[ He'd wondered for a little while if she was a figment of his imagination or something, someone he'd dreamed up along with that bullshit fake life. In fact, Angelo isn't really sure if this message really proves anything about her existence at all, since this place seems to really enjoy fucking with his head. ]
Don't make me consider the possibility that I'm not, please.
I am a person, I am here, we did not grow up together. I am, genuinely, the person who suggested you get in touch with the gangs before that week of chaos.
[ Hard to know what to say, now. Ever since they all woke up from that nightmare, he's been trying to put it behind him, on the theory that it'd only make him feel worse to think too much about the person he'd been. Embarrassed, ashamed, whatever. He can't be comfortable with this label hanging over him, the line on his throat.
She asked how he was holding up, and Angelo isn't sure how to answer that. He doesn't have to dig that deep to unearth that feeling of fondness for her, though feeling it now is like being able to feel a transplanted organ in his body, knowing it's an intruder.
Best to rip off the band-aid now. ]
That's not who I am
That person you knew for that one week, that's not me
[ Hard to figure what his response should really be here, over text, and so after chewing at his thumbnail for a minute Angelo decides to cut to the chase. ]
Fine. I'd prefer a public location and I'm going to be informing a couple of friends who I'm meeting with. Nothing more about you than your name, of course.
[She's not sure if she's in danger, but better prepared than dead, right?]
And she's punctual about it, after texting South and Essek. She looks the same as that strange week, except she's wearing her hair up, pinned and rolled and perfectly so. As she arrives at Crimson, she looks around for Angelo uncertainly.
Angelo's already there, having just finished a shift, and he's at the bar with a drink. He barely looks like the same person that Ducky thought she knew over that week; he's mostly grown back his facial hair the way he likes it, though his hair is still short. He's letting it grow.
He spots her easily enough, and it's weird, seeing her approaching him. He can almost remember what it'd been like to know her – almost, but not quite. And considering what he can remember about his own imagined life during that week, he has a feeling that he might not ever have known her at all.
He has a drink, though, a glass of something amber with a single ice cube bobbing about in it. He has a sip as she's approaching. No hellos, no how-are-yous. The first thing he says once she's within earshot is: "I could make you forget."
"Are you saying that as an offer, or as a threat?" Either way, her reaction is muted, mostly in the eyebrows rather than in the eyes. Oh, she's not doubting his capacity--Essek's shown her how real magic can be. "Either way, I would rather not."
It doesn't really matter, not here, whether or not people know what he did. He's already come to that conclusion. He could tell anyone, everyone, and nobody would really care. Nobody cares about anyone else in this place. But there's a difference between telling someone that he killed his brother, and what Ducky knows. Ducky, as far as he can tell, saw it. The whole thing. Ludo and Alastor. It feels like an invasion of privacy.
"I wanna know what you're gonna do with this information. What you have on me."
It hasn't occurred to him that he's talking about this like she's blackmailing him.
"What's there to do with it?" She shrugs, taking a seat at the bar so he's not towering over her quite so much. Everyone towers over her, though, that's the 'joy' of being five-feet-flat.
"I'm not about to share it with anyone. It's l'azienda di famiglia, and not relevant here besides."
When she switches to Italian, it may become obvious that's actually her mother tongue, even though she's been speaking English quite fluently up until now.
Angelo's reasonably fluent in Italian, though his accent leaves a little to be desired. But he wouldn't have to be fluent to know what l'azienda di famiglia is, and his eyes narrow a little as he's looking at her now.
He can't help the irritation at the back of his mind, that she called this whole thing irrelevant. Who is she to dismiss any of this? But he bites back his anger, an enormous feat. "Might not be relevant but it's private. And I don't like that you know."
"And you could make me forget, as you've said." But he hasn't yet. Her eyebrow lifts slightly. "I'm not planning on trying to use anything I know against you, Angelo. And given this, there's no reason for me to talk to you in the future. We're clearly not going to get along."
DUPLICITY CITATION No. 64234 Violation: Falsifying documents to avoid designation Fine: One Week Realignment Payments must be received within 30 calendar days, or debts will be handed over to the Remittance Facility.
