Values Dissonance (5/13)
anonymous
May 14 2010, 05:32:29 UTC
“Don’t you dare let that pervert take me away.” Romano would whisper into Antonio’s neck.
“I won’t, mi tesoro. Lo prometo.”
And Romano would close his eyes and pretend that was enough for him.
What made it worse was that the boy was virtually alone in the castle, for the most part - Antonio was often away on campaigns, and he’d be damned if he brought Romano anywhere near the battlefield. There were a few other lads that seemed to be Romano’s physical age but the first few times that he’d tried to play with them, he’d flown into a rage at how bad he was at sports and headbutted one of them in the stomach. The baker had been understandably angry at Romano for injuring his son, despite what role he held in the castle, and the boy himself avoided Romano for months afterwards.
Antonio knew what he had to do. He may not have wanted to do it, but he also knew that Romano needed more than he could provide, now.
“I’m sending you to stay with your brother,” Antonio had announced one evening at dinner.
Romano looked up, eyes wild. He was shooting up like a sunflower, now, all long limbs and gawky steps, but his eyes were still held the innocent, grumpy glint of his childhood. And he still had that tongue; madre de dios that tongue! Antonio had certainly not taught him those words. Romano displayed some of his vocabulary right then, to vent his displeasure.
“Non me ne vado, testa di cazzo, so you can get that idea right out of your head!”
Antonio winced. “Ah, now wait a minute, I thought you’d be pleased…”
“To see my idiot of a brother? Maybe. But not to see that prissy-bastard and that potato-bastard and his other little potato bastard, I am not.”
“I think it would be best for you if you went to visit for a little while,” said Antonio firmly, sipping his wine. He just wasn’t going to give Romano a chance to argue; having someone his own age to be with while this was happening was probably the best thing for Romano. Being sixteen and alone in a castle seemed just too cruel to put him through any longer. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“I won’t, mi tesoro. Lo prometo.”
And Romano would close his eyes and pretend that was enough for him.
What made it worse was that the boy was virtually alone in the castle, for the most part - Antonio was often away on campaigns, and he’d be damned if he brought Romano anywhere near the battlefield. There were a few other lads that seemed to be Romano’s physical age but the first few times that he’d tried to play with them, he’d flown into a rage at how bad he was at sports and headbutted one of them in the stomach. The baker had been understandably angry at Romano for injuring his son, despite what role he held in the castle, and the boy himself avoided Romano for months afterwards.
Antonio knew what he had to do. He may not have wanted to do it, but he also knew that Romano needed more than he could provide, now.
“I’m sending you to stay with your brother,” Antonio had announced one evening at dinner.
Romano looked up, eyes wild. He was shooting up like a sunflower, now, all long limbs and gawky steps, but his eyes were still held the innocent, grumpy glint of his childhood. And he still had that tongue; madre de dios that tongue! Antonio had certainly not taught him those words. Romano displayed some of his vocabulary right then, to vent his displeasure.
“Non me ne vado, testa di cazzo, so you can get that idea right out of your head!”
Antonio winced. “Ah, now wait a minute, I thought you’d be pleased…”
“To see my idiot of a brother? Maybe. But not to see that prissy-bastard and that potato-bastard and his other little potato bastard, I am not.”
“I think it would be best for you if you went to visit for a little while,” said Antonio firmly, sipping his wine. He just wasn’t going to give Romano a chance to argue; having someone his own age to be with while this was happening was probably the best thing for Romano. Being sixteen and alone in a castle seemed just too cruel to put him through any longer. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
Antonio braced for the inevitable explosion.
It didn’t come.
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