saintgallows

[saintgallows]

[saintgallows]

@maevepetre​‌:

She could see her father’s face, if he ever found out about Santi. Thick eyebrows knit together, a frown, muttering stella mia - mia cara figlia, and other expressions in both Spanish and Italian, a flash perhaps of the anger she never sees directed toward her, yet something she is newly aware of in its direction towards others.

She could feel the waves of disappointment. Whispers about how not only was she soft, but she dared fall into friendship with a Montague, dared meet up in secret, keep something all to herself.

But that would never happen. She was better at keeping secrets than some might have expected, and she treasured these moments beyond any possible measure. Because they can be themselves, glimmers and sparks of what could have been, had this whole city not been so incredibly intent on damning itself to misery and horrors of fighting. If such a friendship as theirs was possible (no matter how gentle both of their souls were), that was only further proof to her that she could manage to burn everything to the ground, to show everyone the backbone of their society, of just how beautiful it could be, should they just look a little closer.

“It looks worse than that.” She looked at him. “I can help you, if you need it.” Maeve let her gaze take in as many of the marks on his body as she could, doing her best to stay very still. Because he didn’t want to make a big deal of it, that much she could clearly tell, clearly see, and it pained her - I want to take it all away, please, she wanted to whisper, but she bit her lip, simply continuing to regard him with gentle eyes. The same gentle eyes who had first happened upon him many months ago, watching him with a small smile until they finally talked and somehow her smile managed to grow - 

and continue doing so, each time they came across one another.

Not that Maeve was ever truly someone to shy away from a smile, but the ones with Santino felt different. More special, somehow. Something all her own, and the best sort of secret. 

“Lemon-blueberry muffins. Halfway to vegan, as they’ve got no dairy.” A grin. “You’re welcome to try one right now, let me know if they taste good.” She eagerly handed him the box, hoping that he’d enjoy her creation - hoping that they would be a good spot in his day - but also believing that she knew him well, and that she’d yet to fail him with one of her dishes. For a moment, at his next comment, she raised an eyebrow. “My skills?” A half-amused smile crosses her lips. “Santi, you may be terribly mistaken if you think my skills in the visual arts even half match yours.”

Maeve brushed her hand across her face. “If you’ve some pencils, I can try a sketch for you.” If only to distract you a moment until you will let me at least halfway care for your ailments.

    "Don't worry about it, I've dealt with worse." With Val dogging his every move, being fawned over by Maeve was the last thing he wanted. Right now, he wanted the closest thing to normalcy that he could get when he still felt like death warmed over. If that meant pretending he didn't have possibly broken ribs, and looked like a piece of meat that had been worked over--well, Santino had gotten good at pretending over the years.

    His eyes lit up noticeably as the box was handed over and he let it drop into his lap so he could open the top and take a deep breath, “You just get better’n better, don’t you.” Grabbing the first one his eyes fell on he instantly took a large bite and let out a low hum of happiness. If there was one thing that Santino couldn’t do--it was a bake. But with the friendship he’d garnered with Maeve, he didn’t need to anymore. At nearly every meetup they’d had, she’d brought him some sort of baked treat, and he’d sometimes had to restrain himself from eating all of them before returning home. The penalty of death if he didn’t bring Val something sweet to eat, always a heavy burden he would bear gladly.

   In a few short bites the muffin was gone and he reached in to grab another before remembering the semblance of manners he possessed and offered her the box, “Want one?”

[saintgallows]

@violentgallows​‌:

            There wasn’t a doubt in her mind with the other’s condition, remembering every vivid detail as it had been burned into her memory for far longer than she wished to see it. The way his body fell. The way that he didn’t stir as the blows fell, until they were gone and replaced with her own that fought to get him out of there as quickly as she could. There had been too many eyes, too many whispering words as to why her allegiance would be contested by the mere scene of her taking him out of there — much less if they knew who he was to her. 

Their livelihood hung in the balance but she’d thrown it out the window in the moment when it came down to her life or his — always — which exchanged on breathe of relief for one with mixed emotions. Val would need to reappear in front of the Capulets and reinstate her loyalty but she needed a moment alone, to herself and her brother. A moment to remind herself why she would continually walk into the fire with teeth bared, eyes alight as they captured the flames and felt the kiss of them against her skin. All of it was done for the sake of the man who could barely move as Val could feel the skin on the inside of her cheek tear as she bit down hard to keep from voicing the fears that welled up in her chest. 

