alessiorizzo

[alessiorizzo]

con ; vasco :

“Vasco d’ Gonzaga,” he replied in turn.  His own thoughts, ironically, bent another way from Alessio’s.  Rather than meditate upon the vicissitudes of fate as cruelty, Vasco thought of the injustice of certainty.  Would he not, he belived, have made a better Lord of Mantua than his brother?  Were his own talents not wasted upon the smaller fief his father had doled out like a consolation prize?  Wetting his lips, he cast a bitter glance away.  His brother’s name would not be writ large upon the pages of history: Mantua could count on it.  But his own?  Vasco intended to make something of himself.  His holdings would not be counted as lesser for long.

“I suppose that is the trouble with legacy,” he mused as Alessio spoke of Rome’s crowded streets.  “Centuries upon centuries leave little enough room for its descendants to make their own mark.”  The ruins of the ancient empire – and its own predecessor – loomed large upon his imagination, now: SPQR.  “Strange, is it not, that so many generations ago a civilization should be forged there which was so great that, even so long after its demise, its successor still swings its scepter across our own civilization.  I wonder what our descendants shall make of us?”  Chuckling at Alessio’s jest, he arched a brow.  “I daresay that must be it.  It must be a bitter thing to be hailed as the greatest city in the world, only to be outshone by the glories of nature.  Yes, I suppose in such a circumstance I might make myself scarce, as well.”

He smiled.  “Ah, Sicily and Venice.  I was born in Piombino and have not been so far as Sicily, though my father ruled Mantua, so I have been to Venice.  I think of it as a rather distinct place, I must say.”  He paused, plucking a grape from a nearby bowl.  He wondered how best to answer the questions put to him.  Are you Florentine?  He did not rightly know.  “No,” he said at last.  “I am not Florentine, though I believe I am as near to the goal as one may come without achieving it.  I was born in Piombino, and passed my early years in Pisa and Mantua by turns.  When I was a wee lad I was dispatched here as the sometime ward of my cousin, Lord Giordano.  I fostered here on and off for most of my life, though six years ago the failing health of my father and subsequent inheritance from him sent me rattling across Italy.”  He paused, thoughtful.  “I only returned a few months ago.  I will not deceive you: it has proved a strange transition.”  He paused.  “But Rizzo.  You – you are Florentine, I believe?”

❁ || ❁

“pleasure,” they greeted at the introduction, trying to place the name. they had always been much better with faces than they were with names, especially unfamiliar surnames. they decided not to worry about it too much, they’d remember now, and if this vasco were to disappear back into their memory, it wouldn’t be the biggest deal in the world. they had bigger things to care about, bigger things to worry about, after all.

“i am sure the modern descendants of rome will leave their marks just fine. the artists, the architects, the thinkers, the sculptors, the renaissance men,” they dismissed his concerns with a wave of their hand. they weren’t worried about rome. the city survived much throughout its long and tenured history, ancient spaces would remain, and senatus populusque romanus would surely survive. what a city they had in the south. and its people... how irritating romans could be. every day, alessio thanked all of the gods, past and present, that they were florentine. “romans seem to think themselves superior until they get a taste of florence, of its beauty, and then, i suppose, they travel back to their homes and talk of how ugly and modern our city is, with our brand new cathedral and our streets to match, they think us lesser because of all of it.” rolling their eyes, they took another bite of their fruit. romans weren’t worth this much space in their mind, though, so he pushed those thoughts away, deciding that it was more interesting to focus on the subject in front of them.

“my time in sicily was a waste, according to my father - it was meant to teach me something or another, but i only came back tanned and untamable.” he grinned at the memories, not even ten years prior. but they quieted themself to listen to him, curious about this man’s past. “lord giordano is a friend of my father’s.” they didn’t know the man very well personally, but they knew that their family shared a longtime connection with that of the giordanos. the rizzos’ lore was practically tangled up with the name giordano. that would be their legacy. “how was the transition strange?” every time he’d returned to florence, he’d slipped back into the fray quite easily, but they’d never spent more than a year away at any given time, of course. “florentine as deep as my blood, yes,” they confirmed, a lazy grin on their face. “i suppose that makes it my duty to welcome you to my fair city.”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; catalina :

she nods her head in agreement, not willing to sugarcoat it for the other. growing up, catalina broke bread with the poorest of the poor. not everyone had opportunities like she did- like alessio did. perhaps it was none of her business what happened to the rizzo family. she hummed, dark eyes falling to their shoes before glancing back up at the sky. “no, no, i do not think you a fool for that reason,” catalina murmurs with a grin. “i am one of the nice ones believe it or not.” she raised an eyebrow and flicked a cherry pit in their direction. “no, you’re right about that.” 

