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toushindai · 7 years

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The Words of a Friend

For Baccano! Week 2017, Day 7: Bonds

Ronny and Maiza discuss immortality with Molsa, and then with each other.

About fifteen years pre-series--this is shortly after Ronny and Maiza join the Martillos, well before they’ve achieved any particular status.

[ Read on AO3 ]

The firefight was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

To be fair to the assailants, Ronny supposed, they couldn’t have known what they were up against. Sure, it had been unimaginably stupid of them to burst into the restaurant before it opened, given that it was widely known to be under the control of the Martillo Family, but to encounter the four they found themselves up against was pure bad luck. Two no-name thugs could hardly be expected to stand a chance against the capo societa, the primo voto, a two-hundred-year-old Immortal, and… well, Ronny himself.

In the end, it amounted to little more than a scuffle. The only one who��d actually been shot was Maiza, who’d leapt forward when the assailants had first appeared and taken a bullet meant for Molsa. Out of the corner of his eye, Ronny watched Maiza’s shoulder push the bullet out again as he regenerated. Maiza caught the bullet in the opposite hand, sending a wry glance Ronny’s way when he caught him looking. For all the suffering that immortality had caused him, Maiza was rarely reluctant to take advantage of its benefits. But no matter.

As Yaguruma and Ronny kicked the two assailants into a corner, Maiza slipped the bullet discreetly into his pocket. Just in time: Molsa hurried across the room to him.

“Maiza!” he cried. “Are you all right?”

Maiza smiled to reassure the capo societa and spread his arms. “I’m fine. Not a scratch on me,” he said. “The bullet must have missed.”

“What?”

Molsa stopped abruptly, confusion obvious on his face as he looked Maiza over. There was (naturally) no blood on Maiza’s clothing, but—

“But I saw it hit you,” Molsa protested. “I saw the blood.” He walked forward again, clasping Maiza’s shoulders and running his eyes down Maiza’s body, his brow furrowed. “I saw the blood…” he repeated, less sure now. He looked at the wall behind Maiza, but there was no blood spray there, either.

Maiza shrugged. “There was a lot happening at once. Perhaps you saw blood from something else?”

He was, apparently, committed to the deception. Ronny nodded respectfully to Yaguruma and then made his way over to the other two men.

“You’ve got a bullet hole in your jacket, Maiza,” he said conversationally, his voice quiet.

Maiza clapped his hand over the irrefutable evidence and sent a baffled, resentful glance Ronny’s way. But when Molsa pulled on his wrist, he let his hand be moved away so that Molsa could see the hole for himself. The capo societa’s eyes narrowed in confusion and he looked between Maiza and Ronny for an explanation. Ronny kept his eyes on Maiza. Maiza didn’t speak.

Finally, Molsa sighed.

“Why don’t Yaguruma and I take care of these two idiots before they wake up,” he said evenly, “and when I get back, I hope one of you will be ready to explain what’s going on.”

For all the mildness of his words, it was obvious that they constituted an order. Ronny and Maiza inclined their heads and then watched their superiors go.

Once they were gone, Maiza turned to Ronny, the panic he’d been stifling now obvious on his face.

“Ronny, we can’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

Ronny wasn’t quite playing dumb. He understood Maiza’s dislike of immortality well, and would have seen Maiza’s fear in his face even if he hadn’t been able to sense it vibrating off of him in waves. But he didn’t understand why Maiza thought it best to keep this secret.

“Don Martillo isn’t immortal and has no connection to Szilard. And given that our bodies will make us an asset to the Martillos, I doubt he’ll be inclined to spread any rumors.”

Maiza offered no counterargument, but the worry hadn’t left his eyes. He fiddled absently with the bullet hole in his jacket.

Ronny shrugged. “Besides, if you’re going to keep leaping in front of bullets—which is admirable, and has probably endeared you to the capo societa already—you can’t possibly hope to keep the secret forever. The sooner we reveal it, the less awkward it will be to apologize for concealing it thus far.”

“It wouldn’t cost you any effort to keep it concealed,” Maiza murmured, averting his gaze. He was fully aware that Ronny could have repaired the bullet hole instead of pointing it out.

But Ronny only shrugged. “I don’t feel like it,” he said plainly, and nothing more.

Maiza grimaced at his bluntness. “Capricious bastard…”

“I am. I thought you knew this already? Well, no matter.” Ronny turned his awareness briefly outside, where Molsa was leaving the assailants in Yaguruma’s hands. “It looks like the don will be back momentarily. Would you like to demonstrate, or should I?”

“You do it,” Maiza answered, still not looking his way. Ah, he was genuinely angry. That was unfortunate, but no matter; Molsa Martillo was a reasonable man, and it would do Maiza good to have more than one person he could trust in his life. He was too cautious by far.

Molsa returned a minute later and gestured for Ronny and Maiza to sit down with him at one of the tables.

“To review,” he said, “we were discussing how Maiza wound up with a bullet hole in his jacket, but not in his body. Which one of you is going to explain?”

“Sir.”

Ronny gestured for Molsa’s attention and, once he had it, took out his knife. He sliced down his left palm carelessly. The pain was not particularly troublesome, but Molsa started.

“Ronny?!”

Without speaking, Ronny held up his blade so that its red-dyed edge caught the light. Seconds later, blood peeled itself off the knife and out of the fibers of his shirt and retreated into the cut. The wound closed, and Ronny smiled thinly at his capo societa.

“Voila.”

The elderly man stared at him, his eyes wide. Then he looked over at Maiza as if to ask whether he had seen that, too. Maiza answered with one of his wincing smiles.

Finally, Molsa found his voice. “What am I seeing?” he asked, looking between the two men.

It was Ronny who spoke up once more.

“Maiza and I are immortal,” he said without flourish, though a smile decorated his lips. “Immune to both injury and aging. We have been remiss in not mentioning it earlier, but I hope you understand our desire to keep this relatively secret.”

Molsa nodded very slightly, his eyes narrowing as the wheels in his brain turned methodically. He was an even thinker—bold when he needed to be, but never careless. That tendency had empowered him to carve out this territory in Manhattan of all places, and it was what had impressed Ronny about him.

“You don’t age,” Molsa said. “You must be older than you appear, then.”

“Maiza’s two hundred and… twenty-seven, was it?” Ronny answered, turning towards Maiza for confirmation. But Maiza didn’t even nod. He sat motionless, hands clasped tightly in front of him, refusing to look at Ronny. No matter. “And I myself am well over two thousand.”

“I see.” Molsa remained remarkably calm in spite of what he was being told. He folded his arms and leaned back in the chair; it creaked with the movement. “And what do you want with the Martillos?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re some kind of vampires, come to suck the life out of the Family, we’re going to have a problem.”

The gleam in Molsa’s eyes was a protective one; he was willing to fight an “Immortal” if it meant protecting his men. Ronny’s lips curved in a smirk, impressed at the old man’s guts. “Nothing like that,” he assured him. “Maiza’s completely human.”

Or close enough, anyway. The difference was minor enough to be negligible in Ronny’s eyes but great enough that Maiza usually would have contested it. Now he still remained silent, and Molsa’s next question came too quickly for Ronny to discern why.

“Maiza’s human, you say? What does that make you, Ronny?”

Ronny cast his gaze across the room. Some ten feet away, a broken chair lay in a heap; it had met its end against the head of one of the thugs from earlier. He nodded to direct Molsa’s attention towards it. Then, once he was sure that Molsa was watching, he repaired it with a thought.

