THOSE BEASTS THAT WERE MEN

[Goon 1614]

[The events described in this post are not meant to be metagamed or public knowledge in any way, only to be discovered through proper roleplay.

Cosimo Falcone's sudden disappearance, however, would be noted by those who knew him.]

Spoiler

 

---

THOSE BEASTS THAT WERE MEN

The Providential Courtroom (circa. 1826) 

 

【   | | |   】

 

“It must’ve been a simpler time for my father.”

 

A child and his father walked pointedly through the providential streets, the sounds of their steps buried beneath the sea of city sound. Fortunate then that they had little words to share, glances stuck respectively to their shined shoes against the curated stone, or to the familiar streets ahead- only meeting eyes on a happenstance. 

 

The elder Illatian’s brisk strides made him seem almost skittishly eager, perhaps paranoid, if viewed under another lens- and the boy did his best to match pace. It was a long walk filled, mostly of their silence, and fortunate once more, it was a silence spawned of a mutual understanding.

 

A father and his adolescent son, a mirror’s shrunken image of Cosimo Antony Falcone.

 

“Assuming the best of my confirmation, piccolo, your father will serve honorably the courts of His Imperial State.” Cosimo spoke proudly of that fact, lips twitched to chisel a simper through his often-reticence. 

 

The younger Falcone, on the other hand, seemed neither interested or disinterested, but all the same, he dutifully turned his stare toward the man who broke the quiet- knowingly awaiting for what else was to come from the spiel Cosimo was often prone to. 

 

“When I was your age, I had just begun my studies of the law. I read the Code of Man through and thorough- and I suggest for you to do the same.” A dry sniffle then, to break his vigilant monologue as gloved fingers loft to grasp abrasively against his nose. “This moment- it is what I have always worked for, Dante.” 

 

“Do you understand?”

 

A reluctant nodding met the rhetorically posed query, the youth’s lips pursing of insecurity. Dante diverted his gaze once more to his gait, a self-reflective deflation. “Si.” Dante returned from obligation; was he to be expected clairvoyance at the age of fourteen, or was this lecture meant purely anecdotal- a proud moment of braggery for his father? 

 

“The Right Honorable Judge of the Central Circuit Court- Cosimo Falcone.” Seldomly lively in late, but he was in this instance- hands took from the tuck of his trousers to present his namesake in a grandiose way. Stifled then with a snort of amusement, the older man slid his gloved hands back into his pockets.

 

“Iss long.” The youth commented admonishingly, the influence of his mother’s thickened accent evident in that returned utterance. Just after the words left his tongue, his head lowered sheepishly- daring to critique his father’s pride.

 

Cosimo did not reprimand him for his criticisms though, instead, concurring with another amused huff. “Si.”  A faint smirk marked his features, turning that smirk to meet against the boy’s shrunken ones- a fading return to his reticence. Hushed now, a warmth rumbled through the lowered tone, “But it is earned.”

 

【   | | |   】

 

Towering ivory archways greeted the duo at the end of their stroll, guarding over an outdoor foyer. The ambiental sounds of the idle Orenian chatter and clatter had grown more silent the further they coursed through the structure’s entrance. The tapping of their leather heels meeting against ivory stone stirred a reverberating echo against the vaulted ceilings- muting just after they began to walk against long burgundy carpet, stretching throughout the entirety of that measureless corridor. 

 

At the end of the corridor there was a heavy set of dark wooden doors, Cosimo moving to clasp at one of the large handles- drawing open the sturdy door. A rumbling of metallic creaking sounded, announcing any entrance that might have been made as those hinges groaned piercingly. Cosimo stood aside as he held open the dense door, splaying a hand for Dante to enter first.

 

Obliged and into the room, Dante’s neck craned about the corners of the elevated ceilings and the chandelier that hung so high. The prodigious banners of Orenia swayed gently from the shifting airs of the open doors, strewn aside portraits and paintings of relevance- and in the center of the large auditorium’s furthest wall, a throne to rival a king’s. Seating meant for his respective audience, though, only those two Falcones occupied the vast space.

 

Cosimo continued pointedly forth through the courtroom as his younger trailed unhurriedly behind, twisting himself about in an inquisitive swivel. “Perché siamo qui, padre?” Dante queried of their intentions in that room, halting his follow and falling his stare onto the man who pressed further.

 

“Perché.” Cosimo answered plainly, bringing himself up the small staircase of the judge’s bench to sit himself against the tall wooden chair- a relieved sigh as he coarse his hands taut against the smoothed wooden armrests. “This is where justice may abdicate. And this is where justice may prevail.”

 

Dante, once more, seemed neither interested or disinterested in the cryptic return, churning his lips to the side of his face as he broke his stare from the man atop the allegorical throne. He turned then, hues set against a portrait of a former law-woman who stared back in a stony glower- jostling a flickering furrow of his brows.

 

“It is arguable that justice is subjective- that the ideas of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ come in many shapes. Many colors.” Rambling seemingly to himself, Cosimo’s gaze trailed to the armrest he felt upon, taking a palm to slap pensively against the wooden surface. “An understandable nuance for each basis, non saresti d'accordo?” Though his pattering continued as Cosimo made his query for concurrence, he turned his head for the answer from the youth who was staring once more at him- piercing, his father’s stare was.

 

The younger Illatian casted a gentle shrug to answer that query, taking a swallow at an anxious knot that tied in his throat. “Sbagliato è sbagliato… Wrong is always wrong. But the justice to remedy the wrong should always be fair.” A hope he had responded well enough to pride his father, Dante kept intently against the would-be judge- awaiting his reaction, awaiting his response.

