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This being the second time that I and Valentin had made the journey north, the route was at least slightly better planned and we had prepared a little bit more than we had the last year (especially since we had brought along my twin). Ah yes... Piérre... the reason that we were on the way north to begin with. I was still trying to grapple with the concept of how it was that he had managed to not only convince me but to convince Valentin to join in on this insanely idiotic plan that he had first sent to both of us via owl as far back as April of this year. It was a plan that I had almost snorted at laughter at if it weren't for the fact that I knew that since it came from my brother's pen and had been sent to me with very purposeful intent it simply had to be true.

That had been the horrifying thought. The fact that he was being intensely serious in this matter.

I had owled him back almost immediately with the brutally honest stating of the fact that I thought he was absolutely insane for even so much as considering such a plan as he had, let alone attempting to endeavor for it to come into reality in any way or form. It was insane, after all. It was a plan so harebrained and idiotic that only someone like he could have concocted it and even had the whisper of a hope that it would succeed. It was a dangerous, no... dangerous was not a strong enough word for it, it was a deadly endeavor even from the first proposition.

The content of the owl that Piérre had sent to me and to Valentin independently had concerned a very shoddily outlined plan to fly to wherever it was that the Jubilant Bazaar was, to locate the one and only Gitano Luca Vero that was its ringmaster, to somehow obtain a phial of his blood, and to then report directly to St. Mungo's or the nearest magical hospital that would perform a paternity test. Three simple steps that would lead to a solution that I at least had been pursuing for the past few years--when it was that Piérre became interested in the quest I hadn't quite managed to pinpoint--laid out so simply that one would think it was a matter of putting the cube into the square hole and the circle into the circle hole.

As I had outwardly laughed while reading it, I had wished that even something like that could even be simple in the slightest. The easiest part, as it was currently planned out, would end up being the flight and quite possibly the simple matter of the test at the end. Forget the trying to convince the ruthless ringmaster of such a thing, forget trying to elude him if such blood had to be taken by force... forget even finding him to begin with, even if we had a 'man on the inside' that we could contact. The entire premise of this was madness. The entire plotline of this sketchy and bareboned plan seemed to ooze of promises of failure and a disastrous failure at that. The consequences of failure far outstripped the rewards of success, and surely even an amateur logician could recognize such a thing without having to give them the benefit of the ability to run calculations, percentages, or other methods of statistics.

But his owls didn't stop coming. Up to the point of the ball, and then redoubling in their intensities and something that I whiffed that dared come close to something akin to desperation afterwards, his letters started to fill my room seemingly up to my chest. He was going to bankroll the entirety of the wizarding world for several years by the amount of ink and parchment he was using alone, surely. In the end, it was his tenacity that won. By early May I had conceded to going along with the plan, with the condition that I be allowed to offer inputs on the plan and attempt to make modifications that would make the venture slightly less chaotic and more planned out than what his initial three-step path to success promised. While I had tried to make it abundantly clear to Valentin--whom he had also contacted behind my back--that he did not have to come along and be subjected to this mess of a situation that my brother had concocted of his own free volition, I as per my usual had been unable to sway his mind even in the slightest.

The final plannings for the venture had taken place the later half of June, and one night when we had together travelled to Kazan to visit Valentin at the Schnell Wildlands Estate--I had told a half truth that had been supported by Piérre's bald-faced lie that I was going to visit Valentin to finalize Quidditch plays and that Piérre was coming along just to be moral support and because he didn't want to be left behind. While I don't think she bought everything even in the slightest, Mathilda seemed at least begrudgingly willing to at least let me leave so long as I kept Piérre in sights. On that last night of July 7th I had tried to bore it into my brother's head the exact plan and the exact way that we were going to go about this with the least amount of risk and highest chances of success overall. The plans were ultimately boiled down to the following:

1. All three of us would ride together on broom after exiting from the cupboard in Oslo Norway (we would arrive there via the connection in London via the use of Floo powder to get us to Diagon Alley--it was a messy set of connections, but it would ultimately work out so long as we made sure everyone made it through each checkpoint) to our most recent reliable source of information that claimed that the Bazaar was heading north towards the direction of major city Trondheim--it would be here that we would try to make a move and would set up a 'base of operations' outside of so as to not draw too many drifting Muggle eyes on accident. We would bring the two Oakshaft 79s, as they were the same speed compared to my brother's slightly slower Moontrimmer. It was, painfully, a seven hour journey. We would, like we had last year, have to stop somewhere along the way either to rest overnight someplace in a makeshift camp or otherwise to try to make the entire journey and crash somewhere to take a short shuteye before we endeavored to partake in part two of this insane venture.
2. What came after the establishment of the encampment--as temporary as it would have to be--would be the creation of our specific roles during the hopefully one day holdover between arrival and departure, that day in which the actual operation would occur. I hated the idea of spreading us so thin, but there was really no other way to manage the needs we had to meet.
   
   I was the anchor, the one staying nearby the actual camp and keeping an eye out in the immediate vicinity. If things went badly or if things went well, I was the getaway flier and the one that would be the lifeline for Valentin's or Piérre's escape. If the situation allowed it, I would alternatively be the muscle backup and have to be ready to in some way extricate either of those two from their situation in whatever way I could without my magic (as Mathilda had, once again, relieved both Piérre and I from our wands for the summer as was her tradition until we were without the Trace upon us).
   
   Valentin was the lookout, it was his job to float between the camp position where I was and to where Piérre was going to be operating in the Jubilant Bazaar. With his keen eyes, he was the overwatch--his broom would be essential for transport between the two areas and to ensure that an open line of communication was always present between at least he and I. Valentin was also Piérre's primary escape route--if possible Piérre and Valentin would ride together back to me and we would together exit the perimeter.
   
   Piérre of course had elected for himself to have the role that required the actual doing of the task. Evidently he had been teaching himself how to (as best he could) draw blood with a hypodermic needle he had stolen from somewhere I didn't want to take guesses on. He had also come equipped with his own gear designed for subterfuge, and with his small animal form he seemed the only logical individual best suited for getting in and out secretly as well as being able to utilize the skills necessary for the core component of the job: getting the blood from Gitano himself. I had to trust his ability to make rational judgement, which frightened me, but I had to trust that he would at least try to do his best to do what he could to keep himself protected.
3. The actual doing of the job was in my mind the most touch and go. It all circled around Piérre's ability to perform his task and Valentin's need to keep as in touch with me and my brother as he could. If things went badly, I had to at least be informed--and if I wasn't informed regularly I had to be able to draw a conclusion for myself based on the worst possible outcome. In the end I had settled for giving Piérre four to five hours maximum to do what he needed to do before I expected him to come back with Valentin regardless of what situation had unfolded--after that time I myself would come in to settle scores and try to figure out what it was that was holding Piérre and Valentin up.
4. Immediately upon Valentin's and Piérre's return I would have all our things packed and ready to immediately take to the skies. There would be no broombumbling or rearrangement until we were well out of the range of any instantaneous retaliation. It was a fast eviction, a fast vanishing from a place we were not supposed to be. We would fly as hard and as fast towards Oslo as we could manage before cupboarding back to London (we would determine at that time as to if we wanted to attempt the paternity test then or at a later time) and then Flooing back to the Schnell Estate in Kazan to return Valentin so that my brother and I could return to London. After all... after all of this we still had to head to the Summer Camp event on the 15th of that month. It was a fast turnaround, but it wasn't anything too crazy.

I was aware that Valentin had Nikolai staying in his place for the young boy's own unique reasons, but I didn't think it a good idea to involve him in any of this in the slightest. I simply had to trust that Valentin would find a good way to explain himself both to the young ward he had appointed to himself and to Sergei the stern and slightly stingy butler himself. I would, for the better, stay out of it, even as Piérre proceeded to torment the old man by means of only his nonsensical shenanigans as if he were simply the masculine version of our own guardian. My words of disapproval merely fell on deaf ears as they usually did... After the plan had been established and confirmed at around 8 in the evening I practically ordered that the three of us immediately go to sleep--we would not be sleeping at night the next day and would have a long day ahead of us indeed. Sleep deprivation and flight exhaustion would be huge contenders and we needed as much rest as we could get.

