Nicodéme was also smart in other ways—he inconspicuously backed up all the way to the rear window and jumped out: No way he would ever get caught up in the fiendish conversations of insanity.
"I do not know: You look like you enjoyed yourself when that brutish sentry patted your ass," Ezio jokingly remarked, delighted all the more at the sight of a protesting frown. "Cristina, additionally, wanted me to tell you that she thought you looked amazing in that dress."
Sardonic smiles were all he had left. "Why, grazie—you pull my patience even tighter."
"Do not be as such; it was merely a jest."
"I hope you consider it in that manner."
A wink. "Possibly."
Rolling up his sleeves, Ezio popped open the buttons of his vest and divested himself of it, sighing as he plopped down onto a nearby chair and straddled it backwards. "Anyway, about today's matter: Do you know what comes in a few days?"
"Carnevale?"
"Essattamente: Carnevale."
"Si …" Wariness. "What about it?"
"Now," he progressed, a scintillate twinkle in his eyes, "do you recall the prize for winning the grand competition?"
"Si: the golden mask."
"Yes: certo—the ticket to getting into the Frenchman's private feast."
Federico blinked.
"Do you see where I am going with this?"
Carefully, the older male assessed the situation, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he thought about the tacit in various angles—whatever amount of zeal the younger possessed must have surely been great, for a flush tinged the apples of his cheeks as he sat in practiced restraint, the implication of his impatience shown solely by the frequent tapping of his boots against the mahogany table. If Federico had not already gone under by that pleading grin of childishness, he would certainly have gone mad from the impossible standards.
Because by the time he realized the formation, it was over.
But it did not cost any to rebel: "You have got to be kidding me."
"Does it look like it?"
"Merda, you … that man is a close friend to the French king! He would swing your head under the guillotine when he finds you in bed with his daughter."
"If he finds me—which, indubitably, will not happen."
God, have mercy. "Have you looked at his militia? He probably brought enough soldiers to fill Roma five times."
"Yes, I have glimpsed at his company, and—" A shrug. "—his little princess is quite the catch."
Proximity (2/3) of [5/?]
"I do not know: You look like you enjoyed yourself when that brutish sentry patted your ass," Ezio jokingly remarked, delighted all the more at the sight of a protesting frown. "Cristina, additionally, wanted me to tell you that she thought you looked amazing in that dress."
Sardonic smiles were all he had left. "Why, grazie—you pull my patience even tighter."
"Do not be as such; it was merely a jest."
"I hope you consider it in that manner."
A wink. "Possibly."
Rolling up his sleeves, Ezio popped open the buttons of his vest and divested himself of it, sighing as he plopped down onto a nearby chair and straddled it backwards. "Anyway, about today's matter: Do you know what comes in a few days?"
"Carnevale?"
"Essattamente: Carnevale."
"Si …" Wariness. "What about it?"
"Now," he progressed, a scintillate twinkle in his eyes, "do you recall the prize for winning the grand competition?"
"Si: the golden mask."
"Yes: certo—the ticket to getting into the Frenchman's private feast."
Federico blinked.
"Do you see where I am going with this?"
Carefully, the older male assessed the situation, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he thought about the tacit in various angles—whatever amount of zeal the younger possessed must have surely been great, for a flush tinged the apples of his cheeks as he sat in practiced restraint, the implication of his impatience shown solely by the frequent tapping of his boots against the mahogany table. If Federico had not already gone under by that pleading grin of childishness, he would certainly have gone mad from the impossible standards.
Because by the time he realized the formation, it was over.
But it did not cost any to rebel: "You have got to be kidding me."
"Does it look like it?"
"Merda, you … that man is a close friend to the French king! He would swing your head under the guillotine when he finds you in bed with his daughter."
"If he finds me—which, indubitably, will not happen."
God, have mercy. "Have you looked at his militia? He probably brought enough soldiers to fill Roma five times."
"Yes, I have glimpsed at his company, and—" A shrug. "—his little princess is quite the catch."