman, I fuckin' meant it. No cheating. No backstabbing. No double-cross, or two-timing. It's not my style. I don't play those dirty games because I've had them played on me." He didn't want to say the rest but he did.

"Before you... about three years ago... there was a woman I was gonna marry. Her name was Marissa Conti. We were engaged. She ended up leaving me. It was complicated. Messy. I loved her and found out she was seeing another man behind my back. And sleeping with him in my bed when I wasn't home. We.... never made it past the engagement. I put an exclusive contract out on her lover. I had him beaten, abused, tortured until he confessed everything. Christov and Hector were there. They all knew one way or the other what was happening. They were all paid for what we did to him that night. I paid them to end his life. I was the one that put a bullet in his head for fucking my fiancée. ... I made her watch... And what I did to her... It cost me.....Two years. Complicated. Messy. I don't wanna talk about this now, or ever. But... one day, if you're raw about it, and need to know. Come and find me. We'll have coffee. We'll talk. But at least now, you know where I stand. You know deep down why I went insane when I found out about Devina. And baby, I thought about it. Putting a hit on her. I thought about making you watch as I blew her fucking head off. I would have done it too... But I get it. You had history together. I understand history. So you can sleep easy at night knowing I'm going to keep my word when I tell you Devina is going to live. I'm not gonna fuck with her. For you.... But Lali.... amore mio.... You're not gonna fuck with me either. Okay?"

He'd said more than he was prepared to. He was aching now. He needed time alone. He nodded to her,

"Take care of the baby." The last thing he said before leaving the room and shutting the door.

|||

Ares and Christov were standing in the hallway, chattering with each other using rapid sign language. He couldn't tell what they were saying.

"Hey boss! How'd it go? She loves him right?! We did good, right?" He came forward to meet his friends and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. He kissed both their cheeks and confirmed the idea was a masterpiece. That Lalienna had named the baby dog Cerberus, after the protective hound of Hell.  Both guards were very impressed.

'Ares, can you give us boys a minute?' He signed. The young woman saluted happily. She threw up a peace sign and knocked at Lali's door before letting herself in and leaving Chris and Tino alone on the landing.

"Walk with me." Was all Tino said. Christov did. Following at his boss' heels. He was a good dog. He'd do what he was told without question.

The men made their way downstairs. To the kitchen where Pancheilli was busy organizing rosters with the maids. The old butler immediately brightened and asked if the master could be attended but Santino smiled and told him to continue. He just wanted to make some coffee. Would he take the ladies to another room please to continue their business?

"Certo signore! andiamo, abbiamo molto da fare. Chi ha le schede attività? Vai, vai, il maestro è occupato. Non ha bisogno di noi." (Certainly sir! Ladies, come on, we have much to do. Who has the timesheets? Go, go, the master is busy. He doesn't need us.)

The maids and butler retired to the servants quarters. The chef had gone to the markets to restock the pantry. Santino and Christov were alone. Tino attended the coffee machine and served two rich cappuccinos before suggesting they go and take them on the balcony overlooking the gardens.  

Christov thanked his employer, took both their cups and led the way, holding back the door and settling down next to Tino, serving him his coffee.

"Smoke boss?"

"Per favore." (Please)

Then men inhaled and sipped their cups contentedly. Happy to just be lost in their own thoughts.

"She loves the little dog, eh?"

"Yeah... he's precious, like her. She'll love him like her own son, I know she will."

"We did good boss. I'm glad you bought him for her. She needs this. More than you'll ever know."

"Christov?"

"Yeah?"

"About last night." Chris stung inside. He dropped his eyes. Taking his coffee as the only important thing in the world. He knew this was coming. He was fucking dreading it.

"Lalienna knows something's up. Between us. She thought I'd left the bed to go fuck you last night because she was too weak and high."

"Get out of it."

"I'm serious."

That hurt. Deeply. Santino hadn't looked at him romantically since Singapore. Those kisses last night, through fueled in hatred... were something else. Jealousy. He was hurting inside. Lalienna had overtaken him.  Had taken Santino away. And he knew that would happen. That's fine. Whatever. He wasn't the main focus anyway. He never wanted to be. He wasn't a fag after all. He liked pussy as much as the next guy. He liked Lalienna's. But now... with the baby... or lack thereof. And with Ares. There was too much competition. Santino was home now. Back in the picture. He'd been pushed to the side. Again. The way he had all his life.

"There's nothing going on between us, boss. Don't worry about it. I was high last night."

"Bullshit. You didn't touch a single line. I watched you. You were sober for her. You've been guarding her with Hector and Ares more than any of the others. You know something and you won't let me in on it. Start talking."

"There's nothing to talk about, man. I mean it. She's fucked. You fucked her up good. Broke her down after the affair. She was a mess when you stopped talking to her. I told you about this remember? We had to care for her because you stopped. Because it was inconvenient."

"She's never been inconvenient."

"So long as it suits you."  God! That stung him. Like a kick to the balls. His green eyes darkened. He sucked on his cigarette and attacked.

"Where's this coming from, Christov? Hmm? You jealous?"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' jealous. I admit it. I was pissed off. She's a really beautiful girl and you tormented her by being a dick. I would have taken her place if I could. Anything. Just to be under you."

"Under me?"

"You know what I mean, man. I've been real to you since Singapore."

"The other girls?"

"Paid entertainment. Couple of Athena's whores in London. In and out. Nothing serious." He met his employer's eyes now. And he was burning. Angry.

"Listen, I get it. Really I do. I don't fuck with the family. I don't break the code of conduct, I don't mix business with pleasure and I keep my shit on the down-low. Discreet. Outside of business hours. But what we did in Singapore. You can't tell me that was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, Chris. It was as real for you as it was for me."

