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as prompted by Michalyn.
Shouldering the door closed, he breathes in, out, in, a drop of sweat running down his temple. It's quiet up here on the third floor, removed from the narrow streets. The windows are open to the breeze; swallows are darting from underneath the carved and painted eaves. The air up here is pure enough for him to smell the orchards, the hills nearby, the vineyards just beyond the Belvedere.
Yet catching his breath takes longer this time, and when Michelotto lifts his arm to wipe at his face, his muscles are screaming.
Tired. He's tired, that's all.
It's when he's lugging himself to the washstand that he sees them: a maiolica bowl full of apricots. They weren't there before; weren't there when he left. Curious now, he bends forward to examine them. They're perfect, each and every one of them, just shy of ripe and covered in pale golden fuzz. With a sigh, Michelotto closes his eyes and breathes in. They smell so good.
He draws his sword the moment he hears the voice, though.
"Oh my, you are tired," Cesare softly says as he moves from the bed and steps around the table. "You really didn't see me, eh? Tsk."
Eyes half-open, Michelotto allows Cesare to pry his hand off the hilt. "You're right, I didn't see you. Doesn't mean you would have stood a chance." He watches Cesare lift his fingers to kiss them when it occurs to him that there's blood, still. "Wait," Michelotto mumbles. "I haven't had a chance to-" But Cesare just sucks the fingers into his mouth, and Michelotto blushes, looking at apricots instead.
Shouldering the door closed, he breathes in, out, in, a drop of sweat running down his temple. It's quiet up here on the third floor, removed from the narrow streets. The windows are open to the breeze; swallows are darting from underneath the carved and painted eaves. The air up here is pure enough for him to smell the orchards, the hills nearby, the vineyards just beyond the Belvedere.
Yet catching his breath takes longer this time, and when Michelotto lifts his arm to wipe at his face, his muscles are screaming.
Tired. He's tired, that's all.
It's when he's lugging himself to the washstand that he sees them: a maiolica bowl full of apricots. They weren't there before; weren't there when he left. Curious now, he bends forward to examine them. They're perfect, each and every one of them, just shy of ripe and covered in pale golden fuzz. With a sigh, Michelotto closes his eyes and breathes in. They smell so good.
He draws his sword the moment he hears the voice, though.
"Oh my, you are tired," Cesare softly says as he moves from the bed and steps around the table. "You really didn't see me, eh? Tsk."
Eyes half-open, Michelotto allows Cesare to pry his hand off the hilt. "You're right, I didn't see you. Doesn't mean you would have stood a chance." He watches Cesare lift his fingers to kiss them when it occurs to him that there's blood, still. "Wait," Michelotto mumbles. "I haven't had a chance to-" But Cesare just sucks the fingers into his mouth, and Michelotto blushes, looking at apricots instead.