Again Molsa responded with only a quiet raise of an eyebrow as the impossible happened before his eyes. “That doesn’t quite answer the question of what you are,” he challenged.

Ronny shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smirk. “I’ve been called a demon as of late,” he answered. “But I lack the traditional interest in hellfire and damnation.”

“What do you want, then? You never answered that.”

Ronny answered his gaze without wavering. “I’m just after a good time… which the Martillos have been gracious enough to provide these past few months.”

“Hah!” At last, Molsa cracked a smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re not here to suck out our blood. I think I could get used to having an Immortal or two in the Family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ronny was satisfied, bordering on smug. He glanced over at Maiza, exuding an air of See, I told you there was nothing to worry about, but Maiza’s eyes were locked onto a knothole in the table. His fear had receded, but it wasn’t gone. Ronny frowned inwardly, careful not to let the expression show on his face. But before he could figure out how to cheer his pessimistic friend up, Molsa spoke one more time.

“I don’t suppose that immortality of yours is something you can pass on to others?”

Ah.

Suddenly Maiza’s heart was racing again, beating so fast against the air that Ronny thought even Molsa must have been able to feel it. This was what Maiza had been afraid of. This was why he’d wanted to keep this secret. And by bizarre coincidence, Molsa had asked his question to two of only a very few people in the whole world who could answer it in the affirmative.

Ronny’s mind went into overdrive, trying to calculate the best response. The easiest solution would be to lie, to claim that neither of them knew how to pass on immortality—but in his short time with the Martillos, he had already picked up enough loyalty that lying to the capo societa did not appeal to him. How to best mislead him, then—

“Sir.”

Maiza spoke at last and raised his eyes. He was as pale as death, his face solemn. Molsa turned kind, curious eyes towards him, but the patience in his gaze was lost on Maiza.

“I don’t believe it is wise to spread immortality any further than it has already reached, and I request permission to explain why.”

“Certainly,” Molsa answered.

“When I was young, I was an alchemist. We sought only to expand the limits of what was possible for man, so we summoned a demon and asked him to grant us immortality.”

Molsa’s eyes flicked over to Ronny, who answered his conclusion with a brief, tight smile; but then Ronny looked back at Maiza. This was his story to tell.

“We made this request without truly understanding what it meant to be immortal. Before a century is over, you begin to lose everyone who ever mattered to you. By a century and a half, you start to realize that you’ve left your own humanity behind as well. It is no blessing to live forever.” He swallowed hard and wet his lips with his tongue. “If that were my only objection, sir, I would not presume to defy your request. But—there is one way for an Immortal to die, and that is what makes this system truly foul and unforgivable.”

Molsa raised one eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

Maiza lifted his right hand from the table. It was shaking. “Only an Immortal can end the life of another Immortal. When we meet a companion, we may place our right hand on their head and think ‘I wish to eat.’ This action ends their life, and the ‘eater’ absorbs all knowledge and memories from the ‘eaten.’ This was introduced to us as a way to offer salvation those who have tired of eternal life, but it has not been so in practice.” His mouth twisted bitterly, but he continued. “One of the men who became immortal at my side was too greedy and began to devour our other companions against their will immediately. His first victim… was my younger brother.”

He clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it to the table once more. It occurred to Ronny that this was the first time Maiza had ever told someone this story, and privately he cursed himself for railroading his friend into the situation. No wonder he’d been angry. He had every right to be.

Maiza took a deep breath. “This immortality is a curse that turns inevitably turns friend against friend, and I cannot allow it to spread any further. I will not lie to you, Don Martillo; I do know how to produce the liquor of immortality. But I will not create it, for you or for anyone else. Though you may expel me from the Family, though you may torture me or have me killed over and over for my disobedience, my resolve is firm.” He folded his hands once more and looked back down at the table. “That’s all I have to say.”

A long silence during which Maiza did not dare to look at Molsa. Finally, Molsa cracked a wry smile.

“I’m certainly not going to thank you for saving my life by having you killed over and over, Maiza,” he said in a gentle voice. “And I don’t intend to let a valuable member such as yourself go without good reason.”

Maiza glanced up for only a split second. He still looked sick. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m very sorry about your brother.”

Maiza bowed his head further. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a faint voice.

His thoughtful eyes still resting on Maiza, Molsa addressed Ronny. “Ronny? Do you feel similarly?”

Ronny lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Whether or not I agree with Maiza’s assessment, it takes a little more… finesse to request the details of immortality from me, and I don’t suspect that Maiza is inclined to teach you the method. …Well, no matter.”

“Fair enough.” Molsa, too, shrugged, and at last sat back in his chair. “Then I suppose my dream of running an immortal family of gangsters will have to wait. To be fair, I’ve only had that dream for ten minutes. Easy come, easy go, eh?”

Ronny smirked in appreciation of the Don’s joke, but the levity was lost on Maiza. It seemed that he couldn’t quite believe that he was out of the woods yet. Ronny eyed him for a moment, then looked back at Molsa.

“Don Martillo, since we are—in a sense—depriving the Family of potential benefit, may I offer my own talents in exchange for the loss?”

Maiza started and lifted guilty, panicked eyes. “Ronny, that’s not—you shouldn’t have to—”

“It’s my choice, Maiza,” Ronny answered, looking his friend in the face. “You know I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t interested. Besides, it sounds entertaining.” And, with luck, it might keep Maiza from fearing that Molsa could change his mind at any moment. But no matter.

Molsa looked intrigued by the prospect. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Ronny,” he said. “But let’s discuss the details another time. The two of you have had a trying day that I’m afraid my prying has exacerbated. Why don’t you head home for the afternoon? I insist.”

“You’re too kind, sir.”

The offer was—Ronny could tell—more for Maiza’s sake than for his own, born out of concern for Maiza’s obvious distress as well as a faint, misguided worry that the bullet might have done some lasting damage. But Ronny would gladly take the time off as well, to address the problems he’d caused for his friend.

Once Molsa disappeared to the downstairs office, Ronny turned to Maiza and put a hand on his shoulder. Maiza raised his eyes, and Ronny sent him an embarrassed half-smile.

“So, in addition to being a capricious bastard, I am occasionally an idiot.”

Maiza looked at him in confusion for only a moment; when he caught on, his brow only furrowed further. “You didn’t realize he’d ask?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Ronny,” Maiza said with baffled reproach in his voice.

“Not everyone wants immortality,” Ronny insisted. “I’ve been asked for all sorts of things in the past… But no matter. I’m sorry I put you through that, Maiza.”

Maiza shook his head—first only slightly, then more firmly. “No. You’re right, it would have come out eventually. Better to have it out in the open and know that Molsa is on our side.”

“Yes. And he is on our side,” Ronny said, to make sure that Maiza believed it.

Maiza inhaled deeply and sighed. “Yes,” he said, subdued. “It seems that he is.”

For a moment, the two men sat in silence. Then Maiza lifted his weary body out of the chair and looked towards the restaurant’s entrance. “I suppose I’d better go home…”

“Maiza,” Ronny said, and Maiza looked at him. “Come over to my place for a drink. It’s the least I can do.”

Maiza raised one eyebrow, perhaps a little more sardonic than he’d been a moment ago. “The least you can do to keep me from sulking by myself all afternoon, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” No point in denying it.

Maiza weighed the offer for a long moment. Then an uncertain smile made its way onto his face. “I suppose having a drink does sound like a bit more fun than sitting alone,” he confessed, and so Ronny was forgiven.

