omertae | Open post.

The most courtesy Alastor ever offers is the texts or calls that give Angelo fair warning. Beyond that, there's no knock or even the sound of a key in what was certainly a locked door two minutes ago: he just bangs his way in and swings the door shut behind him.

"Cannoli delivery for one--" he pretends to peer at a delivery slip. "Michael Corleone? That can't be right."

[ ☜ cont'd. ]

It matters
You're not stupid enough to think it doesn't

[ ☜ cont'd. ]

You don't like to have fun?
That's sad Tommy

Edited 2020-09-13 20:26 (UTC)

[ ☜ cont'd. ]

[ Angelo doesn't reply for a long time. He hates whenever they text and it turns into a whole thing – he hates any time it turns into a thing, but especially over text. He can never seem to type fast enough to get things out of his head the way he wants them, and it's frustrating as hell.

The problem is, Ludo can't have the last word. Nobody can. He won't be able to sleep at all, and he's already halfway to giving up on that, sitting out on his bitterly cold balcony. It's always cold out here at night.

Angelo lights another cigarette and flicks through his phone till he finds Ludo's name in his contacts, and then calls him. ]

[ ☜ cont'd. ]

[ ...oh no ]

It's stained???

Edited 2020-09-27 00:01 (UTC)

[ Angelo has been living on his own for a while now, ever since his father gave him a salaried position ostensibly managing one of the family's restaurants, but Ludo still lives with their parents in Hewlett. At this point the home could well be considered ancestral; a huge, sprawling Georgian-style mansion built in the late 1800s, it's been in the family since their great-grandfather bought it, and Angelo's always quite liked it, at least from a distance. But his father, obsessed with the concrete-and-glass brutalist style, has started work on a modern extension, which Angelo considers practically a sin. He'd wanted to inherit the house, but every time he comes by here now and sees the hulking grey abomination currently being fused onto the back, he finds himself hoping it's left to Ludo.

He's not intending on sticking around here, though; he just has to poke his head in, ask Ludo a quick question, and get the hell out. His mother tells him Ludo's upstairs in his room, so Angelo takes the stairs two at a time and swings around the corridor to get to Ludo's door, which still has the goofy, childish nameplate fastened onto it. He bothers to knock, but it's functionally useless since he's opening the door and striding in at the same time. ]

Hey. I need to talk to you.

im ur dad