They were alive. They could laugh and joke, brush it off as easily as her tears until they pretended that nothing could concern them when they were better than all those who threw themselves into the fold, willingly. “You’re the one who forgot the cardinal rule, always keep your hands up and block as much as you can,” she chastised him with a hint of despair and loss echoing in her eyes as she shifted away enough that he could move to something less comfortable but easier to bind before reaching around to the coffee table for the wrap that she’d pulled out earlier. Her own injuries didn’t matter right now, making a point to keep him situated as her hands didn’t shake as they wrapped up his ribs quickly and thoroughly from years of practice. “Have a drink later, that’ll help you take your mind off things.”

   “Yeah, well, hard to remember the cardinal rule when the first punch ends up rattling my brains in their skull.” Santino couldn’t quite stop the grunt of pain as he shifted to sit up. Usually he was much better at keeping himself under control, never wanting to worry her more than absolutely necessary, but he was too tired. Too aching. Too much in pain to do much more than what she needed to patch him up so he could stop moving for good. 

   He watched close as she wrapped him up, moving where she needed him to move and breathing through the worst of the pain as his ribs ached in his chest. “Alcohol is well and good, but perhaps I should pass considering the throbbing in my head means a wonderful concussion.” And even so, with all the aches and pains of his body he didn’t miss the way she moved with her own collection of wounds. Both externally and internally.

   As she finished tying off the wrap around his chest, he snagged her hands between his and held them to his chest, right above his heart, voice low and comforting despite the pain they were both filled with, “I’m here, Valen..I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promised that, and no cracked ribs, or bruised arms and legs will change that.” He forced the smallest of smiles on his lips, before gesturing to the first aid kit with their still combined hands, “And now it’s your turn to be pampered. Think of it as my way of thanking you already for waking me up every two hours for the next twenty-four hours, because I don’t think either of us want me to slip into a coma.”

[saintgallows]

nikborisov‌:

date: September 2018 location: Castelvecchio Bridge status: closed for @saintgallows

The walk between the two territories of Capulet and Montague was surprisingly silent for a man of his size, as Nikolai considered that all cities across the globe weren’t all that different at their cores. Hierarchies, crime and corruption lingered throughout them enough to be likened to a bad smell (he, himself, would not have considered it as such but was more than aware of those who did in his many travels). Verona, he had found in his short time as a resident, was not as different to the others as he had perhaps expected it to be.

There were still, and always would be, those who would steal for the sake of stealing and Nikolai could not begrudge them their small pleasures. He was cut from the same cloth as those people, after all, though he would justify his pursuits under the guise of his target not needing whatever he had chosen to take. He crossed into the Montague enclave of Verona, though his thought flew from him, his thought interrupted as his lighter was lifted from the back pocket of his jeans by an unknown person.  

The Russian turned sharply and found the stare of another who he had originally overlooked. The hopeful expression, conveying the desire to get away with what they had just done, slipped off the other man’s features. One hand was extended between them, in demand and not request, and eyebrows raised in question as Nikolai gestured with a nod of his head toward the lingering marks of injury that Santino bore.

“Careless,” he commented with an inquisitive tilt of his head, holding up a hand in a half-surrender gesture before wiggling his thumb obviously. “A two finger lift has never included ze thumb. You can try again when you are better.” Nikolai held no shame in commenting openly about someone he didn’t know - the concluding joke coming naturally - for he believed he spoke the truth and that, to him, was enough.

   Hurt hurt hurt. He hurt, and yet here he was, walking through the streets, doing anything and everything he could to forget that he still should still be in bed. He was fine, though. He’d lived through worse, and still had to function enough to get money for him and Val to survive, and eat for the next day. That’s what she didn’t seem to understand. Why, every time she found him up and about, or out in the streets, she chose to berate him and drag him back and couldn’t understand that being stagnant was far worse for him than anything else.

      So he’d traveled outside, once again, his fingers itching to be kept busy, and found himself people watching near the river. He hadn’t felt the need to pick pocket anyone in awhile, hadn’t needed to for far longer, but sitting there, body aching from healing wounds that were taking their merry little time. Shifting he spotted his first opportunity to divest someone of their wealth and with a slight limp he crossed the short distance between them, there and then gone and he was a wallet richer. Santino pocketed the cash and tossed the wallet into the water, and moved onto his next opportunity. 