They bought sandwiches from a street vendor on the way, but other than that, the walk to Ronny’s apartment was silent. They were silent, too, as Ronny mixed up a pair of gin and tonics to ward off the summer heat, and silent when he set the glasses on the table and the two ate their sandwiches. For once, Ronny made a rather concerted effort not to pry, so he wasn’t sure what worries were passing through Maiza’s mind.

It was clear, though, that he was still deep in thought, and it made time for Ronny’s mind to wander too. He wondered how Molsa’s trust would affect Maiza in the future. It was no trouble to be Maiza’s sole confidant, but the isolation was self-reinforcing. The longer Maiza spent trusting only in Ronny, the stronger his subconscious belief that only Ronny could be trusted grew. And humans were not meant to be so alone.

The Martillos had caught Ronny’s interest before they caught Maiza’s. In fact, he probably would have considered spending some time with them even had he not had Maiza to look after; their convivial irreverence and their understated competence reminded Ronny of his first friends, the alchemists who had created him. But it was no sin to think that that atmosphere would do Maiza good. So he had suggested becoming involved, and suggested it a second time after Maiza brushed the first attempt off. And a third. By the fourth time, Maiza had picked up on Ronny’s intention to be stubborn about this and given in.

And now here they were. At this precise second, Maiza was ill at ease, but only (in a roundabout way) because he had been the one to take a bullet for Molsa; by and large, he enjoyed the time he spent with the Martillos just like Ronny did. And Ronny suspected that his comfort with the Family would only grow once he internalized the knowledge that Molsa could be trusted with the secrets he had revealed today.

“All’s well that ends well” so rarely applied in the lives of Immortals—for what defined an ending when one had eternal life?—but for the time being, Ronny suspected that it would hold true.

And yet Maiza still sighed as he finished his sandwich.

Well, that was fair, too; the conversation with Molsa had worn him out, unsurprisingly. Immortality was a heavy burden to Maiza. The way he’d spoken about it today had made that clearer than ever. Uncomfortably clear, even, if it were something that Ronny would ever consider being uncomfortable about.

Ronny raised his glass, considering Maiza and his own question; then, over the rim of the glass, he remarked, “Foul and unforgivable, hm? And a curse on top of that,” and took a sip.

Maiza looked back at him, trying to read his face. When his face proved unreadable, Maiza sighed. “Does it surprise you to know that I feel that way? I thought I’d been fairly explicit about it.”

“No, it wasn’t a surprise. You have good reason for it. I was just a little surprised that you insulted immortality so thoroughly right after revealing to Molsa that I was the one who gave it to you. While I was sitting right there, even. I felt dreadfully self-conscious.”

Maiza raised an eyebrow, not believing that for a second.

“No? Then what if I claimed that I might take offense at it?”

“Do you?” Maiza asked, only a touch less skeptical.

Ronny let loose the smirk he’d been hiding. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Maiza said with a roll of his eyes. He was beginning to cheer up, and so Ronny spoke freely.

“Truthfully, I might have when I was younger. It took work to develop the method, and I was building on the efforts of someone I admired, who did not live to see it completed. The idea of devouring—that Immortals should be able to turn to their companions if they tired of eternal life—was his, and I call it a gift because he did.”

In fact, Ronny’s master and creator had called the idea a concession to Ronny specifically: to the ennui that had once driven the homunculus to wish for death. And so Ronny had been sure to incorporate that element into the first contract, out of respect for his creator and for any future Immortals who might find themselves similarly bored.

But Maiza didn’t want to know that. His interest was in Ronny as he was now, not as a product of alchemy. Even hearing about the development of immortality seemed to make him uncomfortable; he looked down and fiddled with his glass. So Ronny shifted the subject a little.

“I will admit, though, that things have not exactly played out as I meant them to. I mean it when I say that you shouldn’t blame yourself for that night; your group may have been uniquely quick to turn on yourselves, but… they all do, in the end.”

For just a moment, he closed his physical eyes and cast his gaze over the scope of the Earth, the Immortals standing out to him as though they were lit beacons. Their number was four fewer than the last time he had checked, and he grasped the circumstances of their devouring instantaneously: one willing, and three unwilling. One of the unlucky three had been a member of the Advena Avis group, caught by Szilard; the other two were Majeedah Batutah’s students, the devourer of the first devoured in turn by Majeedah when she discovered the betrayal. She tended to keep a careful eye and a tight rein on her protégés, and this meant that most of the alchemists who had gained immortality with her were either still alive or had been eaten by their own request. But even in her group, there were exceptions.

Ronny opened his eyes again. He reached for his glass and tilted it gently, shifting the ice within it. “It is not what I expected,” he confessed. “When an Immortal first raised a hand against his companion, I thought it was a fluke. That was naive of me. Since then, almost four-fifths of the Immortals who have been devoured were not willing. …Well, no matter.”

He took another sip of his drink. When he lowered his glass, he was surprised to see that Maiza was watching him with furrowed brow.

“Ronny…”

“Hm?”

“Does it bother you?”

Ronny frowned slightly at the unexpected question, giving his head a little shake. “I don’t need sympathy from you for this, Maiza,” he said, and replaced his frown with a crooked, mirthless smirk. “It’s a system that I created, and the consequences have been, proportionally speaking, less for me than for you. It’s unfair of me to bring it up to you at all.”

“No—Ronny.” Maiza’s eyes were serious. “I didn’t know it bothered you. I thought—I don’t know what I thought.”

“That I simply chalked it up to human greed and moved on?” Ronny suggested.

Maiza gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s what I’ve told you. And I never said that it bothered me.”

Ronny felt off-kilter. His usual detached confidence didn’t seem to match the questions Maiza was asking him or—and here was the crux of the matter—the squirming, uncomfortable emotions they evoked in him. He gave a short smile and a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You, of all people, shouldn’t have to comfort me for this, Maiza. Pay it no mind.”

But the former alchemist was persistent. “Do you need comforting?” he asked gingerly.

“No,” Ronny scoffed instinctively. But Maiza’s gaze didn’t leave him, and he found it strangely hard to meet. He lowered his eyes to the table, picking at a splinter in the table that helpfully presented itself for that exact purpose. “I don’t need comforting,” he insisted. “I only feel… strange.”

“Strange as in bad?”

“Not guilty,” Ronny said, and sent a swift glance Maiza’s way. He couldn’t allow Maiza to misunderstand that and extend a sympathy that Ronny hadn’t earned. He was no more inclined to bear the blame for the way Immortals betrayed each other than he had ever been. “Dissatisfied, perhaps, if you insist on digging.” He closed his eyes, his mouth pinching in a slight frown. “It was unintentional on my part for all of you to go after each other with quite the verve you’ve settled on. Would you believe me if I told you that it truly was only meant to be an out for those who tired of living?”

There was an extended silence. Ronny opened his eyes to look at Maiza, who was gazing back with a pained smile on his face. Seeing that Ronny was awaiting an answer, Maiza shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t believe that you’d lie,” he said.

“But you can’t imagine how it’s the truth, either.”

“I realized the risk I’d taken on as soon as one of my companions first looked at me askance. The risk we’d all taken on,” Maiza said, and left unspoken the question of how Ronny could have failed to realize the same.

Ronny shrugged. “I recognized that the risk existed; I just failed to calculate how high it was. I didn’t realize just how greedy humans can be…” He sighed. “Perhaps I should have. Certainly it would have made things very different—and not just for your group. The Advena Avis Immortals are singular only in respect to how quickly you turned to self-destruction. It happens time and time again. Every time I look, there seems to be a new betrayal to discover.”