 

“Mm.” The elder man hummed content with the response given by his begotten, coaxing a nodding of his head as he slunk back to a comfortable lean in that seat. A balled and gloved hand moved to prop his head upright, the other palm splaying as he further pressed, “And what is to be defined as wrong- to you, figliolo?”

 

Cosimo dared not avert his scrutinous gaze from the boy, but the boy did not have such gall- turning his verdant eyes toward his shined shoes. He stammered momentarily as he pondered the correct response, murmuring just audibly enough for the man across the room to hear, “Degeneracy.. Like- killing people, stealing property.” No further elaboration of thought, a surface level observation made as if it were an obligatory and trained response.

 

“And if these things are from a perceived necessity?” Cosimo chided the sheepish response with a lofting brow, as if goading a greater stir from the equally reticent boy. Just as he comforted himself, he sprung forth from his lean to press his arms against the podium in front of him, narrowing his eyes against the youth who refused to look at him. “If the slain man meant the preservation of the executioner’s family? If the stolen goods were meant he would satiate the roiling hunger within his child’s belly?” Dour now, unsatisfied with the meek response to the open-ended question- as if Dante’s unfounded opinion were the only incorrect answer that the adolescent could have given.

 

Dante no longer wished to speak for fear of further disappointing his father. His brows pinched tighter as he started an aimless pacing, settling himself and his glance at the defendant’s stand. A finger trailed over the grain of the polished wood, he thought over what might have been a better suited response- perhaps clairvoyance was expected of the fourteen year old. 

 

Evident he would get no response, Cosimo fell back into his lean with a nonchalance. His head canted lazily then and his wrist rolled, idly emphasizing the chiming to follow, “I have killed a man before, you know.”

 

The utterance ripped a further silence between the two. Dante picked his head up from the pattern of the table to meet against his father’s imposing stare.

 

“Seven- no, eight, now.” Cosimo corrected himself, doubling down on his admittance and his nonchalance as he kept his tight stare against the boy- as if toying with him to gauge his reactions to the jarring remark. 

 

Dante’s eyes tried to settle themselves as they bounced against the pallid elder’s expressions, stammering before a query could be made, “Why?” The boy spoke desperately to understand- why his father had killed anyone and why he made such a callous admittance of such. He kept his features clear of the scowl he wanted to make, pleading through flickering eyes in its stead.

 

“Necessity.” Cosimo reiterated matter-of-factly, properly sitting himself from the lax lean he was sprawled in. Deadpanned glare made to the youth, letting the silence fester long before continuing, “I’ve killed men who I deemed deserved the sentence- and I’ve killed men who have never once even slighted me.” A fervor bolstered his inclining tone, falling just as suddenly as it rose to a brooding quiet, “My own uncle. My own father- tuo nonno. All of necessity.”

 

【   | | |   】

 

“If he were not himself, he would demand men like him do not deserve justice.”

 

Temperamental in his latest days. Choleric, even— those who spoke to him were unsure of what would unsettle him. And once he was unsettled, they were unsure what he would do. The spontaneity typical of Illatians- but harmfully so. 

 

Opulence was a requirement of those goals he sought to achieve, whether or not he saw the value of such anymore. An impatience now found with the frivolities and diversions that he so fruitlessly chased, as if only to realize that none of this would truly matter- especially after all those he knew and loved would be gone. 

 

Tormented; by the weight of a lifetime and by his familial curse of cyclical binds. Much like his mother, but so much more like his father- volatile and callous. Those wrongdoings, by now, certainly overshadowed any love and care he held- same as his father before.

 

Perhaps there was someone who would care about his sudden disappearance, but even he would not bet on such- a husk of who he was meant to become in his later days. Gone, and hopefully forgotten.

 

No answers to the House Commons’ summons meant for his judicial confirmation, no words to the wife or any woman he would mean to accompany, and no appearances for the children he was meant to raise. 

 

【   | | |   】

 

“I did what I had to do, always. Same as my father and his before.”

 

Tremoring exhales were made from the youth that struggled to maintain that eye’s contact- the youth that struggled to maintain his composure. Fingers that restlessly trembled in their trace of the wooden markings- Dante had not a word to say to his father in that instance.

 

“Do you deem me fit to decide what is just, figliolo?” Cosimo asked with a canting head, a stoic stare still held against the disconcerted boy as he awaited the response.

 

And there would be none still, silence as Dante broke their eye contact once more. Growing emboldened with a huff, as a scowl began to settle against his expressions- the world’s view of his father shattered into fragments from what was only but a few moments ago.

 

“Rispondetemi, Dante.” Cosimo commanded loudly, vaulting himself to a stand and stepping from atop of the judge’s bench with a haste- unbroken in his stare as he goaded further, “Do you deem a man who has lied- who has stolen- who has killed- fit to determine what is just?” The man spoke each word juttedly through gritted teeth, a scowl of his own as he drew closer.

 

Dante clammed upon his father’s aggressive approach, retracting his form further as the man grew closer- though, this retreat only beckoned Cosimo to grasp abrasively against his coat’s flap. Dante’s sour grimace was replaced with a fearful worry, making the occasional glance to see his elder’s features, but ultimately deciding to close his eyes- an attempted escape mentally from the brooding tensions.

 

An amused snort then from Cosimo, his head so close to Dante’s that the huff would practically rustle against the boy’s ear hairs. “Your silence.” Cosimo called longingly, a juxtaposing calm in his now-hushed tone. He shook subtly his head, setting free the boy’s garments with a push, “Your silence is answer enough.”