❁ || ❁

“oh, so you think me a fool for other reasons,” they reply, a similar grin on their cheeks. “humor me - reasons such as?” they know that not everyone is the biggest fan of theirs, for one reason or another, and they don’t particularly care; they’re not about to live their life for anyone other than themself, no matter how hard their father tried to change that. “i never said i did not believe that to be the case,” alessio pointed out, leaning to the side to dodge the cherry pit. “i am right about most things. but it is obvious, no? that he has bigger issues than some newly-minted heir of a minor family.” he pushed a hand through his hair, then, looking up at her. “oh, to have the king’s problems. a burden i would never wish on myself.”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; portia ​:

          THE SMELL OF FLOWERS was sickeningly sweet there, wilting under the sun. portia liked how gardens always seemed like a separate part of the city, a limb that was never properly attached into place. it was easier to think when she didn’t feel the weight of eyes on her back, or when she could forget everything about her uncle. if only he was as easy to deal with as the weeds she had started to plucker from under the rosebeds. 

she wasn’t exactly surprised to find someone else there after turning a corner, but it still caught her off guard. so much for having time inside her own head. ❝ oh, it isn’t mine. ❞ portia said with a smile, skipping through the vegetation to get closer and grab a small fig from the bowl. ❝ which means you probably stole it from someone much less gracious than myself. ❞ the roll of her eyes was mostly for show, but she crossed her arms in a somewhat defiant posture. ❝ pleasant is not how i would describe it, unless we are about to go on a rampage of day drinking. i’m afraid i will need a goblet of wine to support it, anyhow. ❞

❁ || ❁

they were practically the same age, having grown up in this city together. and alessio knew firsthand how quickly word traveled through the streets of their dear firenze. so they knew about her and her sister, about their uncle, about their parents. and he didn’t pity them in the slightest. no one wanted pity in a time of struggle - alessio didn’t want pity in their own struggle, either. nevertheless, they gave her a small smile, taking another bite of the peach, not caring about who it originally belonged to. “well, whomever i did steal it from ought not leave their fruit alone next time, lest someone like me comes along and decides they want a bite.” 

at her tone and stance, they let out a laugh. raising an eyebrow, he leaned back in his seat more, one hand propping themself up, the other still lazily gripping the fruit. “am i truly that unpleasant to be around?” they questioned, tone playful, clearly not offended. they knew that people either loved them or hated them, adored their nonchalance or hated what was seen as laziness - a sybarite through and through. “or do you care so much about the feud that we’re supposed to be ignoring that you hate me on principal alone, madonna?”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; valentina :

while   valentina   was   known   for   being   poliete   and   the   model   of   a   perfect   wife   .   .   .   to   someone   ,   she   was   annoyed   with   the   other   ,   her   feet   were   starting   to   hurt   and   it   was   getting   hot   .   plus   her   stomach   hadn’t   stopped   turning   like   the   sea   ,   a   sea   that   was   in   the   middle   of   a   dangerous   storm   that   is   .   and   how   she   could   see   laughter   in   his   eyes   .   “   why   would   i   speak   the   worst   when   your   mind   speaks   of   it   to   yourself   when   you   start   to   fall   asleep   ?   ”   valentina   questioned   ,   her   anger   bursting   .

she   sighed   .   “   according   to   royal   decree   there   are   no   supports   of   either   anymore   ,   we   are   suppose   to   .   .   .   ”   she   trailed   off   what   were   they   suppose   to   do   now   ?   just   allow   the   blood   on   the   streets   to   be   hidden   by   a   wedding   train   ?   she   wasn’t   sure   .   or   how   she   truly   felt   about   it   all   .   she   hadn’t   allowed   herself   to   think   that   far   ahead   .