Maiza’s brow furrowed. “I can’t begin to imagine how frustrating—”

“Stop, Maiza,” Ronny cut in forcefully. “I haven’t earned your sympathy. I could change this. With a snap of my fingers, I could make it so that only the willing could be devoured. But I won’t. I’ve asked myself for a thousand years if I should, but I never do it.”

Maiza sat with his face carefully devoid of judgment. “Why?” he asked. The natural question. Ronny shook his head.

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation. This isn’t something you have to solve for me.”

“I know,” Maiza said evenly. “I’m not trying to. It’s just that… you said you haven’t earned my sympathy, Ronny, but you have. Because you’re my friend. If this is something that bothers you… well, aren’t you always telling me it’s better to talk about things rather than sulking by oneself? Isn’t that why I’m here right now?”

“You’re here because I was cruel to you back at the office and I wanted to make it up to you with some distractingly lighthearted chatter. This is not that.”

“I’m here because you’re my friend and you were concerned for me.” He shrugged, his lips quirking up in a strange smile. “If you want to kick me out, I’ll go, but I did appreciate the invitation to come over.”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Ronny snapped. “That would defeat the purpose just as thoroughly as continuing this conversation would. You asked me why I don’t change the rules concerning devouring. Do you really think I have an answer for you that I can justify against the death of your brother?”

It was harsher—more pointed—than it needed to be, with the aim of dissuading Maiza from the conversation for good. And it almost seemed to, for a second. Maiza winced, his smile more like a grimace for a moment. But then he sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“I trust that you have a reason that makes sense to you, Ronny,” he said, almost infuriatingly composed. “Or else why would you refrain from doing so, even when watching us Immortals betray each other clearly troubles you?”

“It doesn’t trouble me!” Ronny insisted. “It just—”

But for all his near-omniscience, he didn’t know how he wanted to end the sentence. He didn’t know how to phrase what he was feeling. He had always been his own blind spot, since the moment he left his flask, and he suddenly felt like he was young again, railing indignantly against his creator and the mere suggestion that he should ever be subject to a human sentimentality.

He wasn’t being rational.

Taking a deep breath, he analyzed all the factors that defined his current mental state, decided which ones were worthwhile. The tension he felt didn’t seem inclined to disappear, so after a long sigh, he looked Maiza in the eye and reversed his previous statement.

“Fine,” he confessed, “It does trouble me, on some level. I don’t mean to set each new group of Immortals against each other, but I don’t seem to be able to avoid it. Not without changing the rules, which seems… dishonest.”

“Dishonest?” Maiza inquired. “You mean because they were established one way.”

“No, that isn’t it. I don’t care about that at all, to be frank.” He’d offered to let the occasional Immortal out of the arrangement, after all; caprice had never been something he objected to. “It’s just… dishonest about the way humans are. Your personalities and tendencies would remain the same even if I changed the rules. It’s not my job to impose a moral leash or pass moral judgment.”

“Are you judging us?”

“No. Judging would require me to care,” he said with his normal cavalier air, and then reconsidered. “…Which we’ve just established I do, I suppose. I mean that it would require me to spend time caring, and that, I think, I would prefer to avoid.”

“Ahh, I see,” Maiza said, and by the way his eyebrow curved, he clearly saw something beyond what Ronny had said aloud.

“What?”

“You want to avoid thinking about the subject.”

“Yes.” Ronny frowned. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, not at all. It’s a very natural way to respond to painful thoughts—even if it’s the opposite of what I usually do.” Maiza’s lips curled in a wry smile. “It’s also very… very human, Ronny.”

“And that amuses you.”

Maiza shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it amuses me; it just seems very you, and yet also surprising. I wasn’t expecting to discover this side of you.”

Ronny scoffed quietly. He picked up his glass, the ice in it melted just enough to allow him another sip. “Well, no matter,” he murmured.

They fell into silence again, but this time it seemed like Maiza was the one leaving Ronny to his thoughts rather than the reverse. And so, Ronny cast his gaze out the window at the clear blue sky above and thought. About frustration. About the disappointment of discovering, again and again, that humans in aggregate could not seem to live up to the standards set by the noblest among them, and hardly seemed to try. Still, he didn’t see why he should care.

Or maybe he did. His first friends, the alchemists who had created him, had not been a particularly upstanding lot of humans. Not at all. No, they had been flighty and arbitrary, and selfish in the way of those who believed they could challenge and change the laws of nature. If they had been successful in finding a path to immortality—rather than passing on and leaving the task in their creation’s hands—would they, too, have betrayed each other in the end? Ronny didn’t want to think so. He couldn’t bring himself to identify, out of all his friends, who would have been the most likely to turn on the others and infect the whole merry group with paranoia. He didn’t think any of them would have. But two thousand years of experience seemed to suggest otherwise, no matter how long he hoped for a counterexample to appear.

He thought back to the conversation with Molsa, to Maiza’s trembling, resolute determination not to tell Molsa how to brew the liquor of immortality, and he sighed deeply.

“You know, Maiza,” he said, not looking at the former alchemist and instead looking once more into the bottom of his glass, “I think I’m glad you didn’t tell the Don how to make everyone immortal. They’re so companionable as they are; I would hate to see that interrupted by something as superfluous as immortal life.”

“I agree,” Maiza said quietly.

“I am sorry I put you in that position.”

A wry smile. “Are you going to think it through a bit more next time, perhaps?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m not likely to forget today’s events anytime soon—our conversation with Molsa or the little chat we just had now.” Ronny raised his eyes. There was gratitude hovering on his tongue, and something more—a feeling of safety, and a deeper fondness than he had ever felt before. Something that was yet too formless and unfamiliar to voice. So instead he said, “Don’t worry; for all that I’m almost omniscient to begin with, I am capable of learning from experience. I’ll keep all of this in mind for the future.”

“That’s all I ask,” Maiza said with a smile. Then he lifted his glass and offered it to Ronny. “That, and maybe a second gin & tonic? If you don’t mind my sticking around for a little longer.”

“Certainly. That’s even easier,” Ronny remarked. With a thought, he refilled the glass and fitted a fresh lime slice onto the rim.

“…Show off.” Maiza took a sip, then snorted. “And of course it’s perfect.”

Ronny nodded affably. “Naturally. I would never offer you anything less than the best.” He lifted his own replenished glass to his lips. Over its rim, he confessed, “I am very glad for your friendship, Maiza.”

“And I for yours.”

They clinked their glasses together in an unspoken toast; then they sat back in their chairs to watch the clouds go by outside.

#baccanoweek #baccano!#ronny schiatto #maiza avaro #molsa martillo #tou wrote a thing #the words of a friend #my baccanoweek

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strangeshipper · 7 years

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Baccano! : : Molsa Martillo

I‘m a huge Molsa’a fan :) I think he was a handsome man, when young. In different cases his appearance looks quite diverse, so I made it a bit “Al Pacino” like.

#baccano!#molsa martillo

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cosmic-horror-clown · 6 years

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um idk if you've said before but who are your baccano favs?? like characters? i cant rlly tell but i think your art is rlly pretty so

Wow, okay. This is so sweet and like, the first genuine anon I’ve ever gotten, so thanks a bundle!!!!!!

Sorry for answering so late I was busy with work the last two days and also I was having some issues in school all day today.

But to answer your question, top 5 would be:

*mind you, that I watched the entire anime and I’m only like 42 pages into the first novel and the rest of my knowledge comes from reading the wiki page b/c I have 0 restraint

5. Czes

4. Mrs. Beriam

3. Lia Lin-Shan & Carol (a tie)

2. Berga & Molsa (another tie!)

1. And lastly my all-time fave:

I don’t ever draw the guys because I don’t know how to draw men :,D.