 

The adolescent grabbed angrily at his rustled coat, flicking it as to smooth the wrinkles the grasp may have coaxed- unhidden in the scowl held against his father now. As expected, no response was made from Dante, merely watching the back of his father’s head as the man started an idle pacing away from the boy.

 

“It must have been a simpler time for my uncle. For my father..” Cosimo called from an unlived nostalgia, gaze picking up toward the Impressionist painter’s interpretation of a courtroom gathering- ‘The Day Justice Died.’ The two stood frozen, the man fixated with the intricacies of the art piece, and the boy to the man he no longer knew.

 

A suckling sound broke the quiet as Cosimo drew upon his teeth, taking his hands to bury underneath the flap of his coat. From behind the man, Dante would not see what was drawn forth, though whatever it was, it kept Cosimo’s attention for a painstakingly long moment- driving a burning curiosity for the silent youth. 

 

Off to Cosimo’s side, he held high, and loosely wobbled, a dagger- tauntingly, perhaps, as if to invite Dante’s retrieval of such. In their shared mother tongue, sinister and always-reticent- with that blade held on display for the Dante to see, the man made a final demand of his child;

 

“Uccidimi se pensi che me lo meriti, allora.” 

【   | | |   】

 

Spoiler

 

THE FALCONE FAMILY (circa. 1817)

 

From almost saying no to the character, to eventually maining him- I've had a good time playing Cosimo.

Cosimo is definitely my most fleshed-out character, and it was fun to play a troublesome lad with depth beyond the need to 'be bad.' 

 

I'd like to give love to all of the people I've gotten to know RPly, especially the players within the Falcone Family- a ragtag bunch that was always capable of making their own fun. Hope Cosimo has had enough of an impact on your character to coax a bit of experience and growth- you all certainly have given me that.

 

Its been a fun ride, Oren. Falcone to the moon.

 

---

@Monaaa for the screenshots.

 

[Melpomenne 2032]

SPILLED WINE

 

COSIMO

 

From the moment she entered his life via his aunt’s demise, to the moment she stormed away, Cosimo was her word of reason. Cosimo, to Ludovica, was all she’d ever need. A guide, a brother, a father figure. Her first words, steps, book, and letters were all under his eye. All the troubled girl needed was within that man's grasp. And soon did it feel that all was crumbling around her as the man slipped from everyones lives.

 

---

 

TIME HEALS?

 

Months going on months of not hearing from nor seeing her eldest sibling left a sour feeling bubbling within the young woman. However, times like this in which Cosimo went unheard from wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. . but for this long, she thought. It was odd, surely. Whether their new schedules never aligned or her dearest brother simply grew too busy to return home or send a bird, Ludovica decided to reach out herself. All letters would have been sent out for the Falcone Manor tucked within the hills of Redenford, however, if they were ever received by Cosimo or not was unbeknownst to her. 

 

Spoiler

 

 

None of these letters are public. The only people who would have been able to read these IRP are the residents of the Falcone Manor.

-x-

 

---

 

The first letter, penned on the Twenty Second of the Grand Harvest, 30th of the Second Age. Mailed out via bird.

 

Spoiler

 

Cosimo Antony Falcone

 

     Dearest brother! I’ve got quite the news for you. Though, I trust you might want to sit down before you read on or you might just die. Given, this was a little bit untimely and I promise I would have invited you and Nata and Naty and Anton and Gracia and Carmie and Dante and the street rats, even. But I’m sure if I was yanked any harder and faster towards the church, I would have left my head behind too. Anyway, Alex and I have finally married! It was an odd ceremony. . I am pretty sure the priest cut some of our hair and tied it together. Ludovica Francesca Vimmark-Roussard, isn’t that just the fanciest thing. It has a nice ring too, so much fun to write. Ludovica Francesca Vimmark-Roussard. I was hoping to have a more formal arrangement for the family. I want to know what you think! Please don’t be mad. Ti amo.

    

P.S.  I think I left my scarf during my last visit. 

If it isn’t too much, could you keep safe till I visit again?

 

---

 

The second letter, penned on the Third of the Deep Cold, 30th of the Second Age. Mailed out via bird.

 

Spoiler

 

Cosi

 

     I went over to the manor for a visit but it was empty. Though the kids are safe, I spotted them down by the lake playing. How is work? I wonder if that’s what has been keeping you so distant. Maybe you didn’t even get my first letter. Anyway, I spoke with Rhea today and she told me of this tailor shop she’s hoping to open in some time, so I might join her. She thinks it will bring great fame and fortune, you know how she is. That means I’ll be back in the capital a lot more. Perhaps we can meet and chat over some drinks. If you’ve sent any letters in return, I haven't gotten them. Make sure you're sending them to Dobrov and not Marshal Lane. I miss you.

 

  

 

---

 

The third letter, penned on the Fourth of Snow’s Maiden, 32nd of the Second Age. Mailed out via bird.

 

Spoiler

 

Cosimo

 

     Rhea has passed. Her funeral was held yesterday. 

 

Where are you? This is frustrating. Why aren’t you here? Anton’s losing it, I think I am too. Don’t bother to even reach out if you’re never going to come back. I’ve gone to Providence and back, seemingly a million times. I’ve even tried to reach out to Nata but she knows as much as I do. Why are you doing this? Maybe Alex was right.

 

 

 

---

 

The final letter, penned on the Sixth of the Sun’s Smile, 33rd of the Second Age. Ludovica personally made her way to the hills, leaving this letter in the slit between the front door and it’s frame.

