(Verando's POV)
Marcello leaned back against the wood railing, overlooking the party lazily rolling below. The building was large, spacious, akin to a capitol style set up with multiple stories and overlooks. The prestigious event wasn't as much for celebrities more so a gathering of the small territories that had begun to spring up surrounding the city.
As deserts were returning to grass lands and inner cities still crumbling away due to the lack of Artifice, it was more important than ever to come together and try to find solutions to the gap between those thriving and those dying. Unfortunately, a gathering such as this was more so an excuse to drink than it was an opportunity to discuss. No doubt these discussions would dwindle on for the coming weeks while those who truly made the decisions put in long hours and the political heads showed a display of good spirits for the press.
Verando couldn't help but smirk at the thought, it seemed not much had changed even with the various warnings. Nothing would hasten the lumber of political momentum. But, they could at least have the solicae that the government was finally on their side.
"Thanks for coming with me. I have been trying to get this guy for weeks, maybe with two of us-"
Verando exhales, stopping the other man mid-sentence with a knowing look that suggested his real intention were obvious. Marcello had recently made the move to France and it wasn't hidden that Lotta felt it would benefit the retired warlord to have friends of similar background. "I very much doubt there is a soul alive who gives you the slip, Marcello," Verando responds, taking a slow drag off his cigarette while eyeing the patrons below.
His mood was somber, thinking of me, thinking of how I would have loved to attend such an event if nothing else than for the atmosphere and the involvement in the intrict workings of a rebuilding nation. I was the one who gained the most out of these events.
Marcello smirks, patting the gray-haired man firmly on the back once, he would give him credit that the man was well researched. While it wasn't his favorite to have any sort of physical contact, the lycan couldn't help but feel relief at the slight contact. A wolf needed it's pack, a solitary life was a dim one in comparison much as he used to seek it. "You caught me. I'm worried about you. Why the hell else do you think I came all the way from America to do see your pathetic ass?" He snickers, crossing his arms to lean on the railing once more. "I had a pretty sweet thing going there."
"Mmm." Verando muses, exhaling the smoke that did nothing but burn his sensitive nose. He'd promised me he'd try to stop, yet here he was partaking at the slightest inconvenience. It was a dose of morphine to his senses, a way to settle down in the electricity of their task. "Hiding underground with all of its wonders and mysteries. My my, it really is quite a pity that you had to come all the way to France. Here I thought it was for the pay increase." Raising an eyebrow, he eyes the military man who smirks once more, unashamed.
"That too." Marcello taps out a non-challant rhythm on the railing, tilting his head to the side to observe the man for a moment longer. "Gary says you're not yourself. I figured you could use some company."
"Is anyone, anymore? You've been in combat, could you truly say you're the same as you were?" It was a frustrating topic, given the state of the world. To give oneself permission to feel anything when their significant other tipped on the edge of sanity seemed selfish at the very least. He had everything he wanted, to still be miserable was an insult to their cause. "It's Nic I'm concerned about."
Worrying about me was easier than addressing his own mental fatigue. It'd been a long few years but faced with immortality, a little more discomfort seemed a worth while endevor. Enduring was something he'd gotten quite good at.
Pulling his lips into a line, Marcello takes the opportunity to scan the crowd, undoubtedly regathering the position of their target for the evening. Uninvited, a low profile was necessary and a quick exit crucial. All they had to do was wait for the right moment. "Pretty sure Nic can take care of himself. But, while we're talking about Nic, does he know about your extracurricular activities?" The responding flinch compels Marcello to pinch the bridge of his nose, strong fingers colliding with the sharp, full, dark brows pulled down with disappointment.
It was a difficult topic, given the state of things in our household. Hypocritical might be one word for it in a sense, given the direction one chose to look at such work. "I'm not a political figure. I'm not doing this for gain, I'm doing this because the money is good and-" The addition makes him pause. It's admitting defeat to the monster. It's surrender to the part inside of him that needed stimulation just as I did. With a dry spell a mile long only recently seeing the light, nowhere to hunt, and a lack of companionship, the darkness was creeping back in around the edges.
"And?" Marcello presses.