The approach to Trondheim was simple enough: flooing to London around 3 in the afternoon, spending a few precious hours to finalize the final plan: we had gotten a bit hungup on the cupboard transport simply because it had been Piérre's first time going through one, but once we had muddled through with our carry-on equipment (brooms and a single expandable suitcase to hold only a day or two's supply of necessities) the flight that had mostly taken place in the chilly place above the clouds and out of the sight of muggles and most of their tools (for we would appear only as a slight blip even to the defined instruments they did have) was simple and had been wholly at night after the sunset of 10 at night until we breached Trondheim's city limits (with small breaks between to shift order of fliers--for the most part it had been myself up front followed by Valentin and Piérre in the rear with the backpack) mere minutes before the breaking of dawn at 5 in the morning.

Exhausted from the flight, we only allowed ourselves a few hours of mental reset with food and mild shuteye before my brother finally got to his feet, stretched, and then put his hands on his hips as he sighed at the sun. "Well I better go. Wasting daylight, and we have a long flight ahead of us if I do manage to get back at all." He grinned back and me and Valentin, but I only met his eyes dully and with a serious gleam of misgiving in them. "Surely we can sleep on the ride home."

"We could," I absentmindedly spun a waterbottle in my hand, creating a small vortex of water on the inside. "well, you could anyways. I'll probably end up flying again. There's a reason I slept in yesterday. You really should have gotten more rest, Piérre--you need your wit to be sharpest as you're trying to pull this off at all."

"My wit has never been sharper, Romeo. I'll be fine. Stop worrying." His gaze fell on Valentin wordlessly for a moment, seeming to project a certain telepathic thought to him before he spun on his heel with a tiny smile reappearing on his face again. "Remember, I've been practicing too. That's historically not something I do lightly."

I only grunted lightly in response, able to neither confirm or deny. "Regardless... don't get in over your head. You may have heard my stories about Gitano, but you certainly did not experience him firsthand. He's..." The impression of the man's single blue eye and the eerily broad smile that reminded me awfully of Piérre's own danced for a second in my memories before I waved them off. "not someone to be underestimated."

As the Norwegian sun rose between the trees and began to dance on the water of the city to scatter against floating houses and splinter on the roofs, I began to make out more of the blob of darkness that I had recognized as likely being the Jubilant Bazaar the previous night before landing. I was now confirmed in my hunch as colorful tents and the almost indecipherable sound of faint music filled the air--it was nearly lost on the breeze and only the most stalwart wavelengths of the songs managed to strain their ways to us. Just far enough to stay mostly unseen, close enough to have good observation. A perfect spot in this little copse. "Underestimated? Oh please, Romeo. You always seem to forget that nothing should be underestimated. Or overestimated for that matter. Nothing doing until something tried."

Before I realized it enough to stop him with any other words or action, Piérre was suddenly off, dashing away with only a jangling messenger bag at his side and a shimmering bundle of fabric in his arms now slightly patchy and opaque in some areas. Looked to be an invisibility cloak that likely desperately needed some retouching...

"Piérre...! ... He'll probably be okay..." Came the choked exclamation for him followed by the heavy sigh and the rolling of my eyes that was accompanied by a burying of my face in my hands as I shook my head at the entire thing and tried to reassure myself out loud and to Valentin. "I mean... surely, right? We're both here, we've planned for this... you'll have eyes on him if nobody else does. And I'm here. Just like... well..." It was something silly Piérre had said earlier, but perhaps there was a bit of a grain of truth in it. "A family outing."

Valentin's father's Oakshaft was held carefully in my hand as I seriously contemplated this situation and what could possibly come from all of this. I feared that I was somehow making the wrong choice. "Valya... please... take care. Don't get hurt." My brows creased again. I feared for Valentin as well--more and more as both of our healths were in decline and as my brain became more and more fuzzy. Perhaps more than Piérre. Here we were all at least away from most things magical and other magical students--and at least if Gitano had wanted to try to do something sketchy there were the potential of multiple witnesses with eyes and ears out... but... "If something, anything, goes wrong or doesn't feel right--come back. Immediately. Bring Piérre back as well if you can." I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the spot that once had the old injury of the man tearing out what had felt (but fortunately had not been) a piece of my scalp. "You remember how he's like. He just simply may not be as brazen about the means and machinations."

My jaw tightened for a second before I got to my feet and then circled my arms around Valentin in a slow embrace, holding his head to my chest lightly and closing my eyes for a second as I gently placed my chin on the top of his head and the soft white hair that almost instantly tickled my nose. If things went wrong today... I didn't want to say that I was afraid of a man that I had just met--but that I was more afraid of what I would learn if things went well and if it was indeed learned that there was some connection between myself and he. I feared the answer almost as much as the trial, though it was merely a simple 'yes' or 'no'. Knowing, perhaps, having come to terms with his temperament, this too was possibly a source of my fear. Knowing that my brother was fool enough to volunteer himself as being the one that would literally run head-on into the fray and face the thing I feared for me without so much as a blink of an eye. Even though he was best suited, and even though he had volunteered.

Of us three, I was the safest back here--though I trusted Valentin's eyes and his speed to keep us all connected and safe, the lynchpin of the safety net perhaps too shoddily created. I was sending Valentin out there like I had sent Piérre. Like a commander I had stayed back and watched others go before me to execute the mission that I had planned--myself unable to watch or meaningfully influence what it was that I had created for either destruction's sake or for success' sake. It was all on the back of trust... but oh how I hated to be the one watching on the side. To be the one unable to step in at a moment's notice, or to do the work myself. It almost felt as unforgivable as simply not being willing to do the job or denying my help to begin with.

For all I knew, I could be sending them into something that I had not been able to foresee, with outcomes that could be far more serious than we could handle. "Please come back. No matter what else, just please come back." I whispered down to Valentin through his hair against my lips before tightening my hug for a second and then letting him go in a lingering release. "I'll be here--remember that." My brows were creased with a need to affirm the truthfulness of my words. "I'm not leaving until five hours are gone by or you two return."

A weak smile. "Good luck to us. Fly fast and safe, Fulminetto. Little Lightning Bolt"

It was now time for me to begin holding vigil as we all began to commence the ill-named (by Piérre) "Blood Heist".

Inventory:
Medical Notebook, True Love's Locket, Oakshaft 79 [+4 Stamina & Evasion]

Romalentérre's Statistics:
Stamina 10 [9.6] | Strength 11 | Evasion 17 [17.3] | Wisdom 15 [15.3] | Accuracy 17 | Arcane Power 3

Active Abilities:
Calming Presence (Piérre) ─ 10% Hit Rate to Romeo & Valentin
Cat's Grace (Piérre) ─ 25% Stealth Entrance & +2 to Stealth Actions
Charmer (Valentin) ─ -1 Accuracy to Designated Non-Allies
Healing Sage I (Romeo) ─ +30% Healing Buff
Evasive Maneuvers I (Valentin) ─ 10% Auto-dodge Rate
Fearless (Valentin) ─ Immunity to Fear Effects
Keen Eye (Piérre & Valentin) ─ 25% Chance to Spot Something
Martial Artist (Romeo) ─ Fisticuffs Adept
Muggle Condition (Piérre & Romeo) ─ +3 Accuracy to Nonmagical Attacks
Perfectionist I (Romeo) ─ -1 Critical Failure Range

July, 2024

Why did Valentin agree to Piérre’s insane plan? He knew the green-eyed boy would try to accomplish his objective one way or another, and if their dear jester were to stand any chance of surviving – let alone succeeding – Val himself would have to ensure the small chance of victory came to fruition. Clutching success from between small margins of error was Valentin’s specialty. If pressed, Hell-Chaser Val would of course admit to a certain thrill of riding the limit of what was possible… and this mission certainly sounded of that variety. Yet, how could he possibly justify such a thing to Sergei…? Well… he simply couldn’t say much to the nosy butler and would have to overpower his de facto guardian through force of will.