But anyway, thank you for the ask and your kind words, you can’t even begin to understand how much it meant to me.

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eaeulfl · 5 months

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#baccano!#molsa martillo #Firo Prochainezo

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agallimaufryofoddments · 7 years

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The Honeypot Affair

Chapter Two - The Dart

Fandom: Baccano!

Summary: Those of good faith want nothing more than to dismiss the honeypot incident at the Alveare as the result of an innocent mistake. Maiza was just an unfortunate random victim, no more, no less. They are forced to revise their opinion when Maiza is gunned down in broad daylight later that day.

In which Maiza is targeted repeatedly by unknown assailants, and the Martillos close ranks and prepare to mete down Camorra vengeance.

Chapter’s Word Count: 2890-ish words.

Notes: It’s exam season at my university, send help. I suspect I won’t be able to update this until exams are over, so I figured I should release this now.

Ronny of course doesn’t need to snap his fingers, but what’s the use of using your powers if you can’t do it without a little dramatic flair?

Chapter One

Read on AO3

As soon as his calcaneus slotted into place, Maiza stood with Ronny’s help and gingerly put weight on his bare foot. His leg was completely bare from the knee down, but Maiza was far too preoccupied to bother with trivial matters like embarrassment and how his leg had yet to fully regain feeling.

“Ronny,” he asked, urgently, “Has the Alveare been hit? Are the others safe?”

Ronny briefly closed his eyes, and then nodded. “The Family is safe. No one else has been hit – not yet, at least.”

Good. Maiza tightened his grip on Ronny’s shoulder. “Then let’s go back and warn them. First the honey, and now this… There’s no time to waste.”

Ronny’s eyes flashed, and when he raised his left hand he was holding Maiza’s right shoe, perfectly intact. “Are you sure you want to show up clad in only one shoe? I could fix your trouser leg, you know. Your suit too, of course. It would be trivial.”

Impatiently, Maiza snatched his shoe from Ronny’s grasp and put in on, using Ronny for balance. “That’s unimportant right now. I don’t want to waste any more time than we already have.”

“If you say so,” Ronny sighed. As soon as Maiza had finished with his shoe, Ronny hooked his right arm under Maiza’s left and said, “Walk with me.”

They stepped forward, and with the next step their surroundings shifted from a minor Little Italy street to the back alley behind the Alveare, and pavement turned to stone underneath Maiza’s feet. Maiza let go of Ronny and darted for the staircase that led to the downstairs cellar and the Martillos’ meeting room.

“I told you that no harm has befallen the others,” Ronny noted, at Maiza’s back. “You’re in such a rush… Well, no matter.”

Maiza’s shoulders tensed as he opened the cellar door, and then they relaxed. “I know. I can’t help myself from worrying all the same. Harm notwithstanding, everyone needs to be on guard as soon as possible. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

The two of them moved through the cellar, and found a few of their capos engaged in hushed conversation upon entering the downstairs meeting room.

“Ah, Ronny,” said the nearest executive, turning to face the doorway. “And…Maiza! What is this?”

All eyes immediately turned to Maiza at the shock in the capo’s voice. Maiza supposed he probably looked a sight, with his bullet-ridden clothes and half his trouser leg missing. Perhaps I should have let Ronny fix it up after all.

“Firo and the others are still upstairs,” Ronny informed him. “I’ll fetch them. The Don and Yaguruma are in the office.”

The first capo who’d spoken nodded, tacitly volunteering to go update Molsa and Yaguruma of the situation. It was abundantly clear that there was a situation – what else could you call the contaiuolo showing up with his suit full of bullet holes if not that?

After Ronny and the first capo had gone, the other executives drew closer to Maiza with restrained concern in their eyes and questioning expressions. Had they been associates, they undoubtedly would have crowded around Maiza and blurted out those questions one after the other – but they were not, and Maiza was thankful for that. The sound of machine-gun fire still echoed in his ears; he would rather not have to deal with such clamors at that.

The trapdoor in the ceiling opened, and Firo dashed down the stairs – only to leap over the bannister on the fifth step, too impatient to descend them all the way. “Maiza,” he cried, butting his way past the other executives to get a good look at his friend. His face paled immediately as soon as he took stock of Maiza’s clothing, and his eyes widened upon spotting the unusual state of Maiza’s trouser leg.

“Maiza,” he repeated, fists clenched at his sides, “…What happened?”

“What do you think?” Maiza asked, but the purposeful brevity in his voice failed to lighten the mood. “Once everybody’s here, we’ll have a proper discussion.”

The trapdoor opened again, this time to reveal Ennis, Randy, and Pezzo. Ronny brought up the group’s rear, and as Randy and Pezzo descended the stairs they shouted out various indignant cries over Maiza’s condition.

“Who’s the bastard responsible for this, Maiza!”

“They won’t get away with this, the lousy rats!”

“Gentlemen, please,” Maiza implored, raising his hands for silence. “Let’s all try to keep our heads. It won’t do to lose them here.”

When Molsa and Yaguruma arrived, Molsa took one look at Maiza and said to the capo accompanying him, “I see what you mean.” He waved away the executives’ respectful greetings and took a seat on the other side of the round table in the middle of the room. “Well, Maiza, let’s not beat around the bush. We’ve all been informed of today’s incident with the honey, but this…”

Maiza straightened his posture at Molsa’s attention. “It happened just a few minutes ago. I was on my way home when a car drove by and its occupants gunned me down. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything useful about their appearances - all I could make out were that the perpetrators were young men, with a far older man accompanying them. They flung some sort of bomb behind me as a farewell gift. There was no sign of them when I came to.”

Molsa wove his fingers together in front of him, the wrinkles on his face deepening as he considered Maiza’s report. “Not much to go on. I would venture to say that your hit-and-run is connected to the poisoned honey, but we can’t know for certain. Not yet, at any rate. We don’t know who these people are, or what they’re after.”

“Could they be after Maiza specifically?” Firo asked, his face still deathly white. “After all, he was the only one who got sick. And as far as we know, no one else in the Family’s been hit.”

Behind Molsa, Yaguruma harrumphed and folded his arms. “If they are after Maiza, or if they aren’t – either way, it’s a direct challenge to the Family, and one we will not stand for.”

Molsa leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under him. “Yaguruma, I want you to round up the associates later today and have them go on alert. Organize a few patrols, see if they can’t ask around for information on those tommy-toting upstarts. I’ll leave the associates in your hands alone.”

“Of course.”

“Now Maiza,” Molsa continued, meeting Maiza’s gaze, “What do you plan to do?”

“Nothing.” Maiza turned his hat over and over in his hands. “I’ll act the same as always.”

Firo took a step forward, unable to stop himself from interrupting. “But, Maiza—!”

Maiza silenced him with a grimace. “How else can we proceed? The only way to know for sure if these men are after me is to wait it out. I won’t have any escorts, any guards. All we can do is see where and at whom they strike next, and gather information in the meantime. Which means I don’t want anybody doing anything reckless.” He narrowed his eyes. “Understand?”

Firo bit his lip. “Understood.”

Molsa cleared his throat, and Firo and Maiza turned to give him their attention. “If that’s what you want, Maiza, then I have no qualms. But I can’t condone total passivity from you, understand? Don’t allow the situation to grow into something unmanageable for you.”

Maiza’s hands stilled. “I’ll do my best.”

Molsa nodded, and stood. “That’s the end of it, then.”

