#romano albani | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatavery · 1 month

Text

Albani's Suits (Commission)

Here's a commission I wrote for @/GoodVibesJonah on Twitter, a piece featuring his newer OC Giovanni Romano reflecting upon his life and the events that led him to where he is in life.

---

Turning the sign in the door over as he closed up his shop was one of the biggest reliefs Giovanni experienced daily. Not so much because it meant that his work day was over, but rather because it ensured he'd be left alone for the time being. Springtime meant that more customers were likely to show up, wanting new clothes for the outdoor season to come. Indeed, he'd already had plenty to do these past few weeks. The beginning of each season usually brought him far more business, though in his case summer tended to be the busiest season.

Giovanni Romano occupied a comparatively small, albeit lucrative niche in the market, being a maker of fine Italian suits. He was ill-equipped to dress people warmly during winter time, but whether for work or for pleasure, he knew how to make people look good. His tailor shop was dimly lit for the time being. The dark floorboards faintly reflected the glow of the electronic lights hanging from the ceiling as Giovanni made his way across to the mannequin that held his latest unfinished commission. He wheeled the disembodied torso out of the way till it stood by the desk nearby where a sketch with measurements was placed. He’d finish tomorrow, hopefully.

Making his way to the counter where he conducted his business, the immense, Italian Savannah Cat settled down. He placed his hands upon the smooth, wooden counter and sighed. He had seen a decent amount of business over the last week, and as he counted his money one more time, he grimaced. He knew that most of his patronage wasn't organically and naturally drawn to his shop, but rather funneled towards him by an external force.

Giovanni snorted. “Che palle, che palle…”

Thinking about those accursed flower-wearing patrons made him slightly sick. He'd dealt with them for years now, and although the rather reliable flow of money was nice, Giovanni would be lying if he said he enjoyed dealing with his patrons’ employers. Granted, he did live this lie fairly often, given how often they came by. Although he tried his best to keep Marigold at a distance, even while directly interacting with them, he still found himself being pulled back towards them over and over.

He knew what they did, although he liked to pretend like he didn’t. Giovanni's mind felt more on ease whenever he told himself that they were just a group of gentlemen who took to wearing the same garish, loud, orange pin that clashed with everything he made them. He hated that pin, partially for that reason. He had yet to make a suit for a patron that wasn't ruined by the inclusion of that horrid flower. At least in his eyes.

But for as much as Giovanni hated Marigold and what they did, he knew he didn’t have any moral high ground. His hands had been soaked in blood long before he even came to America. Hell, if those Marigold people like Mr. Sweet knew the full extent of it, odds were they would have tried far harder to recruit him into their fold. They would surely have far more to hold over his head to keep him in line at least.

Those bastards.

While people like Giovanni were scraping by, those fat cats were comfortably sitting in that big, ugly hotel. Angrily locking the money away in the register, Giovanni gave up on counting. He slammed it shut and turned away, closing his eyes. A trail of blood – or rather fire – had followed Giovanni all the way from Italy and across the sea.

Even as a boy, he had experienced death and destruction. Reaching into the pocket of his vest, Giovanni pulled out a coin. It was but a measly 20 centesimo – small change in Italy, virtually worthless in America. And yet Giovanni had held onto it for decades now. It was some of the first money he'd made for himself when he was just an apprentice back in Italy. And unlikely as it seemed, making that decision for himself had set him on the trajectory that would lead him to America.

A flutter of wings sounded, coming closer and closer to Giovanni. He wasn't alarmed, however. Archimedes landed on his right shoulder and Giovanni looked over as he ran his thumb over the small copper-nickel coin in his hand. The raven had fluttered down from the rafters where he spent most of his time, out of sight of patrons who often found the sight of a live raven alarming. Giovanni held up the coin for his small companion to inspect. Leaning his head to the left to watch as the iridescent, black bird try to nip at the coin with his thick beak, before giving an affectionate nip to Giovanni's finger instead.

Turning the coin over in his hand, Giovanni only remembered all too well why he had clung to it. The tailor market had been surprisingly fierce and competitive where he had his start so many years ago. Not only was it apparently commonplace for tailors to antagonize one another when speaking to their patrons, but more nefarious practices were also being committed. Giovanni had seen both his master and his competitors at it; he’d seen it escalating from what could be considered malicious pranks, to straight up vandalism. And that was the point of escalation that had led to the fire.

It had been the last thing he’d experienced in the tailor shop where he was being taught. Though his master was as fiercely competitive and capable of sabotage as the perpetrator, Giovanni was almost certain that the outcome wasn't intended. But he'd avenged his master at the ripe age of seventeen and taken over the business. Even now, his store Albani Suits bore the surname of his deceased master.

Giovanni clutched the coin in his fist so hard that it hurt, the rounded edge digging into his palm, at least as much as it could. He swore under his breath. In hindsight Giovanni doubted that the tailor responsible had set the fires with his own hands, but he’d still taken to punishing him for what he had done. It was the first life he had taken. Although he still felt many conflicting emotions over what he did, he didn’t regret leaving the man in the Italian countryside, feeding him to the corvids that haunted the open fields.

And from there, Giovanni had let the cycle of sabotage continue, taking to burning down several other tailor shops with little to no remorse. He always let them make the first move, before responding with a fiery retaliation.