Valentin was no liar. Instead, over his years at Durmstrang, he had developed the ability to be an authority figure. Accusing Sergei of being overprotective and stifling his growth when the butler tried to block him, Valentin explained in no uncertain terms that he would not let someone in his employ limit the education he could receive by travelling abroad. As to what exactly Val would be doing abroad… well… it just so happened that they were out of time to argue any further and Val had somewhere to go. It was true, too. He needed every last moment for bidding Nikolai a heartfelt, hopefully temporary, farewell. That Valentin had explained such barebone things to Sergei at the last possible second was strategic, not an oversight. Nikolai alone knew of Valentin’s plan much farther in advance.

Pulling Kol’ka into his arms right before their departure, Valentin placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead and tried not to cry. Crying here would just make Sergei complain more and nobody other than Sergei wanted that, especially because it would ruin the moment.

“Please stay safe while I’m gone, drakonchik moi my little dragonling. I love you and will come home. Just wait for me. I promise I won’t leave you alone in this world.” As was often the case with Nikolai, Valentin’s actions lagged behind his words, betraying the buried conflict of his heart. As much as Val’s mind was insisting that he depart on time, the seeker’s arms stayed wrapped around the younger boy, unable to let go. The crux of the issue was a dissonance inside of Valentin, who was at once confident in the team’s triumphant return, as well as wondering if these would be their last moments together with death closer on the horizon than Val wanted to accept. Valentin’s health, like Romeo’s, was still in such poor condition that they shouldn’t have been flying, let alone leaving the country, but there was no way Valentin could refuse the call to grant what he perceived to be Romeo’s greatest wish as well as something to help alleviate the torment he’d seen acutely in Piérre’s eyes last April.

“I need you to be here when I get back, Kol’ka, please. Take care of yourself.” Valentin’s eyes communicated more than he could say in front of Sergei. If the party returned to the Schnell Wildland Estate bloodied and on the verge of death, he needed Nikolai to be prepared for that. “Until we meet again in the rose garden…” Kissing the boy’s cheek, Valentin finally tore himself away. As soon as the others were out of sight, Val would break into tears, for he didn’t want to invoke Sergei’s wrath and have it fall upon Nikolai in his absence.

-||-

Midday; Trondheim, Trøndelag, Norway

After the group’s flight, Valentin felt pretty decent. He’d gotten enough sleep, tanked up on quality time with Nikolai, and had eaten well in the privacy of his tower the night before, knowing that the travel would severely wreck his appetite. Today he would not be reaching for food himself, hung up on strategy and rehearsing the details of the plan in his head. Now, Val was ready to go and fully committed. Even after the long journey to Norway, Piérre would still be having to justify the event to Romeo, however, and Valentin could read what Piérre wanted in his green eyes as clear as day.

“Rome, this worry you’re spinning in now is not getting us any farther. We did the best we could to prepare and now this is what we have. It’s time to commit so that we don’t waste any more of our energy second-guessing ourselves.” Nodding back at Piérre, Valentin didn’t want Romeo to torture himself any more than he already had, either. Once the pair had convinced Romeo to let his brother go do what he needed to do, Valentin turned his attention back to the bigger brother for triage.

"Piérre...! ... He'll probably be okay… I mean... surely, right? We're both here, we've planned for this... you'll have eyes on him if nobody else does. And I'm here. Just like... well... A family outing." Val’s co-captain buried his face in his hands, shaking his head with the stress.

“It’s going to be okay, Romushka. I’m going to make sure he comes out of there alright. I’ve never been faster or more skilled on a broom, right? Put all that training I bled for to real use. Quidditch is fun but it’s just a game. I need to use my power for something else sometimes, and this is as worthy of a mission as it gets. I want you both to find peace and I know this has been torturing you. I remember our last mission and I know what he’s up against, even if your brother doesn’t. I wouldn’t let him do this if I didn’t believe he could pull it off. If you doubt his judgment, then please simply put your faith in mine.” Romeo held Hugo’s broom, contemplating, and Val could almost feel the lines of worry etching themselves into the beater’s brow.

"Valya... please... take care. Don't get hurt."

“I’ll make it out alive, don’t you worry. They don’t call me the White Immortal for nothing. I have too much to live for to die now. Someone has to take care of Kol’ka, and I need to make sure Piérre makes it back to you just the same. I can’t fail with something so important on the line. I work best under pressure, anyway, and you know this firsthand.”

"If something, anything, goes wrong or doesn't feel right--come back. Immediately. Bring Piérre back as well if you can. You remember how he's like. He just simply may not be as brazen about the means and machinations." Romeo ran his hand through the patch of hair Valentin would forever recognize as the one first torn out by the boy’s own father.

“Count on it.” Valentin watched the tightening of Romeo’s jaw, deciding he still needed to say a little more.

“Listen medvezhonok Rus. ‘little bear,’ e.g. a teddy bear… I make it my business to study other people. I can see into the hearts of others and I understand people. Since I’ve met Gitano before, I have a feel for him already. I’ve been manipulated enough times in my life to know what it looks like, and I have a sense for his style. Believe in me, please, and my skill of knowing how others operate. I’ll bring your brother back safe, especially because I know how your brother works. Admit it – Piérre is as much of a danger to himself as Gitano.” Valentin batted his eyes, allowing the joke to sink in. If he could just bring a smile to Romeo’s face, that would be something.

Romeo slowly encircled his arms around shorter Valentin and pressed the lightweight’s face to his chest. From his angle above, he wouldn’t be able to see the blush searing across Val’s cheeks, instead placing his head atop the other’s cloud-like cushion of white hair.

"Please come back. No matter what else, just please come back." Romeo tightened his arms in a second hug before letting go… slowly. "I'll be here--remember that. I'm not leaving until five hours are gone by or you two return."

“I have faith in your judgment, too, Romeo. I know your heart, and I know your mind. You’re doing the right thing. We all are.” Valentin was aware that he couldn’t endanger the mission by trying to pay back Gitano for his “contribution” today, but it didn’t matter. The niffler always gave back eventually, several fold. Even for Gitano’s future repayment, Valentin had to survive.

"Good luck to us. Fly fast and safe, Fulminetto. Little Lightning Bolt"

“As you wish,” chimed Valentin warmly, smiling back at Romeo. Then, in a flash, Val was gone. The mission had officially begun.

Basic Stats:
STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 20 [24] - ARC 1 - ACC 17
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue & Veela
Inventory: True love’s locket, a silver earring, a golden ring on his middle finger, a wand, an Oakshaft 79, and a small ultralight sack with basic provisions. Turkish dagger on his waist as usual.
Broom bonus stats (when flying): +4 ACC, +4 STR
Charmer recipients: Everyone but Pi and Ro
Val’s English: #CC3333. Russian: #992314
Mentioning: @Matthew Campbell (Nikolai Vol’ka)
Godmods of Val universally allowed for Romeo’s/Pi’s narrator

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Calming Presence in Effect: Romeo & Valentin Affected

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The eccentric Piérre had indeed created this little silly plan of his on a whim, but it had been something that he had been thoroughly planning for a while. He had taken time to collect pieces, scraps, little things that would help in the pursuit of this operation's success. He had done everything that he could to plan for this event, even before he had sent the first volley of owls to his twin and to Valentin requesting their assistance in helping him modify and prepare to execute the plan--he had obtained the materials necessary to perform a rough phlebotomy procedure, and he had been practicing on himself for the past few months with a fervor so that he could learn the hard way the best and worst ways to find the strong vein and to efficiently draw blood for temporary storage.