Getting married is one big day where everyone thinks you're weird if you don't dress up and parade around and make everyone clap for you
And then being married is where you're supposed to keep your head down and not make eye contact with anyone else ever again or even talk about being married because nobody wants to know
[ she's actually done the permanent contract thing and said vows here on a small scale and knows what marriage is from back home, she was honestly just curious about what he'd say. ]
So, you're not one for parties or monogamy. Understood.
[ He didn't really intend to imply that his problem with marriage is monogamy, but his own experience is probably not really much like anyone else's, so – whatever. It's a nice way of putting it, anyway. ]
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text; un: luckyducky
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Are you real
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I am a person, I am here, we did not grow up together. I am, genuinely, the person who suggested you get in touch with the gangs before that week of chaos.
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[ Hard to know what to say, now. Ever since they all woke up from that nightmare, he's been trying to put it behind him, on the theory that it'd only make him feel worse to think too much about the person he'd been. Embarrassed, ashamed, whatever. He can't be comfortable with this label hanging over him, the line on his throat.
She asked how he was holding up, and Angelo isn't sure how to answer that. He doesn't have to dig that deep to unearth that feeling of fondness for her, though feeling it now is like being able to feel a transplanted organ in his body, knowing it's an intruder.
Best to rip off the band-aid now. ]
That's not who I am
That person you knew for that one week, that's not me
So don't get any ideas
You don't know me
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I saw your dream, though. About your brother. The one who called you Abbie. That's who you are, right?
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Don't talk about things you don't understand
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But I understand better than you might think. My family aren't unlike yours--though on a smaller scale. Smugglers, primarily. Petty thieves. Fences.
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[ Hard to figure what his response should really be here, over text, and so after chewing at his thumbnail for a minute Angelo decides to cut to the chase. ]
I wanna talk to you
Face to face
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[She's not sure if she's in danger, but better prepared than dead, right?]
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Angelo doesn't really have any friends to inform, but that's the way he likes it. He can look after himself.
You know Crimson in the Down?
Come meet me there
text > action
And she's punctual about it, after texting South and Essek. She looks the same as that strange week, except she's wearing her hair up, pinned and rolled and perfectly so. As she arrives at Crimson, she looks around for Angelo uncertainly.
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He spots her easily enough, and it's weird, seeing her approaching him. He can almost remember what it'd been like to know her – almost, but not quite. And considering what he can remember about his own imagined life during that week, he has a feeling that he might not ever have known her at all.
He has a drink, though, a glass of something amber with a single ice cube bobbing about in it. He has a sip as she's approaching. No hellos, no how-are-yous. The first thing he says once she's within earshot is: "I could make you forget."
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It doesn't really matter, not here, whether or not people know what he did. He's already come to that conclusion. He could tell anyone, everyone, and nobody would really care. Nobody cares about anyone else in this place. But there's a difference between telling someone that he killed his brother, and what Ducky knows. Ducky, as far as he can tell, saw it. The whole thing. Ludo and Alastor. It feels like an invasion of privacy.
"I wanna know what you're gonna do with this information. What you have on me."
It hasn't occurred to him that he's talking about this like she's blackmailing him.
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"I'm not about to share it with anyone. It's l'azienda di famiglia, and not relevant here besides."
When she switches to Italian, it may become obvious that's actually her mother tongue, even though she's been speaking English quite fluently up until now.
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He can't help the irritation at the back of his mind, that she called this whole thing irrelevant. Who is she to dismiss any of this? But he bites back his anger, an enormous feat. "Might not be relevant but it's private. And I don't like that you know."
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CITATION
Violation: Falsifying documents to avoid designation
Fine: One Week Realignment
Payments must be received within 30 calendar days, or debts will be handed over to the Remittance Facility.
text; un: crimson
[ attached is this in both red and white. ]
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White would make it look like you're getting married
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There's a difference between getting married and being married
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And then being married is where you're supposed to keep your head down and not make eye contact with anyone else ever again or even talk about being married because nobody wants to know
Both bad just for different reasons
Speaking from experience
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So, you're not one for parties or monogamy. Understood.
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I don't like parties but I get the point of them
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text — un: lotti
[ "gave her" like it was a gift ]