    He continued for awhile, till he was aching from simply standing, but he was a couple hundred dollars richer because of it. Money he didn’t need, but it made him feel better, somewhat. He’d already turned to leave and head home when he caught sight of another potential target. Santino should leave, he’d done enough and he was slowing down, but there was something about the man that caught his attention and he couldn’t simply leave it. Only a few minutes later, perhaps he should’ve, because getting caught nicking a lighter was simply childish and the man’s amusement only seemed to cement that.

   Santino couldn’t remember the last time he’d been caught pickpocketing, but rather than a knife through his arm for the effort, the man seemed genuinely amused and offering...advice? Bemused smile on his face, Santino took a moment to look at the lighter, well-loved and covered in dings and a number of scorch-marks, before offering it back with a low chuckle, “Forgive me, signore. It has been a long day. I am not usually so full of thumbs.”

[saintgallows]

who: @violentgallows where: twelfth night museum when: midnight, september

   Santino knew better. And he could almost feel the words echoing in his very bones in the all-too familiar tone of Valentina’s voice. He knew better. But it hadn’t been in his plans for that day to get trapped inside of a museum, especially not when it meant that Valen would have to come help him get out, and choose to hold it over his head for the rest of his life. If he were feeling at one hundred percent, it wouldn’t have been an issue. He’d broken into and out of places plenty of times to be able to get out undetected, but when his main method was to climb, he’d risk re-injuring his barely healed ribs just trying. To try and to fail and to get caught were all things that he and Val couldn’t afford, not now. So he texted, and he waited.

   How this had even happened, he couldn’t figure out. Santino had just wanted to see the artwork, as he always did when life seemed to be unraveling at the seams. The trip there must’ve exhausted him more than he expected, for one moment he was sitting on a bench in the corner and the next he was waking up in a darkened museum with no way out. Or, at least, none that wouldn’t make him be in even more agony once he got out.

   Years of visiting this museum meant he knew where every blind spot and access point to the building was, and he headed to the section he’d texted her about. He’d worked through worse pain, survived harder circumstances. Everything would be fine, so long as Valentina could get here and get him out, and no one from the museum would be the wiser. All he had to do was wait.

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Val: i'm going to kill you

Santi: love you too

Santi: i'm in the southeast corner, with the window that faces the river

Santi: they really need to fix their blindspots

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Val: i'll toss you in the river tonight

Val: then i won't have to worry about you escaping and thinking you're up to a daylight stroll to your friendly, neighborhood museum for a nap

Val: anything else while i'm at it? you might as well use up all my good will because it's not like anyone else is going to see it

Santi: if it means i don't have to move, i'm all for it

Santi: boltcutters would probably be good

Santi: and food...its been awhile since i've eaten anything...

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Val: you realize that if you die, that's exactly what your epitaph with say? that you didn't want to bother anyone so you chose to die instead

Val: that's what i'm going to put on there so others can witness this

Val: i am never too busy for you or to make sure there is someone to go with you in case of something like this happening

Val: which museum?

Santi: please, as if i'd ask anyone to bother with a headstone, least of all you.

Santi: just toss me in the river, easy cleanup.

Santi: twelfth night

[ a minute or two later ]

Santi: bring pain pills too

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Val: i'm sorry. i seem to have forgotten that part along with the part where you should not be moving yet? what were you thinking?

Val: explain to me how.

Val: everything

Santi: i was getting stir crazy and you were busy i didn't want to bother you

Santi: i just wanted to look at the art and i...fell asleep?

Santi: and now it's almost midnight and the doors are locked

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Val: it's only illegal if you get caught

Val: and i never get caught

Val: where did you go

Santi: remember the super important part where you LOVE me, remember???

[ a few moments later ]

Santi: i went to the museum

Santi: ...and now i can't get out

[saintgallows]

Text ☾ Santi & Val

Santi: first: remember that you love me

Santi: second: murder is illegal

[saintgallows]

moodboard → SANTINO AND VALENTINA GALLO

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and not in the complicated way I loved our parents, but in a simple way I never had to think about. I loved her like breathing.

@saintgallows @violentgallows

[saintgallows]

--and till the end you’re my very best friend

for @maevepetre

[saintgallows]

[saintgallows]

in visions of the dark night, i have dreamed of joy departed

Santino as a werewolf by @alaspoorhassan

[saintgallows]

@maevepetre​‌:

There was a certain comfort in routine. In just knowing of certain constants. 

