This will serve as a narrative/journal for Colombina as her story progresses in her human stage. Not sure if I’m going to keep it up after she’s turned or not, but, we’ll see. Some posts will be narrative, and others will be journals. It will be stated which is which at the top of each post. This is also a tool for me to feel out my writing style with her. Sooo.. if I change it up while your reading, sorry. It will get consistent once I find something I can work with.
**** is Valentino’s character. We’re working on this story line together, so naturally as siblings they would have parts in the other’s narratives and some of the same history. Permission has been given for each other to use the toons within reason. Permission is always checked and given before each post is made. The name is left out so no one knows their real names as of just yet. Their real names will only be given to those they trust.
If you have questions or comments or anything, feel free to PM me.
**** is Valentino’s character. We’re working on this story line together, so naturally as siblings they would have parts in the other’s narratives and some of the same history. Permission has been given for each other to use the toons within reason. Permission is always checked and given before each post is made. The name is left out so no one knows their real names as of just yet. Their real names will only be given to those they trust.
If you have questions or comments or anything, feel free to PM me.
*******
Type: Narrative
Where: New York, New York
Note: Names have been changed to prevent incrimination.
***
The night is growing older. Here I stand in the old study in the south end of the third floor of the house staring at a giant pull down map of the world behind Papa’s old desk. A knife twirls in my hand. Papa used to use the study a lot in his younger days. His “meetings” would always be held in here. Mamma would serve the guests her special cookies and her best coffee. The lingering scent of cigars and strong Italian coffee wisp through the air and bring a smile to my painted lips. No one uses this study anymore now but me. Sometimes Angelo uses it when he has his… associates over, but mostly it’s just me in here. Papa has moved on to the ‘Drawing Room’ he had built years ago when this study became too small.
The wind gently knocks tree branches against the window to my left, pulling my attention away from my thoughts and the giant pull down map. Lightning flashes over the sky, a low rumble of thunder. I move over to the window and look down into the pitch black back yard, the scene illuminating as another bolt of energy flashes across the sky. The metal of the old play set caught my eye. A sigh escapes my lips. Memories….but… back to business.
I return to my position in front of the map and try to remember how to switch it up. I think it just flips. I move to it and sure enough, you just flip the pages over one another to see a different country up close. I find the one for Canada and flip it to the front so I can see. My butt finds the edge of the old maple desk as I back up and I lean myself against it, studying this new land. I’ve never been anywhere outside of New York, let alone the country. But… It’s all for the family. I’m a big girl. I can take it.
Papa had come to me and told me about something I thought I’d never hear from him directly: business expansion. Big time prospects. My heart leapt again just thinking about it. He never came to me with business. Normally he goes to Angelo and Uncle Tommy first before news trickles down to us, the soldiers. I wasn’t technically a soldier, but I did do small errands...mostly drops and pick-ups, driver, paper pusher. I was… under my brother Angelo, training to take over Consigliere when Angelo moves on to be the Don and new head of the family. So in essence, I was the right hand man to the right hand man of the Don. Which doesn’t make sense with why Papa would come to me, ME, with such an opportunity? I was Papa’s only girl, his baby dove, his light, his joy, and… he was sending me to Canada? The gangs were growing in some town called Harper’s Rock. Papa wanted someone he could trust to go in and make connections. I’m guessing he couldn’t afford to let Angelo or Uncle Tommy go. Momma was out of the question. She was the only normal one of us. God bless her.
My chocolate eyes roam over this place… this…Canada . I was looking for Harper’s Rock and eventually found it. Dread filled my gut and anxiety with it. I knew I could do what was asked of me. Make connections. I’d often been used at the entertainment for Papa’s guests. The pretty little dove that would sit and flirt, maybe even show off what I had learned in dance class for the associates while Papa went out with the other Boss to discuss business. The pretty little thing at bars, sweet talking for information with *****. Yeah... I could make connections. Though.. something didn’t seem right….
I push off the desk, knife in hand and place the tip on the point labeled “Harper’s Rock”, twist it a bit, but not much. A small dent is made. I steel myself and take the knife away from the paper and run my hand over the mark I made. These maps... had history… I had no right slicing them up… but... I had to leave my mark somehow other than being Papa’s litte dove.
The knife I return to its stand in Papa’s desk drawer and I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and head downstairs. I need fresh air. The keys are on the side table by the front door and I grab them and slip out, hoping no one heard me.