 

Spoiler

 

Cosimo Antony Falcone

 

     Dearest brother. So much has happened. It’s been hard in your absence. Anton sparked some controversy within the palace courts - isn’t that a little ironic. So much so that he has decided to marry the girl. I know he doesn’t love her, I know him. I tried to talk to him, be a word of reason, but as per usual my warnings went unheard. At their wedding a bunch of armored men came in and cornered Gracia and I and took Anton and the woman - I am pretty sure she is dead now. I took Gracia in after such since you’re gone. She’s been living with Alex and I between the capital and Dobrov. She’s happy, I think. I finally started working with Natasha and Miss Victoria at that tailor shop Rhea wanted, even Gracie has been working with us. It’s nice and the money is good. 

     I wish I could tell you this in person but I am with child. Alex thinks it’s a girl. He insists it is. I do not think I am ready for a child. I’m to name it Rhea, regardless. Not sure on the middle name just yet. I would like the child to meet you when it’s here. I think that would be nice.

P.S.  The shop’s name is The Seamstress,

in case you ever care to visit.

 

 

---

 

-x-

 

Spoiler

if I wasn't so toxically strong and repressed i'd shed a tear

[kujo_ 2510]

There was a tool missing, Viktor thought to himself. Strange. The man stood drenched in the heat of the forge, dumbfounded. He never considered himself the forgetful sort, perhaps it was the age? Some wrinkles here and a lost plate there, nothing too significant. He decided to make his way inside the manor with haste, leaving a trail of soot as he searched through his things. A fruitless attempt, but he did find a worn red uniform - now defunct. It was in surprisingly good condition, Viktor nearly envious of the damned thing.

 

“I tried to hurt her.”

 

Where had he gone? It was some days now, about that time the Raev expected to hear another knock at the door. Their routine had given a comfort, the few times he felt invigorated. Yet, much had changed since then - there were still pieces, but the years had washed most of it away; never his complexion, however, always an odd detail. A detail Viktor never dwelled too long on. There was no purpose to it.

 

“I lost my temper”

 

Down by the fireplace, he plucked free a lengthy auburn strand or two from the collar, before tossing the outfit into the flames. The man didn’t think it wise to stay long, back to work with a cigar at his lips. Clanging at the steel, shaping it until satisfied, this was how he spent the rest of his day. There were no politics to it, there were no arguments, there were no pleas. A solitary task. He never did find that tool, but why fret? There was no purpose to it.

 

“I hope you do not think less of me”

 

By day’s end, the dagger was ready. Nothing special, but the recent months made it difficult to focus on much of anything. Harder and harder it was to reach peace of mind, always something tugging at him. He left the weapon atop the hearth, granting himself some rest thereafter. The years would continue to come, and from them, a new habit for the man.

 

Every night, Viktor would sit by the hearth for hours, waiting for a knock at the door. Unfortunate, for there was no purpose to it.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Miles away in southern territories, a young boy was delicately tucked beneath his bed sheets by a raven-haired woman. Neither would know it, nor would they ever, but they shared an unseen bond through their mutual companion. That evening, the two would sleep in ignorance, dreams of what could have been.

[RaindropsKeepFalling 886]

 

Spoiler

 

---

NOT SO DIFFERENT

"Just... hold onto those bless-ed moments."

 

I

 

Perhaps many would concur that a man alike the Falcone had everything. Yet, to those whom knew him well, it was much ado of a mere lie. Perhaps a cliché, to hail the hypocrite with the world as unhappy. Or so, Anton figured. He blamed his steadfast, unspoken expressions upon the Falcone; he blamed his everlasting reticence, and the thousand pensive reveries of sleepless nights upon him, too. Easier, that way.

 

Maybe he'd known naught of Cosimo, as each passing day seemed to suggest. It was hard to hate someone unknown: a faceless concept construed. But, the Falcone, despite his discernible sin, was a man. A good one? That would be left to the fortuned philosophers to say.

 

The younger Illatian lay about a cluttered room reeking of brandy, perturbed with each involuntary profundity he happened to think. He recalled the last he'd met the man, and the sentiments left forever unexpressed. It was a remembrance of a scene ever etched within his shifting consciousness. There was so much left to say.

 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

"La famiglia è tutto."

━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━

II

 

The family was to be valued; it was everything. In a bleak, callous sphere, in a revered city, perhaps the hearth and a child's innocuous laugh could make it worthwhile. Flickering instances of momentous joy made the fervorous fight worthwhile. They’d turned few and far in-between.

 

The Falcone patriarch beheld this value as a priority: the first, at that. It was a humorous thing, placing it on such a pedestal, as his distance was everlasting. He was always away- gone, or sojourn in a deep crevice of  "work" where there seemed to be none.

 

When Anton was only eleven, he remembered his first drink: a sip of wine. It heralded a responsibility of a man, as opposed to a boy. Oh, where were those golden hours of childhoods guileless bliss through viridescent fields? Gone, just as Cosimo had vanished with any traces of priviness lingering in the man's mind. 

 

"You're going to be a man soon, Anton. What are you going to do?" -An incessant reminder of his inherent foolishness, echoing like an awful anthem. He knew not, less at twenty seven than he had as a boy. 

 

And even a family he'd sworn himself to in obliging servitude, he too found himself distant. A mirror of the elder Falcone: as a cycle tumbled into the next era, and as another fell, he continued to live and persist, o so lonesome. 

 

He'd briskly disregarded his babiest sister's rhetoric, after all, 

 

"Who's going to look after you?" 

 

He was afraid, after all.

 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

"All it would take is a few strokes of ink, and I would be reunited with my father in the Seven Skies. But- at least you know the truth."