❁ || ❁

“the only thing my mind tells me as i am falling asleep is that i am beautiful, desirable, and all-together picture perfect,” they reply lazily. it isn’t the full truth, of course. but alessio isn’t the type to admit that they doubt themself as they’re falling asleep. they don’t want their title, they don’t want their position, they just wish things would return to their normal. they just wished their father would listen to them. stubborn old man... trying not to let their thoughts cross their expression, they take another bite of the fruit, savoring the sweetness on his tongue before returning their gaze to her.

“we are supposed to ignore generations of bloodshed and hatred,” they finished her sentence for her, gesturing vaguely with their hand. they’d never cared about the feud - it was petty at best in their mind, and they didn’t understand why people fought a proverbial war that no one could remember why it had started. that proverbial war had many victims, alessio themself being one of them; if not for the feud, their brother wouldn’t have been disowned. and now that he was, now that the crown was saying they had to cross boundaries, why hadn’t their brother been welcomed home yet? “as if i care about the bloodshed and hatred. all i know is what i’ve experienced, and i, personally, am tired of being a pawn in a pointless war.”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; vasco ​:

“The fruit was mine,” he acknowledged with a chuckle.  “But I imagine the pleasantries of company will prove a fine exchange.”  

Vasco took in the person before him.  Six years away from Florence had confused the issue and he could hardly place many of the people who had been young when Vasco had left – they’d changed a great deal.  Yet, whether they were sworn to Lombardi or, like himself, to Giordano, Vasco was here to forge connections for Pisa, as well.

Seating himself opposite Alessio, Vasco glanced about the terrace.  The trees were larger than he recalled, vaulting towards the looming limpid skies.  It seemed to him a lifetime since he’d seen these sights, felt these winds.

“No matter how many times I gaze upon the beauty of Florence,” he remarked.  “I never grow tired of the view.  That is remarkable, don’t you think?  Rome, for all its glamour, does not boast the same quality.  Oh, the treasures of the Vatican are dizzying enough, certainly, but to step out into the streets of Rome is to gaze upon only the works of human hands.  Here,” he shook his head.  “Here one can taste the ever-changing glories of nature, as well.  What do you think?  Have you ever been outside of Florence?”

❁ || ❁

the pleasantries of company - that made alessio grin. their company was pleasant, thank you very much. taking another bite of the stone fruit, they looked the other over. the face was vaguely familiar, but memories were faded with time. “i suppose they will,” they finally replied, gesturing to the seat opposite them, offering it to the near-stranger as if alessio hadn’t just taken his seat for themself. reaching out their hand to greet the near-stranger, they thought an introduction (or re-introduction) was in order. “alessio rizzo, pleasure.” they didn’t bother to tack on any of their titles - it wasn’t worth their effort, especially when saying heir to house rizzo still left a bitter taste on their tongue. that was not their position to be in, and they didn’t want to claim it, as if not speaking the words would somehow bring their brother back into the fray.

when the man spoke, another little smile rose onto alessio’s face. they glanced around once more, taking in the beauty of not only the terrace gardens, but the city beneath them, the river running through it, the hills in the distance, the brand new cathedral beautiful on the skyline. “rome, for all of its glamour, left very little space for nature and its beauty,” they replied. they’d been to rome many times, spending many months of their life there - likely over a year, if they combined the time together. “florence carries something special that no city can compare to, and i think the romans know this, which is why so few of them visit,” they joked, smiling over at him. “i have, yes. traveling here and there, i have spent months in rome, in sicily, in venice. venice is beautiful, but sad. i find myself missing home no matter where i am.”

"your face is familiar to me, but distant by many years. are you florentine? or do you just return to take in our beautiful city?” they questioned politely before taking another bite of the fruit, savoring the sweetness on their lips. “you fit in here, aesthetically - all the looks of a renaissance man, and i mean that in the most complimentary way, sir.”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; catalina​:

the lives of the nobles were so interesting to see in unbiased eyes. of course, catalina viewed herself as an unbiased party. with no alliance to the giodornos nor the lombardis, catalina could not understand the troubles of the rizzos. but she could understand having the chance for power and then turning it down. catalina narrowed her eyes at alessio, lowering her hood onto her shoulders. “they bore you? do you know how many would kill to be in your position?” she shakes her head. “careful with your words, rizzo. the bianchis have eyes everywhere yet.” 

