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The Wrath of Nippoli

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The Wrath of Nippoli

Post by Guest on Fri Aug 10, 2012 3:20 am

Starting the day with a complimentary itching of his armpits, Amico yawned out his cigarette laced breath that no amount of tooth brushing would hide the disgusting musk of, as he rubbed his eyes with great hate over the world that he often goes out towards. Today was a fine day to do shit, and shit was gonna go down. He wanted something to spice up his days, since yesterday was quite uneventful. As Capo of Napoli, things were nice and all that... and so begins the story of Amico, the loveliest of all Mafia members with a kindly disposition and a nice atmosphere about that looms like a whale's nipples lubricating lava pits.

"WHAT THE FECK?!" He exclaims in haste, looking at the watch, he would run out. Today was a meeting of a trio that he would call SPECIFICALLY for a purpose most specific, that there is a looming threat coming over Cerise requested by the pubescent teeming masses of ingrates he'd best slay like a righteous hero, aye, the one person he hated most with every fiber of his soul, and he was late for THE meeting with his fellow Mafioso, "SHITE SHITE SHITE SHITE SHITE SHITE!"

Screaming out at the top of his lungs, he burst from his bed, picking up his belt, coat, briefs, shirt, concealable guns and infecting his shoes with his feet, he ran out of the apartment wearing his clothes and off he went to the Cerisian restaurant filled with Cerisian food, obviously filled with Cerisian people. It was the place of the meeting where the three important people of the mob are supposed to gather.

He would walk towards the table where the one known as Santy, the Mac MC of the Esparian MG is supposed to be (hey that rhymes!) and the other one known as Dmitri, someone to THIS DAY that Amico accuses of being a Drachman KGB spy with the only proof being his name that lays his guilt before the eyes of the sparkling world. Of course, NOBODY listens to Amico's brilliant truth and opt to believe that Dmitri is in fact one of them... one day they will regret not believing Amico, and that day will come where he will laugh at them for their incorrigible stupidity. They will regret the day they mistrusted Amico... but anyways, POINT IS, he called both of them here because he trusts in their abilities as made men (no... that's not right, he actually called them here because nobody else wanted to meet Amico in a Friday afternoon where vacation time takes place, and he DID give those peeps some information that MAY or MAY NOT convince them to come along, whichever the case, they are cowards for cowering from the Capo.)

He proudly sat at the corner seat where his back faced the entrance, facing the only way in with the expectation for the both of them to come without a worry about a world! The table was nice and all that, and they could have some spaghetti and all that Cerisian shit Cerisian people eat when they arrive, personally Amico is fond of pizza and beer, good old Creig beer.

Too bad he should be worried... because there was one thing Amico forgot to wear today... pants.

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Re: The Wrath of Nippoli

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 11, 2012 12:29 am

He hadn't moved, for if he had, his papers would have been scattered all over the floor and various other places. About his bed, atop the sheets, atop himself was another sheet of sheets that were paper. Those papers were important notes, random scribbles, and doodles of Mickey Mouse. Organized to a T, they remained just as they were placed: in order. His breathing, even in sleep, seemed to be calculated to such a level as to not disrupt the stack on his abdomen. When he woke, he did so slowly, still aware that he was amid a cyclone of art--a masterpiece of concocted studies--a plethora of congregated intelligence! Blonde hair in a wild frenzy on his head fell in leaks across his face, over his eyes, and stuck to the side of his lip. He opened his mouth, going 'puh' until the strands fell away, reaching blindly to grasp the stack of papers that prevented his rising. With that removed, he sat up finally, glancing (or trying) about the room. Nothing amiss, he went to fling the covers off, freezing with horror. Not only would he have destroyed an entire evening's organization, but he would, in turn, throw a decent sum of them out the opened, unscreened window. Cool island air breathed through it, licking his skin with a salt-filled zephyr. A serene smile on his face, longing eyes lingered on the scenery outside, his hair tousled just slightly by the 6 AM heat.

Santino Falzone detangled himself with expertise from the maze of perfection, standing back, hands on hips, to admire his handy work. Why his bed and not the floor was something he had questioned late last night as well, but it was no matter. He was used to this self-abuse of single-minded dedication. If he was on the bed when he thought up his ideas, that's where they spilled. Ah well, they survived the night at least! Good think he slept like a rock!! Proud of himself, Santy even went so far as to give himself a pat on the back, grinning in the mirror at the chaos happening with his hairdo. Meh. Hairspray leftovers from yesterday. He combed it out with his hands back to nearly exactly how it had been save for the wild frizies; they could be dealt with at another time. For now... For now, what? He paced to the other side of his room, staring intensely at his marked-up calender on the wall. Yeah, Friday was their day off kinda. So there really wasn't anything to accomplish this morning. That meant: make a big breakfast! Another few moments were spent staring mindlessly into space before he turned on his heels and headed for the bathroom.