━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━

III

 

He meandered from the thin roads from Redenford, leading unto fields of grapevines before a brick country house he recognized as where the Falcones lived. He trekked inside, stumbling amidst his drunken stupor. A gaze traipsed across the familiar bottommost floor, as his lips pursed together. He crept forth, reminiscing of vague memories. Some stood out. A fight here, a wistful remark, a confession to great, untold misdeed. 

Anton wasn't one to ever judge him. Sometimes, he sought to be him. Little or large, everything spawned a ripple. Whether it were a misplaced word, or a misplaced murder, being was never so simple as he yearned for it to affably... be.

 

He'd flickered from Providence to that house for years, unable to decisively settle. Neither felt akin to homes with any familiarity. They were alien places, in a phony world, he thought, characteristically cynical. 

 

He began to count steps to steady his breaths choked within his throat, laden with unease. Right, left, right left... It was a repetitive notion. Soon, he ascended the stairwell to a small hall, tracing his hand against the wall. He peered around the empty interior as a single soul roaming for something he didn't know: an answer.

 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

"Of course I care, Anton. But what would I do? Grovel?"

━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━

IV

 

Deaths ceased to surprise him, certainly. From his mother's untimely doom, bearing a beautiful bastard, to a Carrington's vile murder.  Cosimo differed from the rest, in life, and in his end. There was no obituary, naught but an existences lack thereof, missing. It went without closure; that was the answer Anton yearned for, closure.

 

Who was he to decide the verdict balancing atop life and death, yet? He feared the flipside, for it was a cruel truth he'd come to disdain.

 

Anton drifted to the downstairs, having discovered nothing of any use- only incessant inquiries panging across his psyche. Worn out with overworked grief, he staggered to the sofa at the fireplace, a hand flourished across the backrest. His eyes danced over the welcoming room, 'till they met the window in that dim night, like a mirror.

 

He met his own pale eyes in that pale moonlight pouring in from aback, and paused. For who was he, but a reflection of the furtive, reticent Illatian he wondered about? A cousin like a brother- and family, but never a friend. He didn't recognize this shameful man haunted with loss. He didn't recognize this house; and, he didn't recognize Cosimo Antony Falcone at any time, anywhere. 

 

He understood... privy to the tacit truth

 

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

"I truly dread what may come."

━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━

V

 

Mortality constantly tugged at his rear side. He'd swivel, simply to contemplate a why? There was no rationale, as a sinister entity loomed, forsaking the unlucky few. It made them human. It made him human to be so selfish to regard justice as an excuse to the unknown. Those steps, as he strut back to Providence, had shifted from "right, left," to "right" and, "wrong:" neither defined further.  

 

He reached Providence with aching feet, full of larger questions than when he'd depart. He glanced rightward to the Ministry of Justice headquarters, just down the street, and left, to the empty streets delving into the darker alleys leading home.

 

He befell fate to another sleepless night, striding across to the Ministry building. 

 

For, what was a man? What was a family? What was a home, and what would be considered "sin," by such a cruel God? He could scream to the heavens, and no one would listen. Nothing would change. 

 

Anton read a note he'd read time after time, uttering a low remark to the anonymous author- the culprit to an awful crime.

 

"Who are you?"

 

Things only dimmed, as the grim world was left unsolved and ambiguous. A familiar sequence began a second time, riposte for anything Falcone. Words could not reach what he knew not- heartache settled in. Anton had no relief without a wink of slumber, suffering amidst vivid daydreams in the blind night.

 

A silent mystery: twisted in knots. Just as his life, and his cousin's hitherto, overcome with charlatan apathy to thereafter. 

 

I

 

---

Spoiler

F**k, I'm crying.

 

You played the hell out of Cosimo, way better than I can possibly imagine anyone else would. It's a feat to make a terrible person like that kid and that youthful beast of a man so... sympathetic. It's a feat to bring a poetic beginning, and end to the stories surrounding his, and eventually his own. He was fleshed out, flawed, and real. 

 

I am so incredibly glad that you took the gambit and took up the character, just as I did with the Falcones (starting as a meme, as everyone knows at this point.) I'll reminisce RPing with the little jolly Italian kid as Gino, and witnessing his endless "reticence," Anton ended up incidentally imitating. You have absolutely impacted others IRP, and I'm grateful to find you as a friend that began with Sopranos therapist RP

 

Keep it up, dude. I'm upset to see this saga end, but I can't picture much of a better way. The OOC aspect still sucks, but I'll push my cynicism aside for now. Damn, the eldest generation is dead; but damn, was it a fun ride. 

 

Falcone to the moon.

 

[Moenah 1069]

Spoiler

 

____________________________

 

 

“I’a haven’t seen him in a long time…”

 

❈

 

No, he was not a good man — whatever a good man objectively was. Nevertheless, Gracia Valentina Meadow Falcone still wanted to be him, rather than herself. At least, at that time.

 

❈

 

Grateful was the child they named Gracia, for she was blessed indeed with a mother and father who loved her greatly, so they would say. After all, those were her father’s words, Cosimo’s words - “Love is why God gave us you, Graci- did you know that?” Yes, she could watch and work alongside her devoted mother as she fulfilled her duties around the house, and she could spend time with her vibrant aunts, who looked over her when her mother was busy. But, for whatever reason, fate - if one could even believe in such a thing - brought her closer to her father. 