With the meeting thus concluded, and with Molsa returned to his office, the executives immediately fell into talking while Yaguruma went upstairs to round up the associates dawdling in the restaurant. Unable to tear his eyes away from Firo – now quietly conversing with Ennis – Maiza leaned in close to Ronny and asked, “He reacted rather strongly to the situation, don’t you think? It’s not as if I haven’t been shot before…”

Ronny gave him a level look. “Precisely. You have been shot.”

“…I don’t follow.”

“It’s not the first time he’s seen you in such a state,” Ronny said gently, and a memory that was not Maiza’s own flashed to the forefront of his mind – a capo’s memory, of him diving in front of Szilard’s machine gun while Firo ran, of him, and another of him standing in the back alley, his clothes riddled with holes. It was a little disconcerting to watch himself from another person’s perspective, and Maiza frowned at his friend.

“Don’t do that again without warning me first. But…I see what you’re getting at, I think. I suppose I should have a talk with him.”

“Perhaps.” Ronny shrugged, and then gave Maiza a sly smile. “You should have, by the way.”

Maiza furrowed his brows. “Should have what?”

“Let me fix your suit, I mean.”

Mind-reading rascal. “It doesn’t matter, now,” Maiza replied, embarrassed. “And I have the means to replace the outfit, as it were.”

The look Ronny gave him was positively arch. “You can’t possibly be suggesting that you plan on returning home as you are, can you?”

“…You have a point.”

“I often do,” Ronny agreed, and with a snap of his fingers the holes in Maiza’s suit repaired themselves, his trouser legs lengthened, and a sock reappeared over his right foot. “Better?”

Maiza gave his clothes a cursory once-over, and nodded sheepishly. “As if I could say otherwise.”

“Of course you couldn’t. Now, I’ve got to go retrieve the rest of the associates for Yaguruma, so I’ll leave Firo in your hands.” Ronny turned to face the stairs. “Take care.”

I’ll try.

No trouble greeted Maiza on his way home, and he slept through the night sans interruptions. Still, he kept an alert eye and ear out for it as he set out to work the next day, prepared to act should he spy a shadow or two from an upcoming alleyway, or another car hurtling down the street.

What he hadn’t anticipated was Ronny calling his name from one of those alleyways.

“Maiza – over here, Maiza. Look up.”

Look…up? Puzzled, Maiza stood at the entrance of the alleyway and raised his head.

Ronny stood on the opposite wall, next to a second third story window and perfectly perpendicular to the ground. Momentarily at a loss for words, Maiza inched closer and tried to recover as best he could. “Ronny…what on earth are you doing?”

“I couldn’t help but keep an eye on you,” Ronny admitted, a cigarette appearing between his fingers. He took a drag from it, and a few flecks of ash fluttered down a few inches away from Maiza’s face. “Take a look at this.”

He knelt next to the window and reached inside it, pulling up an unconscious man by his shirt collar. “He took one look at me standing outside his window and passed out,” Ronny remarked, and with one tug he removed some sort of sniper rifle from the man’s grip so that he could show it off to Maiza. “A rather amateurish reaction for someone playing the role of a sniper, no? It seems that he intended to shoot you with a paralytic agent. A potent one, too.”

“Paralytic?” That was new. That was utterly different from a bullet – depending on where he was shot, and how many bullets, Maiza could regenerate somewhat quickly. He wasn’t sure exactly how his immortal body would handle a paralytic agent, but the salient issue here was the shift in the shooter’s intent (assuming that he was affiliated with those behind the honeypot and shooting incidents).

Using a paralytic agent meant capture, not kill. You didn’t blow down a man with tommy guns if you didn’t want to kill him. And you didn’t shoot a man with a paralytic agent if you didn’t want to capture him without a struggle (or, he supposed, put one out of commission for a while). But if whomever these men were wanted to capture him, then why didn’t they simply scoop him off the pavement yesterday after gunning him down? To see how fast it took him to regenerate?

“Your mind is as sharp as ever, I see,” Ronny said. Startled from his thoughts, Maiza looked upward once more to see his friend walking down the wall toward him. “At any rate, I’d venture to say that this proves whomever’s behind this is after you specifically – and I’d have said that even if I hadn’t read the other man’s mind. Unfortunately, that’s about the only useful information anybody’s going to glean from him.”

Ronny stepped off the wall and onto the ground, taking one last drag of his cigarette. It winked out of existence with his next exhale of smoke.

“He was, shall we say, very indirectly ordered to shoot you, without being told what for or who you were. The orders were passed down some sort of chain of command, since the man who gave him the orders apparently had no idea why you needed to be shot in the first place, nor what would happen to you afterwards. If the purpose was to capture you like you hypothesized, then your would-be collectors might be nearby—”

“Ronny!” Maiza held up his hands in a beseeching effort to get Ronny to shut up for one second of his life. Ronny did so begrudgingly. “Ronny, I appreciate your efforts, but you do realize that you’re getting in my way, don’t you?”

Ronny blinked owlishly at him, a little ruffled. “And you realize that my abilities would make figuring out who’s responsible a far easier task than you seem to think it ought to be, surely.”

Maiza gave the chiamatore a patient, strained smile. “Be that as it may, I would rather you refrain from interfering for the time being. You stepped in today with the best of intentions, I’m sure, but I think it would be more fruitful plan of action if I dealt with these pursuers directly on my own, at least at first. After all, they appear to be after me, so the best way to attract them would be to move on my own.”

“…If I hadn’t been here, you would have been shot,” Ronny countered, a little waspish.

“And possibly captured, I know,” Maiza acknowledged. “I just don’t see that as a worst case scenario, that’s all. In fact, that might be the best way for us to figure out what these men aim to accomplish. So please, don’t act so cavalierly.”

Ronny was silent for a moment. “All right,” he said, finally. “You’re asking me to trust you, and I’ll do my best to respect that. But as a Martillo, I can’t say that I won’t do what I can to protect my fellow camorrista from unnecessary danger.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Maiza reassured him, and then glanced up toward the window. “But what should we do about the sniper?”

Ronny tapped the tip of his shoe against the ground, a satisfied expression warming his face. “Since he didn’t know anything, I’ve just now taken the liberty of depositing him on the police department’s front doorstep, along with his rifle. He’s a petty criminal as it is, but I imagine they won’t take kindly to his firearm possession in their vicinity.”

“Ah.”

Maiza and Ronny stared at each other, and broke out into chuckles.

“Well, now,” Ronny coughed, once the humor subsided. “You did say you wanted to move on your own, but would you object to my accompanying you the rest of the way to the office? Just this once.”

Maiza lips twitched into a wry smile. “If it’ll appease you. Just this once.”

The two of them exited the alley, and resumed course for the Alveare, tipping their hats to a lady who happened to be passing by. As they walked, Maiza found that he was more pleasantly grateful than anything else that he’d agreed to Ronny accompanying him.

It was nice, of course, to spend the daily commute to work in the company of a friend, but he had to admit that Ronny’s presence was a reassuring physical reminder of the support he had from his fellow Martillos. Even as the years ticked by, it still astonished him how unbelievably good the Family had been to him, how they honestly cared for him.

Again, he recalled the memory of Szilard in the Alveare – but it was his own memory now, not the one Ronny had shown him. He’d stood, helpless, bleeding profusely – and the Martillo executives had cried murder and come to his defense, shouting for him to just stay alive while they bore down upon Szilard with guns blazing and hatred in their bones.

I don’t deserve them, Maiza mused, his grip tightening on his briefcase. But I have them, nonetheless, and they have me. That poisoned honey could have hurt them – I won’t forgive those responsible. And I won’t stand to see the Family in danger again because of me. One way or another, I’ll end this.