"We were both high."

"We were both lonely."

"I should have taken that bullet for you."

"You gave me another one. It was deeper and it harder than anything I've taken before."

That made him laugh. The two men eased off a bit. Yes there was still heat between them, but it was below the surface.

"Yeah well... you kinda did a number on me too. You'll forgive me for getting antsy about rules. We both blew them that night. When we blew each other. You've been my first and last guy. I wasn't expecting to feel so.... replaced."

"Christov, come on? Really? Replaced? With who? You see me putting a ring on the other boys?"

"You should probably tell Curtis and Tony to cool off then. They were practically fucking each other on the lounge in front of the girls last night."

Another laugh as both men took to their coffees and smokes.

"So we're all breaking the rules. Blurring the lines. Okay. Okay. I get it. If I mean to be a leader then I need to lead by example. And I've not been doing a very good job." Santino admitted.

"Look, London was hard man. We appreciate you giving us space to just be free and blow off some steam. We love Lalienna, really. But she's new and fragile. We gonna protect her. And that includes from our bullshit."

"You got off last night. Tattooing her. I saw you kiss her knee." Chris stiffened in his seat a little. His mouth watered. He'd... touched himself to that memory last night, alone. In his bed.

"Yeah, I did. I kissed her. But.. she wasn't into it the way I wanted to. I got off on it, but she was vacant, man. Whatever drugs she was trippin' on weren't keeping her focused. Fuckin' hot tatt though, am I right?"

"Wet dream material."

"I know, right!"

"Fuck yeah. Thank you, Christov, for marking her for me. For us. I appreciate your hard work. She'll come thank you eventually herself."

"She doesn't need to. I know she's just easing into the idea of being part of our crew. She's got a great ass though."

"Si... she does. I know... I've held it."

"So don't give me shit about being jealous. Respect brother!"

"Respect!" Both men bumped fists. Shook hands. Pulled each other into a tight hug. It lasted. And lasted.

Neither man was willing to be the first to pull away. So they didn't. They just embraced. Feeling the beat of the other's heart against each other's chests.

The air had cleared between them. Santino felt less deceptive now that he'd confronted their affair in the open. Christov roiled in hidden guilt. He shouldn't have done what he did with Lalienna. Letting her come to his rooms. Sleep in his bed. Brought her to orgasm with his fingers, with his tongue. Fuck... A hidden three-way love triangle. Right out of some softcore porno. He still wanted to show her that video. And he'd learn to accept that his relationship with his employer was always going to be a family affair. Whether he wanted to or not. Singapore was ages ago. Years ago. They'd never come back to that intimacy together. They'd gotten close. They'd slept in each other's beds. They'd kissed and fondled each other. Tino had let him suck him off, once... twice... Maybe more. Much more. And it had been incredible. But it was a dream now. Lalienna was here. And he was crossing the invisible line.

Finally, the two men separated. Christov lingered. Closer than he should. He came forward, putting down his cigarette and pulling Tino's out of his lips. He watched his boss blow out the plume of smoke he'd held from the corner of his mouth. And the moment he was done, he came forward and kissed him. Slow... gentle. Just lips touching. Nothing more.

Santino accepted the kiss. Opened his mouth a little. Telling the other man it was okay. So it built. Deeper. They're tongues exchanged an embrace and both men recognized that there was still very much a searing flame of passion between them. Unrecognized. Denied. But it existed. There were fireworks. It felt good. Comfortable. It wasn't pretentious or unsolicited. It was just relaxed. Lazy. Like sex on a late Sunday morning. They pulled away at last. Both men sighed deeply. Smiling at each other. Taking their coffee cups and cigarettes again.

"So... Santino... You breaking up with me? For Lalienna?" He smirked. Cheeky grin. He wasn't going to let this break him down.

"Yeah... for Lalienna. She's my main squeeze now. She's special. So I'm still your boss. But I'm definitely breaking up with you." Both men laughed. This felt good too. Bittersweet. But good.

"'Kay... I'm kinda pissed about it. But, she's a special girl. So I'll allow it. Because I like her too. And she has a great ass. And incredible tits. And I already got deep into her skin when I gave her that tattoo. So in a way, I've kinda already fucked her for you." That was dirty, he shouldn't have gone that far. But he didn't care. Tino laughed it off with a smirk.

"Well... if anyone was gonna honour fuck her, I'd be glad for it to be you. Because... the way she is right now...I don't think I'll be getting laid anytime soon." Tino came forward off the lounge and crushed his smoke into the ashtray. Rising to his feet and blowing out the last of the cigarette through his lips.

"She'll come 'round boss. Just give her time. She's raw you know. Girls on their periods are edgy. She's young. She needs to be looked after. Just like Ares. "

"Pfffft! Don't start me on Ares. I know she's crushing on Lali, hard."

"She'll behave. I'll get her to take it easy. Back off."

"Grazie." (Thanks) Tino said.

"Prego." (You are welcome) Chris replied watching as his employer and one-time lover re-entered the house. He didn't want to go in just yet. The air felt good against his skin. He'd have another smoke first. Clear his head a bit. He'd just been dumped, after all. It was heavy. And he still had to work for the man that dumped him. That would take adjusting. He could do this. Besides. They had a distraction now. He'd visit Lali later with the puppy. Offer to take them both for their first walk around the block. He still wanted to show her that video. Now he wanted to up the steaks. Bet some money on it. They didn't make it clear how they'd determine the winner. But he knew, deep in his heart. He'd end up back between her legs, eating her out. No time soon. Not while she was in the aftermath of abortion. But one day she'd need him. And she knew what to do. Just knock on his door. He'd let her in.

He was her attack dog after all.