[Don Caro was a wise, if far too kind-hearted, man.
When he had opened the door one fateful afternoon to find his newest charge holding a pistol to his head, he had spoken softly and warmly, advising without lecturing. 'Faustino, what you lose when you walk a path doesn't make up for the knowledge you gain.'
He had felt old and young then, a mix of past lifetimes that had been injected into his brain ( the eye was the window of the soul for a reason ), an angry and lost little boy who knew too much and had seen too much but had yet to truly live. Some nights he awoke with the songs of languages he had never known on his tongue, the feel of the desert sand beneath his feet, with the warmth of a lover he had, a confusing maelstrom he had never asked to traverse but had been tossed into headfirst. If he had to be in this hell, he would drag everyone down with him.
Somehow, Don Caro managed to talk him out of opening that last forbidden door, that he wasn't alone in this hell. That while his world had only been pain and suffering, now it would be introduced to kindness and love. All he had to do was trust.
It seemed hardly worth it, but Faustino handed over the gun ( but not the three possession bullets ) and took the Don's hand.
Though the Caro Family was small, it was prosperous and welcoming, adopting not one broken child but three. Tutors were brought in to help Faustino learn his 'native' languages ( French, Arabic, Japanese, and a few others that had long since been dead ). He learned how to shoot, and through watching egregio signor Lancia tirelessly, started to pick up hand to hand combat.
Schooling was boring when it came to the actual content but interesting in a social context ( Faustino only went to press the dress code, test out how easy it was to form a cult, and so he could have an alibi ). The Don decided he would be suited for diplomacy and started prepping him for that, and while it was interesting, it wasn't his only calling.
He started to amass an information network, a network of willing hosts, a black book full of aliases, and honed his combat skills and illusions until he knew he was topnotch. While diplomacy was well and good, Faustino knew better than to believe that everyone in the mafia was as forgiving as Don Caro.
Still, he found ways to make time to be home whenever egregio signor Lancia was about, a coincidence he chalked up to their closeness when he was a child, but over the years had taken a different glint of interest. Besides Don Caro, egregio signor Lancia had been the one who had cared after him most, and the only one who put up a decent fight when Faustino was in the mood.]
Egregio signor.
[It was said with equal parts mocking, affection, and warmth, even though Faustino's smile was more of a sharp smirk. He sauntered into the training room easily, long hair fluttering behind him because for some reason, wholesome murder was frowned upon but crimes against fashion were acceptable.]
You're back sooner than expected. How was your trip?
Inappropriate Advances AU
When he had opened the door one fateful afternoon to find his newest charge holding a pistol to his head, he had spoken softly and warmly, advising without lecturing. 'Faustino, what you lose when you walk a path doesn't make up for the knowledge you gain.'
He had felt old and young then, a mix of past lifetimes that had been injected into his brain ( the eye was the window of the soul for a reason ), an angry and lost little boy who knew too much and had seen too much but had yet to truly live. Some nights he awoke with the songs of languages he had never known on his tongue, the feel of the desert sand beneath his feet, with the warmth of a lover he had, a confusing maelstrom he had never asked to traverse but had been tossed into headfirst. If he had to be in this hell, he would drag everyone down with him.
Somehow, Don Caro managed to talk him out of opening that last forbidden door, that he wasn't alone in this hell. That while his world had only been pain and suffering, now it would be introduced to kindness and love. All he had to do was trust.
It seemed hardly worth it, but Faustino handed over the gun ( but not the three possession bullets ) and took the Don's hand.
Though the Caro Family was small, it was prosperous and welcoming, adopting not one broken child but three. Tutors were brought in to help Faustino learn his 'native' languages ( French, Arabic, Japanese, and a few others that had long since been dead ). He learned how to shoot, and through watching egregio signor Lancia tirelessly, started to pick up hand to hand combat.
Schooling was boring when it came to the actual content but interesting in a social context ( Faustino only went to press the dress code, test out how easy it was to form a cult, and so he could have an alibi ). The Don decided he would be suited for diplomacy and started prepping him for that, and while it was interesting, it wasn't his only calling.
He started to amass an information network, a network of willing hosts, a black book full of aliases, and honed his combat skills and illusions until he knew he was topnotch. While diplomacy was well and good, Faustino knew better than to believe that everyone in the mafia was as forgiving as Don Caro.
Still, he found ways to make time to be home whenever egregio signor Lancia was about, a coincidence he chalked up to their closeness when he was a child, but over the years had taken a different glint of interest. Besides Don Caro, egregio signor Lancia had been the one who had cared after him most, and the only one who put up a decent fight when Faustino was in the mood.]
Egregio signor.
[It was said with equal parts mocking, affection, and warmth, even though Faustino's smile was more of a sharp smirk. He sauntered into the training room easily, long hair fluttering behind him
because for some reason, wholesome murder was frowned upon but crimes against fashion were acceptable.]You're back sooner than expected. How was your trip?