#dyn: pesci & prosciutto

[doomedsouls]

❝ if we come up against anything, you get behind me and you stay there, okay? ❞ prosciutto to pesci

when his brother's voice gets to be like that, it means there's no room for protest. do not fucking argue with me, to be precise. and that always works, that always shuts him up real fast. because it means his brother has formulated a plan in his head and he intends to see it through step by step -- it's a perfect plan, there's no need for change -- and all he needs to do is follow it to the letter. which shouldn't be that hard at all. pesci has done it before. ( minus the occasional fuck - up from overthinking or clumsy mistake making. ) but this. . . this feels different.

❝ b- but--  ❞ there it is, that word of forbidden protest. it escapes past his lips before he can slap a hand over his mouth. he has to brace himself for the fury of frost blue eyes glaring at him, it's a kind of look that makes hell freeze over. it's funny, since ghia's the one with ice powers. now he's done it. he's opened his big fat mouth and he'll be made to finish what he started. and, well, he. . . ❝  you'll be alone, facing everything head on. i-- i can help. ❞

i can help. he feels like he's nine years old again, begging to follow his brother. promising to be useful enough but to also stay out of everyone's hairs. he's not that little boy anymore, and he's no longer allowed to revert back to that boy -- not after practically throwing his childhood away, joining passione against his brother's wishes -- yet somehow, he's still not a man either. he is not his brother's equal by any means, he isn't even seen as favorable or competent. all he wants to do is change that. maybe. . . maybe that starts now if he better advocates himself?

he swallows nervously, reiterating his offer. ❝  what i mean is. . . i know beach boy is better suited from a distance. so if we do run into trouble, i'll get back to get better aim. b - but don't ask me to do nothing, 'cause i can't. i can't let you do it alone. ❞

[doomedsouls]

pesci, have we ever been to a casino? do you think we're the funny casino henchmen?

he thinks back to the cheesy gangster movies that he's technically not allowed to watch, but it's a rarely enforced rule. ( if he happens to walk in on the t.v. blaring and someone else is watching first, why should they have to change the channel for him? so long as he keeps his mouth shut, everything stays as it is. ) he thinks of the high stakes heists and the stereotype characters, usually played by americans phoning in italian accents. he knows what gambling is, he's watched the others play card games around the house, but he hasn't caught on to any of the rules. he once picked up a poker chip off the floor while finishing his chores and was allowed to keep it.

he knows his brother is a gangster. ( someday, he wants to be too, even if he's supposed to be the one who stays in school. ) he knows he does bad things, whatever that means. but he doesn't know much else. he's never seen his brother come home covered in blood. . . so does that mean he more like a guard of sorts? does he stand around in a suit all night guarding a spot while higher - ups do their thing?

it was a fair guess, if you ask him.

❝  no. ❞ he answers ashamed, a downcast gaze to avoid his brother's scrutiny ( and what he hopes is amusement ) -- he's only eleven, and he's not supposed to be asking about the job anyway. he's supposed to stay in school, mind his business, be good. the fact that they're even having this conversation means his brother must be in a good mood for once. ❝  i guess not. ❞

then his gaze flickers up, a tad bit hopeful. for a moment, he dares to hope that this newest idea in his head might be a good one. ❝ buuut. . . can we go to one?  so i can see what a real casino henchmen looks like? ❞