But you could only burn down so many buildings before it started to lead back to the single tailor shop that remained unscathed. Though the market was far less aggressive there, it had been the same in New York too as Giovanni had left a trail of fires in his wake.

And now he was here.

There had been no competitors in St. Louis that had warranted Giovanni to burn them down, but even so… his arrival had been met with suspicion and accusations, namely from Marigold. Even now, he wanted to spit on the floor as he remembered the day he’d been brought to the hotel that he likewise wished to burn to the ground.

Holding up his free hand, Giovanni watched as Archimedes took a small jump and landed on his index finger, gripping it firmly with his feet. After putting his coin away at long last, Giovanni stroked along those smooth, black feathers. Even in the dim light of the shop, they had that unmistakably bluish glow when the light caught them just right. He had always liked that; he even tried to mimic it with the materials he used for black suits, but no fabric he knew of could properly capture a raven’s natural iridescence.

Giovanni set the large bird back on his shoulder as he checked the front door again, making sure it was locked, before he turned the lights off. Making his way upstairs, he brought Archimedes with him. The bird was his only company most of the time – at least the only company he tolerated. Though many old tales spoke ill of these birds, Giovanni felt a strange kinship with Archimedes. He wasn't just a pet.

Even now, looking at this raven he'd raised from an abandoned chick to adulthood, he was reminded of what he had done in his 45 yeas of living. That was what his feathered companion was – a living reminder of what he’d been through and of how cruel the world could be, even reflected in this beautiful, black avian’s eyes. He was also a reminder of the beautiful things in life.

Giovanni's living quarters weren't much to speak of, though he was perfectly pleased with them. He didn’t want to buy expensive furniture or appliances; he still lived as though any one of his nonexistent competitors could light his shop on fire at any time.

Moving to a window, he slid it open and allowed the cool evening air to pour inside. Archimedes ruffled his feathers a bit before hopping onto the windowsill. He glanced up at Giovanni, as if asking for permission. He simply stroked the bird’s chin and neck, which seemed to be good enough as the raven took flight through the window.

Giovanni knew he'd be back. He never flew far away and often times took to sitting on the signs of buildings in the surrounding area. The Savannah Cat left the window open for the bird, as he set about making food for himself. Though the Italian population in St. Louis wasn't as big as in New York, Giovanni was still glad he could find food that reminded him of home, even if home itself wouldn’t welcome him back. He’d carved out a life for himself here, and that was more than enough, even if it meant he had to deal with a band of people as bad as himself. He supposed this was his comeuppance, and whether he liked it or not, he felt as though he deserved to live with it – and with himself.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy oc

4 notes · View notes

personal-reporter · 8 months

Text

L’ottobre degli antichi Romani

Il mese di ottobre, che era l’ottavo nel calendario dell’antica Roma, si apriva con le celebrazioni di Fides e Honor. Fides era una delle divinità principali che consolidava il legame tra i cittadini romani, così come Pietas regolava il rapporto con gli Dèi. La festa di Fides veniva celebrata dai tre Flamini maggiori, cioè i sacerdoti addetti al culto di Giove, Marte e Quirino, riuniti , che si recavano al suo tempio su di un carro coperto, trainato da due cavalli. In seguito i flamini officiavano il culto con le mani coperte fino alle dita, come simbolo della custodia della fede ed era un momento di straordinaria unità del popolo romano e di esso con i suoi dèi, dove tutti erano assolutamente certi che ognuno stesse svolgendo la sua funzione nel miglior modo possibile. Pochi giorni dopo, il 7 ottobre , si ricordava Giove folgoratore, che era il padrone della folgore che avrebbe colpito i colpevoli di spergiuro. Su questa festa Tito Livio tramanda l’episodio di Mezio Fufezio, comandante di Alba Longa nel momento del vittorioso combattimento degli Orazi, cioè i guerrieri rappresentanti Roma, contro i Curiazi , che si battevano per Alba Longa, che aveva appena stabilito che l’Urbe avrebbe avuto la supremazia tra le due città, legate però da antichissimi vincoli. Nella guerra che Roma aveva intrapreso subito dopo contro Velo e i fidenati Mezio Fufezio anziché schierare le truppe di Alba Longa fin da subito in campo con gli alleati romani, aveva preferito starsene in disparte per capire prima chi avrebbe vinto la battaglia. Dopo che la vittoria arrise ai romani, il re di Roma Tullo Ostilio invitò gli albani a condividere lo stesso accampamento per i festeggiamenti. Ma quando gli albani entrarono disarmati nel luogo stabilito per assistere all’assemblea pubblica di ringraziamento, Tullo Ostilio li fece circondare dai propri soldati armati, e disse “Mezio Fufezio, se tu fossi in grado di apprendere la lealtà e il rispetto dei trattati, ti lascerei in vita e potresti venire a lezione da me. Ma siccome la tua è una disposizione caratteriale immodificabile, col tuo supplizio insegna al genere umano a mantenere i sacri vincoli che hai violato. Pertanto, come poco fa la tua mente era divisa tra Fidene e Roma, ora tocca al tuo corpo essere diviso”. Il corpo di Mezio Fufezio fu legato a due cavalli, spronati a correre in direzioni opposte e, dopo la tragica fine del suo re, Alba Longa fu distrutta, e gli abitanti vennero portati a Roma, sul colle Celio. Read the full article

0 notes