After all, it wasn't like Gitano was going to hand over his own blood by his own volition. No... it would have to be taken by force. It was strange, just how clear and free the boy felt his mind was, now that there wasn't a sickening pressure in his stomach and a strange mire of mist across his mind. Without the dark and looming presence of the evil creature that he had not realized had taken up residence in his body as an endoparasitic 'roommate'... he felt his eyes were clearer, his mind was clearer. Strength was returning, health was being restored bit by bit to his once waxy cheeks now flushing rosy in the winds that battered him on the shaft of his brother's Oakshaft.

A thin smile was spread across his lips as he hugged tightly to Valentin, the backpack that the littler Marchonné carried whipping its 'gypsy carnival' straps to the air with a gaiety that perfectly reflected its bearer. His time tormenting Sergei had been one of the most delightful times of his life, the man being just like an even more uptight version of Mathilda in all the best ways... but despite the amusement the boy had derived from it, he couldn't help but notice a particularly unsettling feeling whenever he had fallen under those sharp eyes. Eerie, perhaps, or likely some lingering paranoia from Piérre's experiences, but there was something that just didn't quite feel right in the boy's mind.

Still, the entire time had the boy been peppy and bright, trying to yell over the sound of the wind and the blustery air currents against his green-lensed goggles as he cracked jokes and mostly spoke to himself if it turned out that Valentin and Romeo simply weren't able to hear him.

The early morning after they had touched down had been spent by him arranging his supplies for the last time in his messenger bag, ensuring he had all of his supplies. His plan was simple. His plan was easy. He needed to work alone, yes, but it was alone at least in this caliber that he had always seemed to excel in. So long as he kept his wits about him and ensured that he didn't get too distracted by this or that, he figured that he would be able to finish the job and get in and out with no issues whatsoever.

"Well I better go. Wasting daylight, and we have a long flight ahead of us if I do manage to get back at all." He grinned back and Romeo and Valentin cheekily. Romeo only stared back at him blankly, with a vary obvious stare of exhausted misgiving. "Surely we can sleep on the ride home."

"We could," Romeo retorted hesitantly, which caused Piérre to roll his eyes at the intonation of his bigger twin's voice. "well, you could anyways. I'll probably end up flying again. There's a reason I slept in yesterday. You really should have gotten more rest, Piérre--you need your wit to be sharpest as you're trying to pull this off at all."

He would have snorted with laughter if it weren't for the fact that doing so would probably make Romeo worry even further. And that, that was the last thing that he wanted at this particular moment in time. "My wit has never been sharper, Romeo. I'll be fine. Stop worrying."

His stare went to Valentin lightly, with a gentle smile to boot. Valentin knew what was what. If nobody else trusted his abilities, at least Valentin did. "Remember, I've been practicing too. That's historically not something I do lightly."

Romeo only grumbled again. "Regardless... don't get in over your head. You may have heard my stories about Gitano, but you certainly did not experience him firsthand. He's..." The pause that came from Romeo caused Piérre to raise his eyebrows. Well... yes, he did remember the stories, but that didn't prevent him from being more and more intrigued by the man behind them. If anything... it made the allure of meeting him for the first time all the more tantalizing."not someone to be underestimated."

Ah and there was the obsession with safety and security again. Good old Romeo, always looking out for Piérre's well-being. But no gain without risk. Having come this far, there was no way for him to accept turning back now. The only way was forwards, and nothing could be gained if there was fear that was getting in the way of doing the task he had set up for himself. "Underestimated? Oh please, Romeo. You always seem to forget that nothing should be underestimated. Or overestimated for that matter. Nothing doing until something tried."

Before Romeo could make any more argument or complaint, the boy was off like a shot, dashing across the grassy area and down into the first dip that hid him from the eyes of both Valentin and Romeo. A big and gleeful grin was spread across his face, a laugh of determination bubbling up deep in his chest. Delighted stride after stride the boy took, with his bundle of equipment in both arms--satchel, invisibility cloak, phlebotomist-like supply, knife on the hip--everything that he would need for the endeavor.

Within a few minutes, the merry flags and colorful tents were all around him, and in a moment he had slipped himself into the crowd as one of the visitor or performers. His outfit, of course, made him appear at first glance to be less likely to be the latter--he simply wasn't dressed eccentrically enough to claim such a role as being his... but he certainly was a little more flamboyant and outgoing than most of the crowd that was wandering about like a gelatinous creature through the attractions. With gleamingly impish eyes and the messenger bag at his hip... perhaps the boy looked most akin to a carnie runner. The messenger boy with a bundle of shimmering fabric in his arms.

Piérre was slightly distracted by the sights and sounds like anyone would be. Because of that, he found himself spinning in circles for a few moments just to try to get the sights and sounds correct in his head. He was trying to feel for the lay of the land, trying to determine what was where and where his paths were for both entrance and escape. He knew that Gitano would likely be in a tent, or else near the Big Top... but ideally Piérre wanted to try to find the home tent as opposed to entering into the large Big Top where there would be too many people and far too many places in which he could make a mistake and jeopardize the entire task he had assigned himself.

But, unfortunately, Piérre found himself just as perplexed by his surroundings around seven minutes later as when he had started. He had wandered through the stands and the snack shacks, wandered past the carousel and Ferris wheel, had his attention caught by a mirror house and a stand of Punch and Judy, and then of course had heard the cries in a foreign tongue to assemble in the Big Top for another performance in a matter of... well a time that Piérre didn't know due to the language barrier in question.

And yet as he wandered, as he went, he could not seem to shake the feeling that a pair of eyes were locked on his back. It was the eerie sensation of being observed by an unseen observer, something that Piérre himself was quite used to executing himself but did not much enjoy the feeling of. There was something eerie going on... something not quite right.

The feeling just seemed to intensify the longer he wandered and found himself carried by the current of human bodies that washed back and forth throughout the fairgrounds. It was an oppressive sensation, a stifling sensation that lingered in the bottom of his lungs, that seemed chill his chest from the inside out in tandem with the cool northern air. A few times he could have sworn that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of something reflective that never stuck around long enough to be totally seen. Like a trick of the light, it was there and then gone again, leaving the boy more and more confused with every incident of the same that passed.

As the crier came by again with the same announcement as earlier, seemingly a bit more frantic than before, Piérre shook his head and hummed frustratedly under his breath as he realized that he needed to hurry it up. It felt like he had been here for almost an hour with no good thing to show for his efforts. Glancing to the skies for a moment and then at the horizon surrounding with the brushline in the distance, Piérre considered the fact that Valentin had likely been watching him for a while, perhaps watching him struggle and wander aimlessly. Romeo was likely on lookout all the way back at the home base, likely working himself into a bit of a fit even though only a fraction of the time Piérre had been allotted to finish had passed already.

Yet, he refused to give up. It was not in his nature to simply give up. Not when so close, and not when he had worked so hard to get to where he was currently. So instead, he simply turned around and started to walk by paths he had not walked yet that were... slightly out of the way. He wanted to walk behind stands, wanted to get all the way around rides. He wanted to see if there were places that his eye had missed purely by his sightline being blocked by those things alone. So... he did.

Slipping through another thick crowd, he briskly paced behind a banner that was rippling and then quickly slipped the messenger bag into a more comfortable position whilst throwing his slightly patchy and opaque invisibility cloak over himself. It severely needed retouching... but it would be good enough for use now before it turned completely useless and would need entire re-enchantment. He never let himself stop moving, and in fact instead of crossing through to the other side of the banner he would become 'visible' on if he had kept walking the same way, he walked backwards and to the side, giving the 'slip' to anyone who may have been watching him walk in. Running a few meters around the side, the boy resumed his patrolling walk in areas of less dense human population, keeping the cloak over his head and staying in places of patchier shadows that would make it easier to conceal the not-as-invisible parts of the invisibility cloak.