"If I can take one more bad person out of this god forsaken place..." His voice trails off as he runs a hand through his hair, taking another draw on the death stick. "The gods have cursed me with a talent of which I struggle to escape, while I have no interest in using it to gain favor, the only peace I get is when I'm hunting. This is when my mind is calm."
The military man could understand that, for he struggled with the same demons. War changed people, turning them into machines that then must be forced to attempt to live normal lives. "Post Traumatic Stress, ever heard of it?" He ignores the eye roll as the English man pulls a flask out of his internal jacket pocket and takes a sip. "I get it." His voice softens, smooth and low, the hint of a sad smile at the corner of his lips. "I'm doing the job, same as you, have been for a while. I guess better it be us than those who will come for us next."
A frown crosses the gray haired man's lips. "I think about that every day. When do we become the thing that is to be hunted? We took over once before, I struggle to trust that there is to be an allowance for our existence in the same space of those who wish to gain power. Soon it'll be our names on that card, might as well be ready for it."
Bowing his head in acceptance and amusement, it was why Verando had liked the man in the first place. He was serious but he also had an odd sense of humor about things that proved to be a relief. The man was a walking sedative, eminating calm energy that could have easily aided him in his various military accomplishments. After living with me for the last six months, Marcello was a welcomed break in the high charged atmosphere of his home life.
Hours spent lying awake, only to pace the halls and stare at the ever boring camera. Cleaning, endless cleaning, because it was something that could be controlled immediately. More hiding places, more cameras, more mirrors, more weapons, anything if it meant that they would all finally be safe. Finding someone who understood what that was like was challenging.
"Nic hasn't mastered his wolf, yet?"
The question catches him off guard but it was probably common knowledge at this point. "Nic isn't himself in the least." The defeated tone leads the male to the root of the problem. The true rub that caused the lycan the brunt of his discomfort. With a sickened laugh, Verando snubs out the cigarette in a plan and stuffs the butt of it in his pocket. "Despite common thought amoung the court, or what have you, I'm not a dictator who keeps my husband on a tight leash."
With a scoff, Marcello shrugs innocently. "Well, that's a disappointment."
Narrowing the light eyes, he takes the opportunity to survey the crowd as well. "One slip up and it's lights out. There is a zero tolerance law on magical beings going savage thanks to the cats that continue to terrorize the US. If Nic loses it, they will have him executed or worse. Our climate can not take a public mauling, nor can I handle the expected aid that comes with his involvement. You know Nic, a bit at least, he doesn't do anything half way. If we get involved, it will be truly and indefinently. I don't want to run a country."
"Have you told him this?"
It's Verando's turn to scoff, shaking his head at the thought. "When I'm not being molested or stalked, it will take years for him to return to himself. Truth be told, I'd give anything to talk to him about this. But, I know what he's going through. I couldn't control Alpha for many years, it took a leap of faith to finally have some sort of relationship with him. What he's dealing with, it's uncertain how that will all play out." Irritated with talking about himself, he turns the tables on the other man. "How are you dealing with losing Tonya?"
Marcello coughs, blinking wildly at the man. "What does that mean?"
"I'm not an idiot. There's a much bigger reason why you did not accompany us to France and it was not because I asked you to stay and manage the New York district. The Dead City has been self sufficient for months."
Dragging his fingers over the short cut of hair, Marcello exhales slowly with a more serious expression. His full lips tight as his eyes. "I'm just glad it's behind us. You and I are the same in some aspects, though I can't say I'll be turning to men. Those we love tend to leave our lives far before we are ready." Verando pats him on the back, sharing an empathetic frown. "We should hang out more when we're not ordered to kill people."
"And gossip like old women about the good days?" Verando muses, tilting his head to signal the decent of the target towards the exit. "That sounds much to healthy for either of us."
Marcello walks along side him, strolling casually down the isle of the open upper floor. He adjusts his tie, carefully fastening one of the buttons on his jacket and straightening the cuffs of his sleeves. "Being alone isn't good for anyone. We could look out for each other, it might give you some peace of mind. Besides, Lotta scares the hell out of me and you seem to have a good relationship with her."
