Calore [Bella Rose]

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

After the meeting with Elizabeth and the family not too long ago, Cosimo realised that his area of expertise wasn’t as specialised as he had though. There were other members of the family that made and sold guns; his time in the slums and at the crafting table was wasted on parts that he fused together into guns that would not be used. Those he had given away to the cause that Elizabeth had outline; but as he was giving them away, as he was breaking and entering into the buildings she had specified, placing the items discretely that she had asked him to place, he began to wonder whether he should not try something new.

As soon as Elizabeth died, Cosimo thought that he had felt it. It was a whimsical notion that he dismissed, and yet deep down he had to wonder. One day she was there, and the next she was not. There was an absence from Ivory Towers, as if he could pick up on her aura as soon as he entered the place. But it was an aura that just was not there.

Failing any other way of contacting her, he decided to work. He continued to do as she had requested, and yet this time he did not search for guns or gun parts. This time, he searched for swords and parts of swords; when not breaking and entering, he went to the catacombs. He trained his skirmish skills against the ancient zombies that ambled there, and collected as many of the old metal bits that he could find. Back and forth via tome and portal, he practiced and taught himself how to use the forge and the anvil. The heat was so constant that he had forgotten it was winter outside. He had forgotten that he had ever been so excited about the snow. He didn’t realise how little he cared for the snow, these days.

The Italian had not worked so hard at anything in his life; he wanted to make his sire proud. He wanted her to appreciate his work. It never crossed his mind that his attachment to his sire was a little too strong; not that he’d acted upon it as much as he could have. The male had exercised self-restraint; Elizabeth had a life. She had a husband. She had things that she had to do, and she couldn’t spend all her time with him.

Regardless, he wanted her to come back from death knowing that her progeny worked for the family she had, in part, died for. And even after she had returned, Cosimo continued to work. If he could sweat, he would be covered in it. Instead, he looked cool as a cucumber as he stood over the lava-hot forge, the sound of the anvil hitting the metal - tin-tink! Tin-tink! – almost melodic. But probably, also, irksome to any who might have been trying to enjoy the calm silence of the domed garden roof top.

There were two swords in the rack beside him, both named after minor Roman deities. The third – the one he was working on now – would be named after another. He had been at this only a week, but he thought he was doing okay. He could do better. Which was why he wouldn’t stop. Even if his fingers began to bleed, he would not stop.

[Bella Rose (DELETED 7820)]

Bella hadn’t experienced much trouble adjusting to the vampire lifestyle over the past few weeks. She took much pleasure in the nighttime and therefore sleeping by day was not much of an inconvenience for her. She had no moral constraints that prevented her from or made her feel bad about using humans as an energy source. She didn’t really give a damn about much of anything, or anyone, actually. It was an interesting feeling, caring. She had never experienced it before, which she believed to be a good thing. It seemed to her that feeling for other people just made things more difficult. When you care only about yourself, you don’t have to worry about “how will this affect so-and-so?”, “how will so-and-so feel?”. To her, it just seemed like a nuisance, a waste of time and energy.

So, family? That was a completely new concept. When Myk had offered her to join his family, she had been tempted to say no. She had been alone her entire life, why did this need to change? Especially now that she was faster, stronger? What use would a family be? An obligation? A promise? Something that would hold her back from the mysteries and wonders of life that she had yet to explore? None of these things had sounded particularly pleasurable to her. But she had agreed, because, she understood she was young and still had much to learn about life before she could truly mark herself a wise being. These people, this family, she knew, would not only assist her and teach her in the ways of their kind but also be there in times of need. It was a give and take, she supposed.

Though her usual demeanor typically consisted of a sarcastic and somewhat cold attitude, with just a hint of thoughtfulness and other-worldly looks and feelings, she had been trying to be nicer to these people whom she was now calling her “family”, for a few reasons unnamed and perhaps unknown to her at the present time. Despite her attempts to come to terms with the word, it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Tonight, Bella had been wandering about the gardens on the roof, a place she had been finding herself often. The view of the city from above was beautiful, and brought her a newfound sense of exhilaration that at times made her want to leap from the roof of the building. She had to be careful not to allow herself to get too excited at these moments. She supposed London looked even more spectacular from above, as she had spent many a night on the roof of the orphanage as well. But most things were beautiful from a distance. You were unable to see the small things that when put together, created an empty, filthy city that stank of, not necessarily death, but lack of life. It had been suffocating.

Bella had been deeply involved in her thoughts when she heard a loud noise coming from below. She had almost reached a state of meditation when the sound corrupted her ears. It seemed almost like a hammer, but much lighter. Someone was most definitely doing some sort of craft involving metal?

Bella lifted herself from the spot she had been sitting with a weary sigh, and allowed her feet to carry her downstairs and into the room which held the source of the noise. There was a man, one she believed she had yet to meet, doing, yes, exactly what she had thought, working with some sort of metal. What it was exactly, she was unsure, as she could only see the back of him. She would have to raise her voice a bit to get his attention. “Pardon me?” She half yelled, but in a pleasant tone. She would wait to say anymore until she had been assured she had received his full attention.

Be polite. Be polite. Be polite.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

The crafting of the metal was almost like an art form. Cosimo wondered if that was why he wasn’t very good at it, yet. Art required a specific kind of instinct. It required the artist to become one with the art. It required the artist to become the art. The Italian had never dabbled in anything artistic; he liked cooking, and he liked football. Soccer. As he tried to meld the blade, as he tried to make it as sharp and as shiny as it could be without losing on any of the quality, he wondered if this art form couldn’t be compared to the sport. With soccer, one had to become one with the ball; had to move fluidly across the field like water, the other players the rocks to swim past.

No. Forging metal wasn’t at all like playing soccer, and it was stupid of Cosimo to think so. He laughed at the metal, but the distraction cost him. At the same time, he heard the voice behind him, half shouted. Female. He was so lost in his thoughts, in his distractions, that the voice might as well have come from heaven. Or from hell. It could have come from his head, or from some ephemeral space in between the atoms that made up this world. The hammer slipped and caught his thumb, slamming it down against the molten metal. He was wearing the proper attire, the gloves, but it still hurt.

He dropped the hammer, which went clattering to the floor. A string of curse words (all in Italian) spilled from his lips, a deluge of unintelligibility which somehow managed to sound melodic, musical. That was the thing about the romantic languages. They were poetic. Even when the words were less than savoury.

Cosimo, shaking his hand and feeling the dull throb of pain in his thumb, turned around. Of course the voice hadn’t come from the void. It belonged to someone – another person, in a physical body, with actual vocal chords. A woman he had never seen before, but one he assumed had to belong to the family. Had to, otherwise she wouldn’t be here.

”Ciao, si. Scusi,” he said, still laughing at his own mishap, tugging off the leather glove to toss it onto the table behind him. The nail was broken and skewed, and would probably peel right off. It would be better to peel it right off. It would heal better, easier. How long did it take a vampire to grow back a fingernail? He would soon find out.

”Can I help?” he asked. She had asked the first question. Pardon me? Generally, a person who asked pardon was a person who was looking for something. Maybe she was lost. It was easy to get lost in the towers, with all the secret doors and long dark hallways. Cosimo himself was surprised he hadn’t run into the traps that Elizabeth had so often warned him about.