 

 

“'Ere's the Diet buildin'...” Muttered Anton to her, as they - along with a younger Ludovica Falcone, her aunt - gazed over the grand room of the Commons building. She’d inquired where he and Cosimo would leave to so often as they did. “They meet 'ere as the government, make big decisions, and big change.” He remarked, stooping down to one knee to meet Gracia's eyelevel, an unparalleled, rare twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “I work with y'father 'ere.”

 

At that, he stood, leaving the young Gracia to her thoughts as she stood awestruck in the center of that building. My father, my uncle, my family, she thought. Making big decisions, making big change. With her high-pitched voice, she’d ask where he sat.

 

“'E sits on that side there.” He remarked, pointing to the righthand side's cushioned seats. And so would the young Falcone - just a toddler then - flock to the very seat. And sitting there, she’d say —

 

“Sì, this is what I want to be.”

 

 

She got to see him at work in that same building, debating other men she didn’t even know - with the exception of her uncles, of course. Without the slightest idea of what he even spoke of, she looked on, starry-eyed as any child would - clutching onto the simple doll in her hand. And even from then on, she’d watch and listen, heeding every word he’d give her. After all, how could her father be wrong?

 

“The yelling, my dear -” Cosimo would tell her, after shouting for him on the streets of Providence. A dour tone in his voice. “It is unruly. Unbecoming of a lady.” Many things about her were far from ladylike - even though she was far from even becoming a lady herself at that age. From the unkempt, frizzy mess of curls on her head to her generally unruly behavior. She sought to fix it all, even if it meant sacrificing some of her own confidence. Because her father truly knew what was best - especially for a lady.

 

So she learned at the dinner table, where her dearest family had gathered - where the women of the house had come together to prepare a meal for the rest, so her father announced. And to that, he’d feel a lingering stare from her eldest brother, who held but a simple disparity to the man’s statement. “They aren't maids, padre.” Carmine would remark, anticipating Cosimo’s next response.

 

And Gracia would see no wrong in the man’s response, as usual, as his arm wrapped around her back, rubbing paternally against as an amused smirk came against his face. He turned then to her brother.

 

“And I've made no such implication, dear Carmine.” The smirk tightened then, returning his stare unto the youth, “And when you get older - and when you've an occupation, and a wife - you will see. They are not bound to chains- no. It is merely how it is. How it always has been, GOD willing, how it always will be.” And as his spiel progressed, it was quite clear — both the children knew a very different Cosimo. For the boy would return back to his food, no more words to be said, while Gracia thought nothing of it. And thought nothing of her brother’s souring expression.

 

❈

 

“I’a haven’t seen him in a long time…” Remarked the young Falcone to her teacher, Victoria, as the Kaphro had finished telling her stories of her times with the man - who she’d regarded as her friend. It was not strange for him to work for so long, but now it was too long. And that fact, combined with her mother’s weeping, was enough to leave her just a bit concerned. But, she was a hopeful one, that child. Surely, something bad couldn’t have happened to him.

 

“Because I still have so much to ask him about.”

 

And one can only pity the girl — for she idolized the man she never even really knew.

 

 

Spoiler

 

Hello goon hi sorry i took the whole month writing this you did a great job playing cosimo and he looked good while doing it ;-) muah benissimo 

Have more shader pics

 

 

 

[venclair 713]

A Rhenyar reminisces of an old friend.
[reserved] 

[Pompilidae 237]

A young boy always needed his father, To guide him through the tumultuous journey one may call: Life. Who had been there for young Carmine? When the days bordered on never-ending in their scorching heat- who would tell him, "Piccolo...come inside! You'll burn." 

Surely not Cosimo.

      Long were the days of Carmine's childhood- long in their silence, long in their agony and long in their loneliness. 

He promised me a gift.  

Never did Cosimo deliver more than a hair ruffle and a toughen up attitude. Never did he follow through on his promises. Years went by, little more than the occasional probe of 'What will you do for work?' 

It was insufferable. How had a boy such as him, have more memories baking in the kitchen with his mother and playing with his sisters- than with his Father?

'Girls are mean. I'll never marry..'

Perhaps he would outgrow the sentiment. What he would burn to memory...is Cosimo's absence. Absence in guidance. Absence in a spine. Never was he there. 

- - - - --

"Your father...it's...Carmine you'a know he was sick."

He left me. 

Again. 

 

[Criala 729]

It wasn’t unusual for Cosimo Anthony Falcone to be absent sometimes. A year or so here and there was common. Sometimes even a handful. After all, he was a busy man with duties to attend to. Natalia Marie Falcone understood that about her husband, ever the devoted wife and mother in said absences. No matter what, she was always there, waiting for his eventual return.

 

And he always would return, even if it had been a few years since he last appeared, because family was important to him.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

I

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

“One day, you will a’meet someone, and you will a’know, amore.” An older Illatian woman spoke, running a brush through her daughter’s long, brunette locks.

 

“What do you mean, mama?” The young Illatian girl, seated in front of her mother, asked. She tried to turn her head to look over her shoulder, but her mother turned her face forward once again.

 

“You will a’know what I mean in time.” Her mother answered, taking the brush to the young Illatian girl’s hair once more.

 

“Okay, mama.” Confused the young girl was, but she didn’t press the matter.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

II

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

Silence, save for the breathing of the Illatian woman. She stood in front of the bedroom window, hands in front of her. Her left partially tilted upward, while the fingers of her right turned the ring on her left ring finger.

 

Surely, he was just away on business, as he often was.

 

But this… This time felt different. Something gnawed at her, a heaviness settled in her stomach, despite how she tried to brush it off.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

III

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

Osanora was a temperature the young Illatian woman wasn’t used to, evident by the coat she was bundled in. Warm… It was just so warm. Warm enough that her coat was undone and left open to get some air.