The sentiment makes him laugh, dimpling his cheek as he keeps his gaze on the target stumbling in an out of the crowd. Keeping up with a drunk was it's own challenge. "Lotta is easy, just don't get on her bad side and play fair. Nothing gets her more riled than poor treatment. I believe Nic would agree with you that she's a tough one." Sliding the card out of his pocket, he scans over the name once more. "Sir Edmund. Hmm. How presitigious."
Marcello wrinkles his nose, "A Johnathan Campbell supporter. Good as dead, the damn traitor. As if anyone would knight such a raging fool. What I wouldn't give to lay down some dying man's advice on his shoulders, such as, don't betray the nation in broad daylight over brunch."
"Well, if there weren't idiots we wouldn't have a job, now would we?" Killing wasn't something he relished in, something that he enjoyed, it was merely a task that came as easy to him as breathing. Reminding him of his days with the mafia, this did not nearly leave the poison taste of murder behind on his tongue as the other did. These people, provided by the intelligence commity, tended to be truly persons of ill intent.
Killing people was a final option, a last resort to get a step closer to the peace he'd been chasing since the war ended and the unicorn was remade. Being so close to the action did exactly what they'd spoken of in the realist sense, it gave him value to those in higher positions who might look to closely into exactly how dangerous him and I were.
It protected us from the prying eyes curious of our 'elf' child.
And it assured everyone that we were still incredibly lethal, that keeping us employed was better than hoping we would disappear only to sick their dogs on us at the next remeberance of our potential threat.
Stalking this man, hunting him as he lived the last moments of his life, it made everything stand still. All the anxiety, the motion sickness of a world spiralling around him, the dread of what might become of it, it all fell away as those minutes ticked down to seconds. He was good at this, he viewed himself as more of an executioner than a murderer. It sent a standard, a quick and painless death, in the hopes that one might be provided to him when his name eventually appeared on that card.
Sharing this with another human, the intimacy of their final steps, it was frightening the amount of calm it brought his frantic mind. Control in all aspects, he could only assume. As Marcello pulls the trigger, the world goes silent, the bullet leaving the gun with an exhale of completion.
At first nobody notices, a stumble, a slight spray of blood. Nobody screams, the music carries on, quiet ommage to what the world would look like when they, too, were dead and gone. Verando leads the pair down the stairs and into the crowd as the first scream breaks the silent calm. Like a stampede, deer startled by the scent of death, the gentle sway turns into fumbling panic and the room becomes alive with the desire to live.
One would think there would be a secret service, a protection for those in power. But money was tight and guidance was at an all time low. The reality was that in the fragile state of the slowly building court systems and political mazes, those who rose to power through poor means needed to be dealt with quickly and cleanly. No need to dampen the population more by killing their guards, too.
An unspoken occupational hazard.
Slipping out of the doors as the crowd pours down the stairs of the capitol building, Marcello pats the holster over his ribs, hiding under his coat. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"That's a damned lie." Verando retorts, taking his keys out of his pocket. "But all the same, I appreciate you asking me to come. This wasn't what I had intended but it was helpful, I do believe. Perhaps we should entertain each other more, given that Nic can forgive you for being within five feet of me."
"That bad?" Marcello chuckles as he hops into the passenger side of the sports car. Verando huffs, exasperated by the thought.
"It's quite impressive. I used to imagine I'd be flattered if someone was jealous over me, now I remember why I don't stay in the same place for very long. Now that he's a lycan, he'd just find me and then what?" It was obviously a joke, but it felt nice to say it out loud. It didn't come from a place of malice, merely making light of a situation that been keeping him up at night for months now. "All and all, I'm ready for him to come home."
Marcello snickers, buckling his seat belt and reclining comfortably back into the seat. "Aww. What a good house wife, dillgiently waiting for your husband's return. Do you cook and clean too? Maybe I should give men a strong consideration if they come with all these ammenities."
Considering punching him, it was to close to home for him to comment. Though, the longer he thought about it, the less it offended him. Finally, he just smirked along with the other man, pulling out of the explosion of civilians and political figures as the cops began to pull in. "Keep having these emotional conversations Marcello and perhaps you too could make someone a promising bride. Next time you want to go on a date, you should probably just ask, need I remind you I'm already married. "