Yet, while he walked... he couldn't help but get the overwhelming sensation that he needed to immediately duck and hide. To find cover. So... with the implicit trust that his gut instincts would still not steer him wrong, he did. Getting down and crouching off to one side closer to a tent and taking a bit of concealment, Piérre hunkered down and slowed his breathing, listening with piqued ears for sound, scent, sight of something or someone coming his way.

He didn't have to wait for long.

A few moments after he finally settled himself down, there was a series of long yet firmly staccato steps. The grass crunched under black-booted feet harshly, and a performer came into Piérre's view. He wasn't exceptionally tall, per say, but he was respectable with the way that he kept his shoulders back to result in an excellent posture. A silver ribbon belt fluttered at his waist with the force of his movement, a black bullwhip which he had his right hand upon bounced slightly as well. His other hand was tightened into a fist, covered with a fingerless black leather glove with sterling silver metal decoration on the back near his knuckles. It took a few moments for Piérre to finally see his face, and the moment he did his blood chilled.

Haloed in golden blonde hair, a wide-brimmed hat shaded a single cerulean eye--the right. The other eye was covered by a black leather eyepatch... the same side as Pericles'... He bit his bottom lip to avoid accidentally gasping aloud at the initial whiplash of observation, which only made his observations that much more terrible as more and more pieces began to resonate and piece themselves together in the boy's mind. That single eye was dark and stormy, cerulean like his brother's... but the pupil, that gleaming seat of the soul, had no light in it. It did not reflect the remnants that managed to reach them... it consumed them and devoured it whole. It reminded the boy of another who he had seen with such eyes in his perhaps very twisted perspective... the girl at the ball that had been so conceited and proud: whose eyes were hard, which were colorful and bright in hue but lacked all indication of light being able to penetrate. At least, though, her eyes had gleamed--they reflected a little soul in them even if there was hollowness and a lack of person behind. This eye... did not even possess that much. This eye had a person... but no soul.

It was totally empty of humanity.

It flicked about, with slight movement of his head to follow and to compensate for the lack of the range of vision that would have been allowed by those with complete binocular focus. His stance at a standstill was athletic, loose but terse, coiled like a serpent ready to strike at a moment's notice. That hand tightened and loosened on the bullwhip as the face that could have been misconstrued for a part-veela's twisted into a very unbecoming snarl, eyebrows furrowing as the expression darkened further with each passing moment.

"Il furtivo non sarebbe andato lontano. The sneak wouldn't have gone far." The voice rumbled with a slightly snipped hiss as the eye flicked again--back and forth, side to side, arcing up and down with the accompaniment of the slight turning of his head. "Ci sono solo tanti posti... There's only so many places..." The voice trailed off as for a moment before the eye turned directly to Piérre's hiding spot.

Piérre swore his heart stopped.

He was looking into the face of the man he had heard slightly disturbing stories about from his brother, and now he saw why it was that Romeo got a visible look of being chilled whenever Piérre had asked again for a verification of what Gitano looked like. It was a face that was chilling in all the ways that were the most unnerving--by all classical beauty standards the man was undeniably handsome. By even the standards set for models and classical art he rivaled Apollo's alleged radiance. Romeo had not been lying to Piérre when he had said in passing that Piérre would recognize him in an instant for reasons he wouldn't like. Piérre figured out pretty quickly why that was so.

Looking upon Gitano Luca Vero this close up was almost like looking into a slightly altered reflection of himself. The facial structure was nearly a dead ringer for a start, but the set of the eyes, the silken movements that he was capable of by nature of physical flexibility, the slight upturning of his nose that looked akin to Piérre's own slight 'uptick'. Sure, in some ways Piérre could see his own brother in the man as well--the part of the hair, the natural musculature 'base', the jawline... It was almost as if Piérre were looking in a mirror. As if he were looking at a mildly feature-changed iteration of himself in different clothes and a slightly different body shape.

After what seemed like an eternity, the eye finally glanced away from where Piérre had hidden himself, and those solid boots took a few more steps down the way he had originally been going. "Non importa. Si presenterà di nuovo. I ratti tendono a farlo. No matter. He'll show up again. Rats tend to do that." The hands swiftly manipulated a cigarette and a silver lighter, and a puff of white smoke began to rise through the air as chemical burning disseminated in the vicinity. It took everything in the boy to prevent himself from gagging on the smell--the scent of artificial burning mixed with unknown chemicals.

Gitano glanced at a watch at his wrist before muttering something under his breath that not even Piérre could discern and then turning on his heel and beginning to make his way back from the way he came. Despite himself... Piérre quickly picked himself up and began to follow in the exact footprints of the man, keeping as quiet as he could while still trying to keep him in his sights. Fortunately for Piérre, Gitano seemed to like avoiding the heavier pulls of the crowd if he could help it... and both performer and attendee quickly seemed to part so as to stay out of his way.

They proceeded this way, with Piérre scampering back and forth as needed to not only avoid bumping into anyone, but also to stay out of immediate 'sightline' should the ringmaster at any point decide to suddenly turn around without warning to check his back. Eventually the both of them came to a large tent in blue, gold, and silver, whose flap was closed and secured. While Piérre skulked off to the side, he watched as Gitano both unsecured and entered into the tent. Waiting for a few moments, Piérre slowly moved in, daring to peek into the tent and realizing that Gitano was nowhere around the immediate entrance before fully stepping in and then ducking off to one slightly shadowy side so as to make his profile as small and unnoticeable as possible.

It was immediately apparent from first glance that the tent was one of the enchanted varieties. While items, bobbles, and decorations cluttered the walls so as to give the impression that the walls were closer in than they actually were, the tent was without a doubt much larger inside than it had looked on the outside, divided into at least three different sections of a 'living room', an office area, and a curtained off final room that was most likely--were Piérre a betting man--the private quarters or bedroom. He blinked at the array of just... things that were strewn around--many of them magical in nature, and some of them just muggle enough to seem like a semi-natural fit. The entire interior smelled of bergamot and amber, mixed as well with the (now by comparison) weaker smell of cigarette smoke. There was also faint record music of a more delicately symphonic nature from... somewhere. Somewhere unseen.

There were olfactory elements of spirits as well, a whiff of brandy or wine that suddenly evoked and then vanished, which quickly drew the boy's attention to a cabinet that he had sidled himself next to which contained an array of bottles of various kinds of strong drinks. Mixed among them were smaller phials of different colors, obviously not commercial drinks, and indeed more likely potions of some kind. Perhaps he could somehow slip the sleeping draught into one of those...?

The curtains of the curtained-off area were brushed aside as Gitano reentered the living area with a very severe look on his face--either a look of concentration or a look of resting irritation was anyone's guess. In his hand he had a second whip, as well as a silver flask. Breezing over to the office area, Gitano checked his watch again before rifling through a few papers on the desk, taking into his hands a few components before putting them aside or replacing them inside of drawers or shelves with practiced motions. Reading a particular piece of paper elicited a smirk for a moment along with a small and unremarkable snort of laughter before it was placed into a drawer as well and promptly locked away.

The man then moved towards the liquor cabinet, causing Piérre to shift ever so slightly on the pillows and rugs that he was perched on. With a similarly languid and relaxed method, he withdrew a glass and a choice of his drink as well as a strange multi-colored bottle that seemed to shift slowly through the different spectra and never seemed to settle on one color alone. Reclining on a plush chair that allowed him to overlook the entire area, a position that Piérre found himself at a fairly close angle to and therefore in a perfect position to observe all for himself, the multi-colored potion was downed first, and then after a few moments the red wine that he had taken from one of the other bottles. As Piérre watched, he could have sworn that Gitano's hair seemed to gleam a little more golden, his eye brightening a bit more. Whatever previous beauty he had already had suddenly seemed to amplify itself a hundred fold, and it was then that the pieces clicked into place. Beautification potion. Of course.