 

A pause to look around, until her hazel gaze fell upon the tavern. Not a moment was wasted, and she was soon walking inside.

 

It was empty, aside from a young man with long hair and a mustache seated at the bar. Not even a bartender was present.

 

"...Issa empty?" It came out as a question, her form easing down to take a seat at the bar as well.

 

“Eh?” With a raised brow, the young man turned to her, bemused. However, once he faced her, his tone shifted. “Oh.” A slight stammer over the word. “No, signora. There's a guy. He's- coming back soon.” He faced the counter once again, after a clearing of his throat. Elbows on the counter, his hands clasped together. “So, he says.”

 

For a brief few seconds, she was silent, as their gazes met. But she snapped out of it when he looked at the counter. "Ah, so there issa someone here. I wasn't sure since it wassa so empty." She nodded her head, clearing her throat. "Wonder if he will be.."

 

"Si. Probable. Iss been a while though." A margarita was in front of him, 3/4ths full and condensated from the chilled beverage beginning to acclimate to the heat. He nudged the glass over to her, perhaps in case the bartender did not return. "Si quieres."

 

"If issa been a while, then perhaps he will not be back..." A hand lifted to brush the brown locks from her face, an effort to cool her face down. A glance to the drink, before she shrugged a little and grasped the cup to lift it to her lips. "Gracias."

 

Once done with her sip, she pushed the cup back towards him. It continued on like that, the two pushing the drink back and forth to share it. Idle conversation in between drinks, questions such as where they were from and introductions.

 

He lifted his hand, offering it out to her to shake while introducing himself. “I’mma Victor.” Though she’d come to find out later that it was an alias.

 

“I’mma Natalia.” She reached out to take his hand, her fingers wrapping around it to shake. Time almost stopped for her, during that shake, however brief it was.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

IV

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

Tears welled up in her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. It was a struggle to keep herself composed, but she knew if any tears fell, they wouldn’t stop.

 

So fondly and clearly, she recalled when she first met Cosimo. They’d been two young, inexperienced barely adults that happened to find each other, in an empty little Cantina, as if God himself fated it to be.

 

Her mother had been right. When you meet someone, your other-half, you know. You feel it.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

V

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

Nerves threatened to eat the young Illatian woman alive. Nervous, but excited, for this was the last day as Natalia Marie Cristelli. No, after today, she would finally be Natalia Marie Falcone. It was a day she’d been looking forward to since Cosimo first proposed.

 

Every so often, she peeked around the corner. Cosimo was there, greeting each person as they entered.

 

Natasha, Anton, Ludovica as well as many faces and names not known to Natalia yet, but would be soon.

 

Viktor, Augustina, Victoria.

 

Only once Cosimo disappeared deeper into the Cathedral, with everyone, did Natalia slip from the room she was tucked away in. A guard told her where to wait, and so she did, right outside of the sanctuary, in the foyer.

 

“Miss Natalia, you can come out now!”

 

That was her cue, from the guard. Her eyes met Cosimo’s as she made her way down the aisle toward him and Cardinal Gawain. A bright smile spread across her features, a light pink darkening her cheeks. She stopped across from Cosimo, the smile only growing as she looked at him. Her heart swelled, pounding within her chest.

 

The vows were given, the I dos said, and now it was time for the rings to be exchanged.

 

“Cosimo, take a ring. You as well, Natalia.”

 

Natalia reached out, taking one of the rings from the pillow. A brief glance up as she did so.

 

Once she had her ring, Cosimo took the remaining one. He slipped it onto her ring finger, and she slid the one she took onto his.

 

“Now if you would kneel…” Cardinal Gawain motioned for the pair to do so.

 

Cosimo was the first of the two to kneel, resting his hand on his knee.

 

As instructed, Natalia grasped the end of her dress, so she could adjust it to be able to kneel.

 

Cardinal Gawain took a small vial, opening it to dip his fingers into it. He crossed the Lorraine onto Cosimo’s forehead, allowing the holy water to drip down onto his clothes. Immediately afterward, he did the same for Natalia. “As with these holy waters of Gamesh sealing their vows of God, you both may now rise! Now rise as Cosimo and Natalia Falcone!”

 

Cosimo rose then, out of his knelt position. He twisted the ring around his finger, then sent a wry smile Natalia’s way.

 

Natalia eased herself up, soon letting her dress skirt flow down to her ankles once again. A smile was sent Cosimo’s way.

 

┗ ༻❁༺ ┛

VI

┏ ༻❁༺ ┓

 

“God brought you salvation once, mi amore.” The words were whispered, a crack to the woman’s voice as they came out. A pleading tone laced her words. “He can’t a’take you from us.”

 

Always, he came back. Always.

 

“Carmine, Dante, Gracia... Our children a’need their father too.”

 

No matter how many times, he was away. This time was no different, right?

 

“You can’t a’take him from me…” Her voice softened, down to a whisper.

 

This time isn’t like the others. Something isn’t right.

 

She could feel it with every fiber of her being, straight down to her core. Tears began to dribble down her cheeks, a shaky breath exhaled out. Her shoulders shook, and she hunched into herself. Crumbling to the ground, she pressed her face into her hands.

 

 

Spoiler

Legitimately teared up reading your post and writing this reply to it. Thank you so much for RPing with me, Goonie, and pulling me into your RP family and your friend circle OOCly. I never strayed too much out of Elven RP before this, and I did because of you and Cosimo. Thank you. 

The RP with Cosimo is some of my favorite I've ever had on the server. I will miss him so much, and I only wish I'd been able to RP with him more.