❁ || ❁

they’d heard this lecture before, from many a mouth, including and especially their father’s. do not waste the gift you’ve been given. do not bring shame to our house. they could practically repeat the lecture over and over in their mind. their poor mother - a husband too stubborn for his own good, a son in love, a daughter as smart as her father stubborn, and the poor middle child, an heir unwilling, too aloof about everything that they’d been handed. “yes, i understand, half this city would kill to be in my shoes. the other half would kill me for my shoes.” that was a funny joke, in their mind - it brought a smile to their lips. then, though, they let out a sigh at the warning. yet another of thousands they’d heard in their lifetime. “you must truly think me a fool if you think i do not know that you are one of those eyes.” alessio’s face was nearly bored, now, as they looked up at her. “all hail our great king, may he reign eternal,” they spoke, tone as bored as their expression. “i don’t think i’m his biggest concern, though, and i don’t think you think that i am, either.”

[alessiorizzo]

con ; catalina​ :

catalina was on a special mission for the bianchis. whether or not it was actually important was another thing. to catalina, everything was important and crucial- even if the errand was simply picking up different silks. with a cloak covering her face she walked around the town, chin held high in confidence. however in taking a short cut, she came across none other than alessio rizzo. the handmaiden raised her eyebrows as she looked down at them. a pity for the rizzo family, really. “do you not have responsibilities to do, rizzo?” she asked, before taking a seat and reaching for a piece of fruit, herself. she was not like the other ladies of florence who would never do such a thing. 

❁ || ❁

alessio knew what people thought of them - they were no fool, contrary to popular belief, just bad with numbers and good with people. they knew that they were viewed as a disappointment to their family, but whose fault was that? certainly not theirs - they never asked for their brother to be disowned, in fact, they didn’t want this position at all. it would be better suited in their sister’s hands than their own, or, hell, if someone could convince alessio’s father to welcome his eldest son back into the fray, there would be no harm done. then again, since when did alessio care about others’ negative opinions about them? “do i not have responsibilities to attend to...” they repeated the question lazily, taking another bite of the peach in their hand. “hm. i may. but they bore me. do you not have other responsibilities to attend to? a princess to dress? a king’s already inflated ego to stroke?” strong words from someone with an equally large ego of their own.

[alessiorizzo]

con ; valentina ​:

… ♙ …

valentina   had   loved   fruit   before   ,   but   now   with   her   pregnancy   it   seemed   to   be   the   few   things   that   she   could   keep   down   .   she   was   picking   at   the   bowl   ,   but   suddenly   felt   the   need   to   relieve   herself   .   she   hoped   to   god   that   she   would   make   it   behind   a   bush   and   without   someone   noticing   .

she   came   out   ,   wiping   her   mouth   ,   her   stomach   no   longer   hungry   for   anything   .   she   just   needed   to   get   the   fruit   and   take   it   home   ,   hopefully   for   later �� if   it   didn’t   spoil   .   but   coming   up   the   spot   ,   and   a   small   groan   left   her   lips   .   just   want   she   needed   ,   a   spoiled   heir   .   “   no   ,   ”   valentina   said   .   “   i   was   here   to   get   my   fruit   ,   but   it   looks   as   though   a   rotten   apple   got   to   it   first   .   ”

❁ || ❁

quirking their eyebrows at her words, alessio crossed one leg over the other, leaning back into the seat a little bit more. raising one hand to their chest, they feigned offense before being unable to hold back another burst of laughter. “a rotten apple? is that truly the best you could do?” they questioned, leaning back in his seat a little bit more. “i’ve been called much worse in this life, i’d give you another chance, if you’d like.”

while alessio never claimed to be attentive in their tutoring lessons, they were good with people - they always had been. good with names, good with faces. sure, there were certainly exceptions, but they prided themself on knowing who, exactly, was ‘on their side’. the sides were ridiculous, in their mind, and part of them was proud of their older brother for ignoring it all and doing as he pleased, but that had gotten him banished and shoved alessio into this spot they were in now. the unwilling and incompetent heir of house rizzo. all that to say, she was supposed to be on their side. “better me than a supporter of the lombardis, no?”