It was so strange, to be so close to the man and to be completely invisible while doing it. Piérre found himself enthralled with watching the way that the blue eye tracked back and forth, the way that it seemed to be 'reading' in the air as if there were an invisible page before it. Completely at ease in his own realm, the ringmaster had lost all former 'stiffness' that had been present outside to begin with, idly reading the label of the wine bottle before putting it aside and turning the glass in both hands for a moment as his eye narrowed severely. A check of the watch for the last time, and he got to his feet, placing the wineglass down and checking his outfit in the mirror for anything that had to be adjusted. Seemingly satisfied, he retrieved his equipment, made his way to the tent entrance, turned and beheld the vicinity (without the knowledge of the fact that Piérre was hidden away less than a meter away from him), and then ducked away and out of the tent entirely.

Piérre listened to the sound of the record playing in the tent, listened for the sound of the ringmaster's footsteps tracing their way away bit by bit with the sound of the record player's music being the only noise that he could hear upon those footsteps' fading away. When and only when he felt confident to feel that the steps were quiet enough to not be made to be that way did the boy finally move.

Shedding the invisibility cloak, he rushed to the tent flap, opening it just a crack so that he could peer through and note that the coast was indeed fully clear before releasing it and spinning towards the room proper to assess what resources were now available to him within the ringmaster's tent. Despite himself, the boy clapped his hands together as if he were looking at an enormous project. "Hoo-kay." He exhaled tensely. "Whaaaaaat can I do with this..."

Green eyes glanced around the room, attracted to the bottles and the bobs that were strewn about. Somehow... he had to find a way to get the sleeping draught into something that Gitano would drink, preferably something that he would imbibe sooner rather than later.

The wineglass was a hopeful candidate, still possessing small traces of the prior drink along with some sediment at the very bottom. Picking one winebottle was likely a bad shot--there were very large chances that Gitano simply wouldn't pick the one that Piérre would have selected for the potion, if he had a drink at all. Trying to confront the man in an attempt to forcibly dose was simply out of the equation altogether. There was no way he could try to toe up against and adult both twice his strength and likely around triple his age. No. Piérre had to find a way to pick a container or to find a way to get close enough to a chosen container to slip the potion in while he wasn't looking.

That meant that it was time to do some staging.

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 8 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Invisibility Cloak | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
Hypodermic Needle | Rubber Tourniquet Band | Small Phial

Reducio

Gitano Luca Vero
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Stamina ~ 10 | Strength ~ 15 | Evasion ~ 16 | Wisdom ~ 16 | Accuracy ~ 18 | ArcPower ~ 15
Lovely Creature ~ Charmer ~ Components ~ Blindvision ~ Potion Master ~ Occlumency ~ Restricted Potions
Additional Adult: Poision Resistance ~ Legilimency ~ Restricted Charms ~ Cat's Grace

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Calming Presence in Effect: Romeo & Valentin Affected

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"Staging, staging... how can I stage this...? What can I do with this...?" Piérre quickly found himself devolving into trying to figure out a way to wake up his brain and spark creativity in a meaningful way as he paced back and forth with the aromatic scents ripping through the air and intoxicating the senses. What was direct, and yet not outwardly suspicious enough to arouse intrigue?

Tapping his lips, the boy paced back and forth, around and around the central low-sitting coffee table and divan as he observed the entire area. His brow arched as he considered going to the back bedroom-dedicated area, but then quickly scratched that thought out of his mind. No. This was his staging area--he would have to use this place as his area of operations.

Well... if he couldn't just dump the stuff in the glass--doing so would result in the presence of a liquid that simply was not there before, and who knew if the ringmaster would elect to use a different glass altogether--nor could he make a random guess as to if the ringmaster would drink at all--though Piérre certainly hoped he would as it would make the entire operation much easier--and neither could he elect to choose a random bottle of wine among the liquor--choosing the right one would be an odd that he was more likely to fail as opposed to find joy in.

The best option, the longer he mulled, was one that he wasn't entirely sure that he liked but knew that he likely would have to come to terms with in quick order: he would have to hunker down and hide, and then act when the moment was right--if the moment was ever right. He didn't know for how long, he didn't know how or when it would actually come to pass--but he knew that that was the best chance. If it happened, he could act. If it never opened up in the time limit that he had allotted for himself, he would be able to hopefully sneak right out with no harm and no foul other than the wasted round-trip.

It was times like these that the boy wished that he was a better planner. Times like these he wished he had good foresight and a talent for falling back on a plan B.

Instead, he had pillows and curtains he could move around. So, he elected to work with those. The most ideal spot, he discerned, was beside the liquor cabinet. It was a little spot where if he curled up enough and piled the items right, he could appear like a little pile of throw pillows. It took a few attempts and a bit of thinking of how the 'lay' would look most natural, but eventually Piérre figured that he had finally made the little fort as convincing as he would be able to make it, providing even for a tiny sight slit that let light pass though and allowed a bit of sound as well.

From then, it was a matter of waiting. And Piérre was very bad at keeping track of time as a personal rule. That didn't mean that he wasn't thinking about what he would do if at all he managed to succeed in finding 'the moment' that presented itself to him.

He didn't know how long he waited, how long he hunkered, but eventually the sound of boots returned, and the tentflap was thrown aside as the boots came in and began to pace. There was a low sound of indiscernible muttering and then the steps came closer to Piérre's hiding place. "... finanze in pochi giorni, diretto a Mosjøen... probabilmente dovrà fermarsi lungo la strada da qualche parte. Dovrò controllare di nuovo il percorso. Dannazione. ... finances in a few days, heading to Mosjøen... probably going to have to stop along the way somewhere. I'll have to check the route again. Dammit." The cabinet opened and then closed with the light clinking and rearranging of glasses. The boots moved away and the glass sounds went to the table. "Devo uscire da questo vestito. I have got to get out of this outfit."

Sounds of shifting once more, the steps moving to the sequestered side of the tent, and the boy now realized that that elusive 'moment' that he had been dreaming of had finally revealed itself. Unideal? Yes. Most likely moment to act? Yes, pretty much.

Abandoning the pillow pile and mourning the loss of his work for less than a second, Piérre trotted to the winebottle on the tips of his toes. Quiet and as stealthy as he could manage, it was a blessing that the bottle that the ringmaster had chosen was already once popped--it made prying off the cork much easier with his bare fingers. In a matter of seconds, he had the cork off to the side and the two bottles of sleeping draught already being uncorked themselves. With a little haste--but not too much as to let any of the precious liquid drip to the side--the boy quickly drained them into the bottle and then corked it, swirling it once and then twice for good measure before replacing the empty phials into his bag and then scampering for a new and improvised hiding place--under the coffee table.

He had had a few seconds of leeway, thankfully, as the ringmaster returned and the shiny black boots were visible from the boy's place under the table. Curling his fingers lightly into the carpet, Piérre's jaw tightened as the cork was re-popped and then as its contents were drained into the glass. "La noia è la cosa più irritante. Boredom is the most irritating thing." Came the dark murmur again. There was a pause before a small huff of laugher followed up the initial thought. "Bene... questo, e inettitudine. Well... that, and ineptitude."

Piérre held his breath. Had he drank it yet? He felt his muscles wiring themselves in preparation to run, to sprint from underneath a trapping area and into the wild blue yonder at a second's notice. If he had, he hadn't noticed--he didn't know how he would know. His patience and his nerves were fraying--fraying far too quickly for comfort.

The glass was replaced on the table. There was silence.

The next words were laden with mild intrigue. "E parlando di inettitudine... And speaking of ineptitude..."