There was a good chance that Ronny had read his thoughts just now – from the ‘pleasantly grateful’ bit to ‘I don’t deserve them’ – but Maiza decided that he didn’t mind if Ronny had.

Just this once.

#Baccano!#Rev's Writings #Maiza Avaro #Ronny Schiatto #The Martillo Family #fanfiction #Molsa Martillo #The Honeypot Affair

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savannahstanfield27 · 4 years

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Retrospective on Huey Laforet and Firo Prochainezo

Hey all,

So this is going to be a digression on why I believe that Huey and Firo are the dual main characters of Baccano, and also describing their similarities and differences. This is just my opinion of course, I bet everyone has different interpretations of who the main character is.

Nevertheless, this is going to be very long, so I’m going to include a cut so that I don’t take up a ton of space on anyone’s dash. Warning for spoilers for the entire series (anime/light novels/light novel/drama cd/etc) throughout this post.

Primary Point

Firo and Huey are two very important characters in the world of Baccano. Firo, a member of the Martillo Family, and Huey, immortal terrorist and scientist. If it weren’t for the additions of the 1700′s and 2000′s arcs I wouldn’t have come to this conclusion, but they only solidified my point. To me, the story of Baccano exists to tell the story of Huey and Firo, how they grow as people, how they struggle, and how their interactions with other characters changes them.

I won’t go into detail on each and every interaction they have, if you’ve watched the show or read the novels, you most likely already grasp what I’m saying. I’m going to focus on Huey’s relationships with Monica and Elmer, and Firo’s relationships to the Martillo Family, Ennis, and the Gandors/Claire. They interact with most of the characters in the novels at some point, but I believe these are the most significant to their character development,

Firo and Huey are sometimes two sides of the same coin, sometimes they’re complete opposites. I intend to explore these points in this post.

Adolescent Years

Alright, so first I’d like to start off talking in length about Firo and Huey’s adolescence. Huey presumably loses his father at a young age, there is not a lot of development on that front. His mother is executed by drowning in front of him. This obviously takes a toll on Huey, as by his mother he was described as “innocent” prior to this incident. Firo, on the other hand, describes never knowing his father as he died before he was born. Firo’s mother dies of tuberculosis before he reaches 10 years of age

In Huey’s case, he develops a hatred for the world around him and he desires the destruction of it. He copes with his loss by being consumed by anger and negative emotions. Huey is taken in by Dalton and he becomes an alchemist. You could call this a “found family,” but Huey doesn’t have much of a connection to them. The other students in the alchemy class gossip about him, and Huey puts on fake airs to seem well adjusted.

Huey does eventually gain a core group of friends: Monica and later Elmer. You could add Niki to this list as she is also part of the group but she was always an outlier to me. Huey never opened up to her. He tries to keep Monica away from him and reacts to Elmer’s kindness with open hatred. However, he eventually grows to trust them and they are the two people he is about to rely on and feel compassion for. They form the Mask Makers, an organization specializing in illegal activity. I prefer to call this Huey’s “found family,” rather than Dalton and the other alchemists.

Now let’s discuss Firo. He lives only to survive after his mother’s death, pick-pocketing on the streets of Manhattan. I’ll be discussing his relationship with the Gandors and Claire at length later, so I will not include it here. We haven’t been given a lot of information on how Firo copes with his Mother’s death, that I can find. Please enlighten me if you know and I’ll edit the post with your contribution.

Firo eventually is taken in by the Martillo family. You could say Maiza is like an older brother figure to him, and the Don Martillo a father figure. They are also an illegal organization, and they make Firo feel welcome and needed. Rather than pushing away from those who care about him, like Huey, he embraces those who care about him. Firo is someone who yearns to belong. Firo spends a lot of his childhood comparing himself to his friends, but I will be taking that into account in a different section.

While Huey and Firo grow up in similar situations, it is the result of what happens after that changes them. They both find a core group of people to support them. In Firo’s case, he retains many feelings of inferiority but he continues to become his own person, relying well on his family and friends. Huey is only willing to open up to a few people, and after Monica is taken from him, he loses any interest in opening himself up again. Firo grows forward as a person, yet Huey regresses backwards.

Feelings on Death

I’ve already described how Huey coped with his mother’s death, but now I’d like to talk about Monica. Monica was Huey’s lover, whom he finally was able to open up to after so long. Her death caused him to shut down as a person. He is not the same man after he returns to Lotto Valentino. That emotional void in him is the only way he can cope with her death, as well as striving to complete his fruitless goal of meeting with her again. He feels guilt towards both of these deaths, as he describes to Victor in 1931.

Sometimes, when Huey thinks of his happier memories with his lost family, his face seems to brighten and open up a little. He quickly shuts that down in favor of treating the situation like an experiment. He even ponders to Victor in 1931 about if there is a scientific way to discover which is his worst memory. He copes by not coping in the slightest. (Because of this, I both yearn and fear for his reaction to meeting Luchino hopefully in 2003)

Huey seems unfazed by his own possible death. The only time I can find him actually voicing an opinion about it is when Firo attacks him in 1934. He doesn’t seem to possess fear or regret, only interest in his lack of foresight that this might occur.

Firo has not had to cope with much death in his life. Many of his friends are immortal, as well as his Martillo family. However, the outlier here is Claire Stanfield. Claire has always been the person Firo saw as above him, and in 1936 he stops to ponder on what would happen if Claire died. Claire will die eventually. Firo knows he is going to have to cope with that. The thought makes his chest tighten, and he decides not to think about it, because he cannot imagine a world that Claire is not in.

Firo deals with his anxieties about death by feeling denial here. He decides he just won’t think about it. On his own death, in 1934, Ladd Russo acknowledges with glee that Firo still fears his own death, he does not view himself as an invincible and strong being.

Both Huey and Firo possess equally bad coping mechanisms when it comes to losing their loved ones. They both choose to deny and forget. Huey becomes obsessed with the denial, spending his entire life trying to gain the knowledge to meet Monica again. This causes his subsequent emotional detachment, and lack of interest in his own possible death. Firo, on the other hand, possesses immortality but still fears his own death. When thinking on the possible deaths of others, he prefers to put it out of his mind.

Feelings on Love

In regards to love, Huey runs from it and struggles to embrace it. I’m speaking in a romantic sense, I should preface. Huey finds it difficult to comprehend that he might have some sort of feelings for Monica. He can’t fathom that someone managed to make an impression on him. He tries desperately to run from this feeling and deny it, but eventually he ends his struggles and embraces his love for Monica.

With familial love, Huey does not feel any of it. He does not value his daughters in an emotional way. They are merely tools for him to achieve his goals. He will tell them anything, especially in Leeza’s case, in order to appease them or to make them more loyal to him. Chane and Leeza possess complete and utter loyalty and devotion towards Huey, but he does not return it. (on that note i’d love to do a future post on Hilton and her relationships with Chane and Huey)

Firo runs towards love. He sees Ennis and immediately becomes infatuated enough to follow her. He falls hard and fast. There is no denial on his part. Firo finds it easy to open up to people, as a social being, but he does struggle to speak his feelings to Ennis. It did take fifty years for them to get married after all. Though he has embraced his love for Ennis, Firo finds it hard to tell her, and instead shows it by all the things he does for her.

With familial love, Firo has a fierce loyalty to the Martillo family. They are “home” to him. Especially in regards to Maiza, who can be seen as an older brother figure, he is completely loyal. This can be compared to his relationship to the Gandors, three brothers who shared the same apartment building with him in his childhood. He cares for them enough to help them, a rival family, in 1927. His loyalty to the Martillos only swells when Molsa praises him for helping his “family.”