There were mathematical problems that lended themselves to that, but real-world practicality and examples were something Maeve favored enormously. Because she could use them, hold onto them tightly.

One day, she thinks, they might get spotted. One day, she thinks, someone could see them. Papá and countless others keep telling her - do not associate with the Montagues. Maeve, per favore, if there is nothing else you listen to, listen to this. So, naturally, she found herself unable to. Because what use was there in ignoring something as utterly light and wonderful as what she had stumbled into with Santino - her friend, her secret - even Catherine didn’t know. Didn’t know about the strange and quiet boy who was so peaceful, who’d taken her surprise appearance in a secret place of his in stride. 

Who she hadn’t known until quite recent times even was a Montague. Which was all the more proof that the two sides were only labels. Labels that would burn away as soon as she could light the match, until everything fell back into place, into the peace that Verona so needed, so deserved. 

She’d brought a box of muffins for him - lemon-blueberry, made without dairy as usual - his acceptance of her allergy just another sign of his genuineness. Not that anybody had ever been cruel about it, but it was simply something else she’d checked off about what made him brilliant. Lovely, kind, and terribly, fiercely secret. Maeve knew that other Capulets had associated with Montagues, but she knew that it would be looked down upon, and that it would only give any number of them further reasoning to call her a fool, a pretty little fool, and that was no such compliment.

Not that she always cared what the others said (she couldn’t complete her personal mission if she cared too much), but she didn’t need to hand reasoning for doubts to them on a golden platter.

He’s in their place, and she is wonderfully pleased as she moved quickly toward where he is seated.

“Santi,” she breathes out, smiling. “You -” she bites her lip for a moment, “I’m certainly glad to see you.” Another moment passes, and she feels her eyes grow halfway-wide. “Caro amico,” she says, softly, as she slides down to sit next to him, “what happened? You were hurt?”

   There was something to be said for routine. Often it was the most sensible thing to do when working on a job. Take the time to learn the ins and outs of a person’s life to find the best, and most lucrative, pathway to their belongings. Santino and Val had survived so many years by being so good at being anyone but themselves, to take money right our from others’ noses and walk away unscathed. But unpredictability seemed to be something the mob worked harder towards, keeping their work under the radar of either Family and the police. 

   Sebastian had found a method that worked in between the two. There was a pattern to their meet-ups he was fairly certain Maeve was unaware of, and it was what worked to keep this place...safe. Any other time they might’ve been found within the first few meetups, especially with how heightened the ire was between the Monts and the Caps, but they were in the one place that neither Family seemed to even know existed. It had served him well before he had been dragged into their world, and served him even better as an escape from the life he was now trapped in.

   It was a place he could be Santino, with no pain or anger hovering over his head, and Maeve could simply be Maeve, in a way he felt she appreciated, just as he did. They were stuck between two worlds, and for a few hours, every few weeks, the two of them could have this--and not have to worry about Montagues and Capulets, and the weight of orders pressing down on their shoulders.

    Only a few minutes after he’d slithered to the ground, there she was. Right on time. “H’lo Maeve.” A vision in sensible shoes, carrying a box of delicious treats that made his stomach rumble with anticipation. Santino couldn’t quite help the smile that appeared on his face, making the yellowed bruises on his cheeks stretch and ache as he spoke, “Tis but a flesh wound.”

   Normally Santino would’ve already been on his feet, working on the latest idea that had grabbed him one night and refused to leave him, or greeting her with delighted energy. Countless times before she might’ve walked in on him, fingers covered in charcoal from sketching out a new mural, to already half-way through a design with paint splattered across both clothes and skin, the wall slowly, but surely, turning into something beautiful. Tonight though, he had barely made it to their courtyard without stopping to take a rest on his way. With how slow his injuries were healing, he most likely, shouldn’t have left home, and would receive a thrashing from Valentine, no doubt, but he hadn’t wanted to miss this. Miss her.

    "What did you bring this time? It smells delicious.” He reached for the box in her hands, wanting to deflect from the bruises covering most of his body, the most noticeable on his face, but he couldn’t quite help the slight wince as his reach shifted his cracked ribs in an unpleasant way. His smile grew, to hide the shade of pain in his eyes, hoping she’d missed his slip up, and let himself rest back against the wall, “Not sure I’m up for any painting today, though, so you might have to show off your skills for once.”

[saintgallows]