[alessiorizzo]

open to all !

alessio was predictable ; they always had been. they were more likely to be found out in public drinking or dancing or enjoying the luxuries of another than to be sat at home, engaged in lessons. that would be the downfall of their house, now, and they knew it. if only their sister could be heiress, if only they could go back to a life without responsibility... 

well, they could pretend.

so there they were, pretending, without a care in the world, lounged out in some garden or another (they couldn’t recall the last time they truly cared about where in the city they were, territory was an illusion in their mind, and if they’d crossed into lombardi territory, if they were in for a spat, well... a fight was still more fun than sitting around and learning about taxes.) their hand was in a bowl of fruit, rummaging around until he picked the ripest of the bunch out, raising it to his lips and taking a bite. when someone approached, they looked up, fruit still in hand. “oh, was this yours?” they asked, a lazy little grin rising to their cheeks. “or are you just here for the pleasantries of my company?”

[alessiorizzo]

⇢  introducing  alessio rizzo  ,  the  22  year  old  genderfluid  ,  heir  of  rizzo  .  they  are  known  for  being  sybaritic  ,  sly  ,  bold  and  outspoken  .  alessio  bears  an  uncanny  resemblance  to  manu rios  and  is  playing  (  ch  #4  )  .

hi everyone ! my name’s el, i’m 23, my pronouns are they/them, and i’m in est !! i can’t wait to get to know you all !! here are some basics about alessio before i jump into his bio !!

NAME : alessio rizzo NICKNAMES : les, ale, lessio, brat OCCUPATION  / TITLE : unwilling heir of house rizzo GENDER : genderfluid, doesn’t define it more than that, they/he pronouns ROMANTIC & SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic polyamorous (an open not-so-secret, they’ll sleep with anyone who wants to share his bed)

they were born in the lap of luxury, a second child, with not a responsibility in the world. their older brother, the golden child, always the perfect example to admire, and admire them, they did. whenever the two of them were at home together, little alessio would always follow in his footsteps, glad that he was carrying a burden so they wouldn’t have to, ease their path in the world, strengthen old alliances and forge new ones.

it was a divided world, after all. alessio may have been a foolish child, but they had a brain in their head. they knew enough to keep up (for the most part), knew who was who, knew which colors belonged to which families, which other children they were allowed to run and play with and which they weren’t. but they always came home, they always returned to their golden older brother and their perfect younger sister, both of them having more intelligence than alessio could ever dream of having.

they daydreamt through their lessons, dreaming of far-off lands, what another’s lips would taste like on their own, and they traveled as soon as they were allowed the grace to do so. they’ve spent time in rome, in sicily, in venice. they’ve tasted the lips of people of every gender, unashamed to admit that - it’s no secret, after all, that alessio will share their bed with anyone who desired them, including more than one person at a time. as they grew older, they realized, there’s no use in holding grudges against people who never hurt them. that was his secret, that was what he was unwilling to let reach their parents’ ears.

of course, everything changed upon the banishment of their golden brother. suddenly, they were thrust into a position they had no desire to be in, as well as no qualifications to do so. they had learned nothing throughout their childhood - their lessons were nothing compared to everything their brother had to know, and when they’d attempted to teach him what the eldest knew, alessio simply couldn’t process the information. 

they turned to their sister for help. their sister in all of her brilliance, who seemed to absorb information like a rag in the rain, willing to share that information with alessio. they know they’d be nowhere without her, and every day they thank all of the gods, old and new, for her. alessio is in no position to rule now, but maybe - just maybe - with her help, they will be, someday. 

they miss the times when they were just the middle child without a care in the world. they desperately miss their brother, laughing with him over meals, smiling at him across the table and sneaking out to meet him at night to talk about anything and everything. and they, like their mother, would do anything in their power to get him back, not only to have those precious memories again, but to take the responsibilities off of their shoulders, as well. 

alessio rizzo. reluctant heir. 

[alessiorizzo]

@manurios