 

[audyush 747]

Spoiler

 

Do not metagame any of this information!

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Cosimo Antony, cousin to Natasha d’Amato; though, at times, the familial roles often switched. Neither had much family, but they had each other. Both their mothers already had passed, too soon in their own time, and the death of their fathers, or so one thought, was another shared tragedy between the two. Over time, the two grew more as siblings did, aging under the same roof, guiding each other as if they were from the same parent- and many times, Natasha looked up to the oldest Falcone son as more of a father figure, respecting and trusting him in that fashion. 

 

--

 

“Gracia Meadow. Falcone, of course.” a younger Cosimo introduced one day with a small girl bundled within his arms. 

 

“A beautiful name, Gracia. It issa good choice.” a then-teenaged Illatian complimented. Natasha was often stern with others, unwelcoming to most, but her eyes softened at the sight of the child, Gracia. Her nipote, and she was the girl’s zia, then- at least to each other. 

 

“It seems we are the only d'Amato-Orlovs then..” Natasha realized then, exchanging a glance towards her younger brother, Anton. 

 

“Y'don't have to be. Both the owners of your namesakes are gone.” The Falcone interjected, “Can take the Falcone name if you wish.. We're already such close kin, we should share a legacy.”

 

Anton Fiore rubbed the back of his neck with such a proposition, seemingly contemplating the hypothetical. “Naty?” He asked, with an unsureness in his voice he would rarely let onto.

 

Although her parents had been gone for many years by that point, she was hesitant. “If'a vy wish too, vy 'ave'a no problem with that.” she answered in turn to the request, but she was yet to answer for herself. 

 

“You don' need to feel pressured, Nata.” Cosimo told her then, “But I figure for a number of reasons- the one that crosses my mind the most is Ludo.” The man offered no further urging, “The offer is always there. To merge our namesakes. And I would not blame you if you wished to keep them. They are all that remains from those before you- aside from yourselves, of course.”

 

The Orlov never gave the Falcone a clear answer- neither accepting nor denying his offer. 

 

-- 

 

Having spent many of her recent years within the capital city of the Holy Orenian Empire, Providence, Natasha lost touch with her dear cousin. No visits or letters were sent to either person from either person. “Vy should reach out..” Natasha thought, “Let ‘em know Vica is alright.” she conjured up as an excuse. It was then she decided to write a letter for the Falcone. In dark ink, black as the night, she’d write to her eldest cousin:

 

--

 

“To my dear cousin Cosimo, 

 

   I fear I have not heard much from you in recent years, and I was not sure if Ludovica or Gracia had either. I am yet to visit you at the Falcone manor since my last visit, for your dinner party. I know I left in a rather sour mood, but I only hope that has not left a stain on our relationship. I care much for you, Cosimo, and want the best for you and your family. I have only the same hopes as you for them- to honor the Falcone name. 

 

    When we last spoke, Ludovica was still not home again with you. I am unsure if the two of you have reconciled, but in case you two haven’t, I want you to know that she is safe here in Providence. I’ve recently purchased a shop with a friend of yours, Victoria. There are rooms above our future shop that myself and Victoria will be boarding in, and I’ve given Ludovica permission to stay with us as well. I want the best for her, as I know you do as well, so I’ve also allowed her the opportunity to join us with our business endeavors to further her craft as a tailor. She’s talented, that one. You should visit and see some of her work, I am sure you would be proud. 

 

Reach out soon, 
Natasha d’Amato Orlov”

 

--

 

As the letter was sent to the steps of the Falcone manor, days went by, but no letter was sent in return. Month by month, it turned into a year, and then some. “Perhaps vy should pay ‘em a visit at the Manor..” Natasha thought, finally, “Vy could’a bring Ludovica along, vym sure she’d enjoy’a that". 
 

[StrongBear 1239]

A forever aging woman, sat within the darkness of her study, her pale gaze never leaving a pile of papers she seems to be working on. "When was the last time I saw daybreak?" She'd cackle to herself, only falling deeper within her madness. She pondered some more, finally looking to an old engagement ring that hasn't been cleaned in years, "Should I pay a visit to that unholy city of Providence?" The Palmer simply asked her cat, as if she was awaiting for the feline creature to respond. A twisted grin of the sorts growing over the elders face, "We will see in due time, but for now, I will sit and ponder in my thoughts as I've been doing for almost ten years now. Besides, I'm sure the family I was close to." She'd stop herself, thinking, pondering, slipping in and out of her thoughts and memories of many years ago, better years some would say at that, but no, many years of chaos that shall  be remained unknown. "I'm sure they are fine, besides this world is cruel, I've seen it with my own eyes, only the strong survive while the weak is picked off one by one."

[CherryBoy 157]

reserved

[latte 2238]

reserved. 

 

[latte 2238]

" Ho avuto grandi speranze per quel ragazzo, è sempre stato il mio preferito, dopotutto, " came the quiet voice of Dr. Florenza Falcone all the way from the seven skies, olive green eyes lamenting as she viewed his fall from grace, if grace, were ever a thing for someone as he. A weary sigh would escape her lips, taking a unrefined sip out of her illatian style wine. All Illatians seemed to ever share the same fate. A sigh would escape her lips.

 

She'd linger around as she drank, savoring the sharp taste. " perché tutti gli illati devono essere cattivi? "

 

Spoiler

u r one very cool man, thanks for playing my kid 

 

 

 

[Hephaestus 1326]

reserved

 

please hold.

[EmiliainWonderland 2311]

Reserved. Very late.