The boots shifted ever so slightly. Piérre shifted himself, his back foot hitting one of the legs of the table. A hand grabbed his ankle and then drug him out even as he yelped in shock and terror while his back drug on the ground and the carpet threatened to give him rugburn. Stunned for a second, he was just fast enough to flip onto his stomach and get his feet under him as he lunged to escape the grasp of the man who had found him, but as he jerked to enter his canter, a hard pressure clamped on his upper arm, misadjusting his trajectory and sending him into an awkward spin that brought him to his knees so that he was held in place under the surprisingly unyielding pressure.

"Bene bene bene... Guarda cosa ha trascinato il kneazle. Well well well... Would you look at what the kneazel dragged in."

Terrified green eyes locked onto the hand that had taken his upper arm and bicep with the strength of a vice. Clenching his teeth together and feeling his muscles wire themselves into an excited state, those eyes turned to the dark blue one, a rising knot of terror choking him up as bile rose into his mouth. "Lasciami andare. Let me go." He whispered tightly, feeling the words die even as he tried to speak them. Yanking his arm to no avail, his heart began to race faster. He glanced over to the glass. It was empty! "Lasciami! Let go!"

Gitano's fingers only curled in harder as his other hand unclipped the bullwhip, tightening further as Piérre's feet scrabbled for traction on the carpet. "Lasciarti andare? Perche 'dovrei farlo quando sei gia' perfettamente nelle mie mani? Un uccello in mano vale due nel cespuglio, come sai. Let you go? Now why would I do that when you're perfectly in my hand already? A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, as you know." The silken intonations only caused the boy's heart to beat faster in a rush of new terror. It was a lazy tone, a casual invocation though it was quite obvious--at least to the hopes of Piérre himself--that it was slightly slurred from the double dosage he had received from the Sleeping Draught. A dose that large should have taken out anyone in a matter of seconds as opposed to half of a minute. A dose that large should have finished the job that Piérre had needed it to fulfil. "Hai appena fatto un errore molto letale. You've just made a very lethal mistake."

Piérre jerked his arm again, and this time Gitano let go, causing Piérre to fly to the ground and immediately scrabble backwards until he bumped into one of the shelves. Looking up to behold the ringmaster haloed by the lights overhead that caused his hair to appear a crown of gold, Piérre wondered if the potion would take effect in time. He hoped that it would. It had to. It must...

The one-eyed man seemed to realize it too, as he too staggered back and blinked quickly. "Una doppia dose di sonnifero... Riconosco il retrogusto... A double dose of Sleeping Draught... I recognize the aftertaste... " Came the hiss from his lips before the eye flicked to Piérre's. "Hai sprecato due dosi su di me? Sono lusingato. You wasted two doses on me? I'm flattered." His lips curled into a snarl. "Peccato per te che mi sia esercitato a maneggiare le mie medicine. A pity for you that I've practiced handling my medicine." His posturing was like that of a watching wolf, observing the cornered boy as if waiting for the next move--the next dared act. Piérre was watching too, feeling his brows furrow as his jaw set harder. "Non avvicinarti. Don't come any closer." He warned, trying to somehow force his voice into a deep and shaky tone that mimicked Gitano's own. "Non riuscirai a farla franca con tutte queste persone in giro oggi. Sei troppo conosciuta. You won't get away with anything with all these people around today. You're too well known."

The bullwhip cracked, and the boy jumped with unconscious skittishness. A dark chuckle began to flutter through the air from the lips of the elder man, a curling of humor that carried no mirth. "No... hai ragione. Sono troppo conosciuto. Ma, detto questo, tu semplicemente non lo sei. No... you are right. I am too well known. But, that being said, you simply aren't." Piérre felt his heart sink. "E, ahimè, non prendo gentilmente i ladri. Soprattutto quando hanno tentato di farmi del male a casa mia. And alas, I don't take kindly to thieves. Especially when they attempted to do me harm in my own home."

The gears turned, and Piérre suddenly realized the soup he had introduced himself into through his actions--the lie that would easily cover for a missing persons report that would likely quickly die out when considering alleged motive.

For his age, the ringmaster moved far too quickly--in a span of a blink he bore down on the boy who only had that same amount of time allotted to him to defend or to rebuff. Fingers wrapped around the boy's throat just as Piérre's own wrapped around an enameled handle, flicking it open and turning it outwards towards the place of collision. He knew full well the momentum would be too much, and Gitano knew it to even as he attempted to contort his way out of the worst of the possible outcome. His reward was a silver blade sinking deep into the silver and blue-clad man's armpit, angled up and towards the shoulder's gap where the humoral head was.

Reflexively, Piérre released the handle as the ringmaster roared sharply, beginning to suck down air as the man too released his throat and staggered back a bit to assess the new and curious item that was sticking from him. The fabric about the shoulder there was beginning to darken. Looking about him with newfound determination inspired by the epinephrine that he had come to know and love so well, wild thoughts were beginning to formulate and rearrange themselves into pertinence and impertinence: the primary objective had just changed. It was no longer simply about getting this man's blood and then walking out, it was about being able to walk out at all. This had been, obviously, exactly what Piérre had been hoping to avoid.

Leaping to his feet as Gitano wrenched the knife out and incanted in a snarl the bandaging charm, the jester scampered to one side before doing something very stupid.

He went for the legs.

With a wild dive, the boy slammed the entirety of his body weight into Gitano's ankles, hooking one foot between and around Gitano's own and trying to yank the one spot as best as he could so as to topple or at least further distract. For his troubles, he nearly received a boxing over his ear, but dipped his head just in time to avoid the mad swing. "Stai fermo! Hold still!" Growled the ringmaster as Piérre quietly slipped his fingers into the loops of the bullwhip that was dragging on the ground before finding his feet and running for the opposite side of the room, but before he could take Gitano's other good arm with him, the man cracked the whip again and the rope burned through Piérre's palms as it hissed out of his grip.

With a yelp, the boy cradled newly his friction-burned hands to his chest for a moment, beholding only for a second the fact that torn skin and rope-burn were already present. Looking up again, Gitano was wobbling on his feet slightly but still standing, the black whip slithering across the floor like a serpent adhering the words of its master. Sucking air through his teeth, Piérre began to wonder how many more tricks he could pull out of his hat. How many more attempts could he make before one wrong slipup cost quite a bit more than the well-being of his hands?

Both of them were breathing heavily, admittedly for reason of their own troubles, but a low chuckle from Gitano broke up the terse silence. "Sei davvero un bastardo scivoloso, vero. You really are a slippery bastard, aren't you." The eye gleamed with a shallow look of interest. "E so per cosa sei qui. And I know what you're here for."

Piérre squeezed his hands together, ignoring the blisters voicing their complaints as he did so. "Oh?" He said innocently with a tiny smile starting to form to cover his insecurities as the corners of his eyes started to crease in suit. "Non so cosa intendi. Sono inciampato qui per un incidente totale, lo giuro. I'm not sure what you mean. I stumbled in here on total accident, I swear it." The chuckle turned into a bark. "Col cavolo che l'hai fatto. Like hell you did." Piérre's heart chilled again at the voice. "Ti ho visto strisciare per i giardini. E, per non parlare, I saw you creeping around the grounds. And, not to mention," The curl of the corner of his mouth flashed a distinctly and strangely pointed canine--like Piérre's own it was sharp enough to cut by appearance alone. "un uccellino mi ha detto che probabilmente avrei ricevuto un visitatore prima o poi. a little bird told me I would likely be getting a visitor sooner or later."

