Micheletto Corella (
ex_garroter234) wrote in
paradisalogs2013-01-10 09:50 pm
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Entry tags:
Sprezzatura
Who: Micheletto, Lucrezia, and open
What: Reading a book, it's very exciting
When: 10/January, early evening
Where: Lobby...
Rating: PG wow boring
Ordinarily he'd be doing this outdoors, but the weather just isn't for it, so Micheletto has taken up in the lobby, leaning against a pillar and casually thumbing through a book. He doesn't seem particularly enthused in the material, which begs the question as to why he's reading it -- but that could just be the constant expression of disinterest he wears rather than a reflection of how he feels about the content.
The book looks to be old, but in very good shape, and the words on the binding are in Italian. Occasionally he'll glance up and look around, as if he's waiting for someone, but then he goes right back to reading.
What: Reading a book, it's very exciting
When: 10/January, early evening
Where: Lobby...
Rating: PG wow boring
Ordinarily he'd be doing this outdoors, but the weather just isn't for it, so Micheletto has taken up in the lobby, leaning against a pillar and casually thumbing through a book. He doesn't seem particularly enthused in the material, which begs the question as to why he's reading it -- but that could just be the constant expression of disinterest he wears rather than a reflection of how he feels about the content.
The book looks to be old, but in very good shape, and the words on the binding are in Italian. Occasionally he'll glance up and look around, as if he's waiting for someone, but then he goes right back to reading.
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"Is my brother otherwise occupied?" That is, too busy to help you read that, manservant?
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"I am waiting for him," he says mildly, which explains why he keeps glancing around. Maybe. He's pretty shifty to begin with, so it could just be that. Either way, he's pointedly ignoring her unspoken question.
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"Never mind that," she takes a seat at a nearby couch and smiles ever so sweetly instead. "I shall help you."
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He's not really insulted, because it's a perfectly fine conclusion to draw given his ambiguous status, but he is mildly puzzled. Does she think this because he's a servant, or because she doesn't like him? If she knew just what kind of servant he is, would she have a different opinion? Though he suspects she knows what kind already, or at least has an inkling.
He decides on humoring her, just to see what kind of game she's playing, and carefully takes a seat next to her.
"And for what reason are you doing this, my lady? If I may ask."
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"You may," she relishes her words. "Because you are my brother's."
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He seems placated by that answer, or at least can't think of a suitably neutral response. In truth, he wonders if she pays this much attention to her own servants, but decides that her words have just answered that.
"I am sure Cardinal Borgia will appreciate your kindness."
He's not sure about that at all.
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"The question is, will you?" But she allows that one to be a rhetorical one. Now, about sprezzatura. "Do you know how to dance?"
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"To dance? No," he says evenly; whether he was playing the role of servant or assassin, dancing wasn't a very useful skill.
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"Sparring is a kind of dancing, is it not?" She curbs her grin. "Would you like to learn?"
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"To what purpose, my lady? I will never dance."
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"I say you will."
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His head still lowered, he looks up at her from under his browbone, curious. "And if I refuse? What then?"
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"Then I would be displeased," though it pleases her to see his head lowered still. She stares him down, tries to read through him, then gives up. She has a few guesses as to who this man is to her brother but nothing in their Rome is ever as they appear. One never knows.
"There are other ways to amend it."
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"A scholar now, are you?"
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Micheletto simply looks up from the book, expression neutral, if not a little on the bored side. "If you have a better way to pass the time, I'm listening."
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"Spar with me. That will pass some time."
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He pauses, quiet, very pointedly looking Ezio over. Then he shrugs and goes back to reading, resolutely turning a page.
"Not enough time."
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"You must not have much stamina, then."
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"My worry is for yours."
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Never mind that Micheletto holds this quality himself.
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"Only when there is real need of it. A crisis, if you will. When sparring for sport, however, what would the point be?"
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"It is dangerous to ever think of something as just sport. Men who allow themselves to be lulled by such things find their throats cut. Their purses stolen."
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"I never said 'just', did I?" He draws a little closer, just because he can. "And I have never had my throat cut or my purse stolen in my entire life... why would I begin now?"
Except the purse. He has had his purse stolen, but Micheletto doesn't need to know that.
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Besides, this is not Rome. There are less than two hundred people living in this community, by his estimate -- more if the people living in the city were included, but it seemed as though they didn't matter to those stranded here -- and as such it would be harder to conceal a murder. More difficult to hide a body.
"Perhaps you have not spent long enough around the right people," he says instead, staying leaned up against the pillar and quietly shelving the idea of throttling him to death.
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