I also think it’s a great parallel of Melvi Dormentaire kidnapping Ennis and the 1700′s Dormentaires holding Monica. They are both on a boat after all. Both Huey and Firo experience helplessness when they realize what has happened to the women they love. However, they immediately jump right on track to figuring out how to save her. This is a great example of Firo expressing guilt. He often feels down when he cannot help those he cares about, like he failed them. Huey is the same way about the situation with Monica. He was so close...and then he lost her..

Relationships with Close Friends

I’m going to focus on Huey’s relationships with Elmer and Fermet. In regards to Elmer, Huey views him as his one true friend. Though in his youth, he hated Elmer and tried to stay away from him, they eventually became friends and Huey was able to open up to him. Even without seeing him for 300 years, Huey still thinks about Elmer and keeps his promises to him. This is why Huey does not hurt “innocents,” because it would make Elmer sad.

Huey often references Elmer and his worldviews during conversation, which causes him to actually express emotion. Elmer managed to touch Huey as a person and this deeply affects him as a person. Both Huey and Elmer can relate on both an emotional and intellectual level, they understand each other well even in their youth.

I’m not sure how well this point will come across to everyone, but I’ve always viewed Fermet as Huey’s “Claire,” in regards to Firo. Fermet is also an intellectual genius. He is the person who managed to take everything away from Huey, for seemingly no reason. However, they manage to collaborate on their research later on. This is merely my personal interpretation, but I believe that Huey does have a slight inferiority complex in regards to Fermet, and that he does not like having to rely on the same person who took everything from him for help with research. I’d love to hear anyone else’s opinion on this!

Firo possesses a deep inferiority complex when it comes to the Gandors and Claire. He has always viewed them as one step ahead of him. Especially in the case of Claire, Firo views him as successful in regards to his confidence in love and in his own abilities. Firo compares himself to Claire throughout his life, almost treating him like an idol or mentor at times. He feels insecure, such as in 1927, when Claire’s own abilities surpass his. He does not like to feel useless or unneeded.

In regards to the Gandors, specifically in the case of Luck, Firo views him as the perfect “gangster” and as someone who has always been ahead of him. Compared to the Gandors, he sees himself as the inferior child. Luck is not that much older than Firo, but he possesses much more emotional maturity and restraint, something Firo finds it hard to come to terms with at times.

Firo idolizes the “true mafioso” figure and he wants to be like that, which is how he views the Gandors as. Many of his friendships stem from insecurity and inferiority. He wants to make it on his own, without having to rely on his family (The Gandors).

Personality

In his youth, Huey was much less reckless. He proceeded with caution and did not like to get involved in most situations. This is demonstrated when he decides to ignore Niki being attacked in Lotto Valentino. He is forced by the situation to fight the attackers, but it is implied that he doesn’t possess much strength or technique on the subject of fighting physically.

(I will add that Huey is noted as looking feminine by various characters such as Elmer, but it does not seem to faze him that much)

Huey has an enthralling personality as he ages. He is manipulative by nature and will stoop to any level to get what he wants. He tends to speak in a detached manner, but outwardly he is very pleasant and polite (similar to his facade from his youth). His manipulative techniques have caused many people to fall victim to his spell, increasing his amount of subordinates and allies.

Huey’s primary goal is to meet Monica again, and to obtain the knowledge to do such. He lives by researching and doing experiments, learning more about humans and why they do what they do. He views humans as “raw materials,” and their only use to him is to further his experiments. Huey is a very detached person from the world.

Firo is extremely reckless throughout his life. There are many examples one could place here: pick pocketing a Mafia Executive as a child, following Ennis, rescuing Barnes, etc. Firo is always ready to jump into the situation at hand. He is friendly and sociable, but can be very irritable and negative when the mood strikes him. His sharp temper and bluntness do mellow with age, but they are at their worst in the early 1930′s.

Firo has many issues with femininity and his “babyface,” which most likely stem from a childhood incident in which he was kidnapped and mistaken for a young girl. He is insecure about this and will strike back at anyone who messes with him for it, except for Claire.

Firo is not outwardly manipulative and cruel, but gaining the trust and help of others does come easy to him. In 2002, Ennis says this on Firo: “ Firo was really very good at getting people to do what he wanted without telling them the important things. Actually, to be precise, he was good at making them want to help him.”

Firo and Huey both possess the type of personalities that make it easy to manipulate others, whether knowingly or unknowingly. They make others want to believe them and help them out. Firo is much more blunt and emotional than Huey in the 1900′s, but I do find 1700′s Huey quite similar to Firo, especially in his emotional angry outbursts to Elmer.

Relationship to Knowledge/ Meeting in 1934/35

Huey’s relationship to knowledge is simple, he wants to know more in order to keep his promise with Monica. Huey views himself as a scientist and as a researcher. He pursues knowledge and wishes to obtain it. When he meets Firo in 1934, he questions him about having all the knowledge that Szilard has accumulated. He wonders if that changes the subject as a person. Huey is greatly intrigued by the ways that other people act.

Firo never finished school, and he does not consider himself intellectually smart. After devouring Szilard he is consumed with memories of many alchemists, and a vast amount of knowledge is now at his disposal. He grows worried that the memories will consume him and that he will become just as bad as Szilard. He fears the knowledge that he possesses, preferring not to look into it. He doesn’t seem to understand why it interests Huey so much.

Their meeting, first in 1934, astounded me when I first read it. The way Firo reacted to Huey was much like how Huey reacted to Elmer (this is a digression...) They are two characters who grew through similar circumstances, one becoming more of a person, one becoming less of a person. Firo runs from knowledge, Huey yearns for it. Firo embraces the love and support of others, Huey uses it for his own needs. But they both retain that key element of living and dying for someone else.

Huey is living to find Monica. Firo is living for his Family. Both possess flaws and strengths. As for their meeting in 1935, we don’t know the full details yet but I cannot wait to find out what they were cooking up behind closed doors.

Conclusion

I fully believe that Huey and Firo were destined to be the main characters of Baccano. Their stories grow and change as they interact with others and are affected by them. Think back on Maiza’s quote “maybe every encounter is some sort of miracle in it’s own way.” Huey and Firo change throughout every single arc, for better or for worse.

The 1700′s arc is about Huey’s adolescence, and about how he loses his humanity because of tragedy. But we are also able to see how he was once a much different man, and his personal relationships with the few he decides to let in.

The 1930′s arc presents Firo, someone who is neither destined to be hero nor villain. His inferiority complex clashes with his deep need to help those he cares about. With every interaction- Ennis, Czes, Maiza, Christopher, Isaac and Miria, Melvi- he grows as a person. He learns and develops. Huey has regressed in the 1930′s, and we are seeing how he coped with the events of the 1700′s. And everything comes to a head when they meet in 1934, and when the tragedy of Monica’s capture seems to repeat itself in 1935.

The 2000′s arc shows a much more refined Firo. He’s retained many of his good qualities from his adolescence, but he has grown to be much more kind and understanding. Of course, he worries (”can i really be a family man?”) he messes up, he acts reckless even. But he has matured into someone who his friends and family can be proud of. He should be proud of himself. I’ll leave my thoughts on 2000′s Huey for when 2003: epilogue is released.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my ramblings. I’ve been a fan for a long time, but with no outlet to share these thoughts other than my dear friends, so it feels nice to let them out once in a while.

#baccano!#baccano #firo prochainezo #huey laforet #ryohgo narita #light novels

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