The boy wasn't listening, he was backing up again, trying to get the larger picture--trying to remember his non-magical resources. "E 'cosi'? Is that so?" He trailed off. Gitano was, despite initial strength, beginning to flag now. His metabolism could surely be strong, but it surely was not immune to overdose--no matter how poorly Piérre had brewed it. The jester drifted to one side, trying to negotiate his position in the corner, but Gitano reflexively returned the stance--and that was when Piérre made his hopeful last gambit, his hand plunging into his satchel and withdrawing a pack of cards bound only with crisscrossing ribbon. "Sono lusingato che tu abbia curato abbastanza per prepararti al mio arrivo. I'm flattered that you cared enough to prepare for my arrival." In a swift hand motion, the ribbon relinquished the Italian-designed backs and then bent into an arch with only his fingertips to hold the edges back. Directed towards the ringmaster, Piérre pressed the weak middle and the cards sprayed from his hands and through the air, scattering like 54 little birds and drawing the eye away from where he had once stood.

The whip cracked through the air, lashing the boy with a sharp and sudden sting that would leave markings of a bruise across his back, and while his additional run-by trip had failed to hook the ankles of the burlier man Piérre managed to duck towards the entrance of the tent, crouching and watching as red and white suits fluttered to the ground and Gitano turned slowly among them, lethargic and with a great deal less enthusiasm than the first and most dangerously fiery technique he had had initially.

In the wine glass, the four of clubs began to turn pink in the red residue that remained.

Panting quietly, Piérre watched the staggered ringmaster keenly, hoping that at last he had managed to waste enough time--had done enough to exhaust and weaken so that the magic could finally subdue the strength he could not overcome himself. So, when the man lunged one last time, there was a hitch of breath as he attempted to dive, only to fail as a hand grasped him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet and to the eye level of the man, the tips of his toes threatening to remove themselves from the ground with the force of the jerk. Nose to nose, Piérre could not see anything else other than the deep, cavernous blue eye that swirled with a dark and terrible current that threatened to swallow and drown any who dared to step foot within its depths. In that pupil, the boy saw his own face, the terrified expression of creased brows, of grit teeth, of a petrified expression that knew not what to contort itself into in response to the capture. "Lo sei... sto per fare un pisolino adesso. You're... going to be taking a small nap now." Despite himself, a twist of a self-satisfied grin began to form. "Notte-notte. Spero di non essere qui quando ti svegli. Nighty-night. Hope to not be here when you wake up."

The smell of a wine-stained breath incensed Piérre in response, winding about him like a sweet fog of foreboding mist as the smug smile immediately melted from his face. Intoxicating even with the smell of the sleeping draught's lavender, a scent that even from proximity caused Piérre's muscles to loosen with the power of the magical draft. "Ricorda le mie parole, ragazzo: un giorno prenderai la tua morte. Segnateli bene, perché quando lo farete, giuro che sarà per mano mia. Mark my words, boy: one day you will catch your death. Mark them well, for when you do, I swear that it will be by my hand." Came the growl that purred, silken like a choker that strangled even as it caressed. "E non sarà indolore, te lo assicuro. And it will not be a painless one, I assure you."

Piérre felt the grip weaken before the hand appeared to do so, feeling his collar slip away from the hand as the frightful Atlantean eye fogged over, rolling back with a few more rapid blinks before the ringmaster's balance gave away and with a single stagger step back he finally collapsed--crumpling against the divan. Head lolling, a terrible look of uneasy and surprisingly menacing anger was still painted across his features, even as the whip lay abandoned apart from his leather-gloved hand and the white bandage at his shoulder turned pale red. His chest still rose and fell, but slowly--a lock of his hair carried slightly by the intonations of inhale and exhale as it did so.

Standing still where he stood, hands still clutched to his chest despite the heartbeat that pounded through them, Piérre watched the unmoving body for a few moments longer before working up the courage to approach--as if it would suddenly leap to its feet and turn the tables on him yet again. Breathing heavily, Piérre lightly tapped the man's foot with his own. Watching it not encourage any further reaction from the rest of the body, the young thief was encouraged enough to go on with his plan. Shaken, terrified of the close call... but determined nonetheless.

He had to work quickly. Obviously his potionmaking was not as strong as he hoped it would be. It was likely the effects wouldn't last as long as he would want them to either.

Roll up the sleeve of the undamaged arm, tighten the rubber tourniquet about the bicep, massage the crease of the elbow lightly to stimulate the vein, prepare the needle, finalize the placement and stretch the vein...

The needle would slowly slip in, the plunger of the needle beginning to push outwards as dark crimson filled the interior. With careful fingers, he would pull the plunger further, grimacing lightly when it shifted and likely resulted in the rolling of the vein. "Oops..." His brow creased and he bit his lower lip as he realized the damage he had done. "Sorry..." Murmured the surprisingly genuine apology to the unconscious Gitano, undoing the tourniquet as he withdrew the needle slowly. Drawing the sleeve back over the injection site, he put pressure on it, manipulating the empty phial into his other hand along with the syringe.

In the minutes of attempting to clot the blood, Piérre couldn't help but look at Gitano's profile, his eyes creasing slightly with thought as he thought about interposing his own features with the ringmaster's. Was it possible? That the differences between them being present... but very possible. Very possible indeed.

Transferring the blood to the phial, Piérre began to feel antsy. Uncertain. How much time did he have left? Not enough time to collect his cards, that was for sure. Without magic, such endeavor was hopeless. No fifty-four card pick-up for him, not at this moment. He would have to say farewell to his beloved deck. He would have to find another.

Collecting the rest of his things, Piérre stuffed it back in his satchel before rushing to the tentflap and glancing back one more time. The scene was a mess now--cards scattered, wine spilled, papers scattered and objects strewn. His eyes flicked to the liquor cabinet, his mind turned once, and then he dashed over, collecting one of the bottles at random before turning and then scampering out as quickly as his feet could carry him--the bottle was tucked into his bag even as quickly as he had snatched it from its place, and now he was rushing through the carnival crowd even with his hair a mess, his back aching, and with small bruises forming where the man's hand had taken him during the scuffle. The last words rippled through the forefront of his mind, those terrifying last words.

'E non sarà indolore, te lo assicuro. And it will not be a painless one, I assure you.'

Shouts would follow him as he blundered here and there and bumped into people, offering hasty apologies in a language they likely didn't understand, but eventually he broke through and finally broke away--the sound of his satchel banging on his legs but supported by his hands to avoid shattering the precious cargo inside. Heart racing, legs madly pumping, Piérre so desperately wanted to take on his smaller and faster form--anything to get away from the place that draw him back in like a black hole consuming and distorting the light that came too close. It was a strange sensation, an eerie sensation--the feeling that it was drawing him back, as if it knew that he was supposed to stay behind and locked within its loving deathgrip like grasp.

Eyes scanning the skies, Piérre whispered under his breath. "Valya... Valya where are you...?"

A glimmer of white would be his reward for the swift search, and Piérre smiled broadly if frightenedly. Waving up with one hand, he continued to run until he reached the brush, ducking into it and then picking his way through it carefully even as branches grasped his clothes and hooked into the fabric of his jeans. He looked a bit bedraggled, but was--by initial external observations--perfectly alright.

Triumphantly, he called out into the meeting area. "Romeo!? Romeo, Valya! I got it, I'm back! Let's get out of here! Quick!"

Statistics: Stamina 565/700 | Strength 8 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Invisibility Cloak | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
Hypodermic Needle | Rubber Tourniquet Band | Small Phial || Bottle of Fina Perricone Wine

Reducio

Gitano Luca Vero
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Stamina ~ 850/1000 | Strength ~ 15 | Evasion ~ 16 | Wisdom ~ 16 | Accuracy ~ 18 | ArcPower ~ 15
Lovely Creature ~ Charmer ~ Components ~ Blindvision ~ Potion Master ~ Occlumency ~ Restricted Potions
Additional Adult: Poision Resistance ~ Legilimency ~ Restricted Charms ~ Cat's Grace

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Inventory:
Medical Notebook, True Love's Locket, Oakshaft 79 [+4 Stamina & Evasion]