Freshened up and ready for a big day of nothing, Santy suddenly realized that he had in fact made plans the night before. Amico had called him up, requesting he join him at a Cersian place down the street. As though there weren't a million Cersian places down the street... This one had a certain atmosphere many of the mob enjoyed. Easy going, safe, lax; it was a place to RElax. They all liked it, and the half breed rarely said no. He ceased his pursuit of cooking, heading instead back to his room directly across the hall from the bathroom. Now, what could he do to kill time? He booted up his computer and looked up the daily news, skimming through page after page until it became a reasonable time to call up Dimitri wherever he was lurking. Getting a hold of the guy was cake, but Santy had a strange feeling as he waited for the man to find him rather than getting lost again in the mafia compound. This feeling was something akin to uselessness. If he couldn't even leave point A and successfully reach point B without floundering around for two hours, how could he ever measure up to his Father's expectations? The question hit home, but landed like a boulder in a pit, festering until Dimitri finally arrived to pick him up.

They arrived decently early (as Santy always liked to be), taking a seat at a round table equip with a candle, a white tablecloth, and cloth napkins. The sheer amount of ostentation still to this day thrilled him without seeming too. His eyes, however, were lit up with a color quite similar to the flickering flame, beckoning as if to invite their invitee to the table. As a child, he grew up in, compared to this, poverty. Being here now with stacks of cash in his pocket, he was able to live in two worlds, cultured he'd like to think. The door opened again, but this time with a familiar figure streaking through. By streaking, he really was streaking. Santy's mouth fell open, eyes stuck like fly paper to insect on the lone pair of briefs. ...Was that a stain? He blinked and looked away with a sweat drop, letting his eyes slip closed. After the collected vow of silent shock, Santy rose to he feet and pulled Amico aside. "I respect that--I really do, but at least wear clean ones. At this rate, we might get kicked out!"

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Re: The Wrath of Nippoli

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 12, 2012 6:32 pm

Sleep. Sleep was a precious thing that one just never seemed to get enough of, it was something that should be treasured, savored and most of all enjoyed. Sadly Dimitri never got that particular Memo. Sleep to him was something to be feared and hated, dismissed when ever possible, and only embraced and confronted when no other options where available. So as was his want, the elf set him self on autopilot for the night and got the vast majority of the next days work done even before the sun was showing above the horizon. The night, he figured, was when the lonely and tedious paper work should be done. The day, with the sun shining over head was better left to meetings, gatherings, and spending time with people who mattered to you. One had to wonder just when that was lost and forgotten to modern men. When had work become more important then family? When had suffering become more sought after then pleasure? The world truly was a back words place and every once in a while Dimitri had to laugh at it. It was laughter after all that had kept him alive and well so long. Once you stopped being able to laugh is when you truly died.

So through laughter Dimitri would keep him self alive, and hell with all the stupid people in the world he saw no reason to stop laughing any time soon. He sat at his desk as he usually did and gazed out his window at the world that was just now coming into focus and smiled his impish, if charming smile. Today, as all days where was a great day to be alive!! He could hear the birds singing, and the sound of people who where just then starting their day. Did they understand how much time they wasted on sleep? Could they understand? Probably, but it seemed like they didn't care.

Soon enough he him self would HAVE to sleep, but that was still a day away at least. So tell then he would enjoy his time, his copious amounts of coffee, tea, and other highly caffeinated beverages and live his life to the fullest. Sleep after all, was something for the weak!

It was about the time he was having his fifth coffee of the morning when he remembered he had a rather interesting meeting to attend, with a rather interesting individual. The man actually thought he was a current(Or at least former) KGB spy who was placed inside Marcos organization to act as a spy and operative. Which was utterly hilarious, if completely ludicrous. To top it off Santy would be joining them, which made this little get together all the more enjoyable.

So soon enough, with his friend in tow, he made his way from the house of the Don and out to his car, and as always arrived just early enough for Santy not to complain. The man had to be early if he was to be on time, and it was something Dimitri catered to when he was spending time with the younger man. So as they where shown to their table and to their seats he couldn't help but smile at the slight look of wonder that always seemed to cross Santys face. It seemed that he never got used to what one might call rich settings.

The doors swung open and he glanced up from the menu that some how managed to find its way into his hands and just managed to stifled a laugh. Amico... Walked into the restaurant dressed to impress, there was just one small problem, he wasn't wearing any pants. The guy never failed to make him smile."Dressed to impress as always Amico." At least Dimitri was impressed.

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Re: The Wrath of Nippoli

Post by Shula Brighton on Sun Aug 26, 2012 12:01 pm

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