Lesser, Greater, Middling

[Bears]

"She drove him mad, entirely mad, and there was nothing he could do about it but feel himself fall for it, time and time again."​

 

[Nav]

There were many things in life Wolfgang was ill prepared for. Parties, for example, always left him feeling a little awkward and out of place. Pools, as he couldn't swim very well, were another. But that video, that thirty second clip, stole from him any sense of normality. His sigh was of a soft deflating; as if a tension had lifted, yet left him with melancholy instead of relief. Frozen to his chair, his hands slid away from the desk and fell into his lap as his mind took on all the power of a careening train. The same questions of Who? What? Why? Rolled through his thoughts over and over, threatening to steal any sense of rationality away from him, because the fact of the matter was there was no rationalizing what they'd seen.

He could only woefully regret that Franchesca had been there with him to witness it, herself.

Anxiously, his fingers tangled together, only to unravel and to tangle again, like he couldn't quite decide what to do with him. His life had been one long string of stressful situation, but that moment… he wasn't even sure how to proceed. He wanted to be told what to do. He wanted someone of sounder mind, someone smarter to look over his shoulder and instruct him. Tell him. Unfortunately, when Franchesca asked him the exact same question he'd been pondering, he knew there was no one else… he was meant to be that guiding light, that ever-flowing spring, that solid rock, that voice of reason.

"We must call the police," he said. "We'll call the police and hope they'll be able to do something about it, to find him." Before it's too late, he thought, but didn't include the sentiment. Normally, Wolfgang had a bit of wisdom to offer, but he was left as speechless as he was thoughtless. His voice lacked its usual smooth baritone, and was replaced with something tense and scratchy, as though he suffered a terrible sore throat and speaking hurt too much to do any louder than a whisper.

They must have been too late. Through the slats in the room's singular window flooded a stream of alternating red and blue light, followed by the shrill cry of sirens. Cars, black and white, bounced up the cobblestone drive towards the schoolyard. How many had received the email? How many had seen?

"It seems someone else beat us to it. Come, we'll go talk to them." Wolfgang grabbed his keys off the table and placed a hand, cautiously, on the space between Franchesca's shoulder blades for a fleeting second to nudge her towards the door.

"I just hope poor Thom hasn't bared witness to this."
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[Bears]

If the sound and lights of the police arriving hadn't made it clear already, it soon became apparent that no one was spared from the horror as Franchesca and Wolfgang made their way back towards the commons. Fear spread throughout Lorenzo De Medici like a wildfire and every corner they turned more and more students could be seen coping with their emotions. Some cried, some paced... some look downright terrified like Franchesca.

She hadn't paid it much thought... not even when the warmth of his touch contrasted against her cold sweat, but Franchesca couldn't help but linger too close to Wolfgang as they maneuvered through the hallways. She was in shock and for some inexplicable reason his presence alone was enough to steady her, at least for the time being,

Soon enough they were out in the commons but things were far from better. Whatever students, faculty and staff were unlucky enough to have been on grounds seemed to have been contacted--they flooded out of buildings in flocks, disturbed much like Franchesca and Wolfgang. Carlo Mancini stood among a crowd of police officers and was quick to rush over at the sight of the professor.

"Do you have any idea what the hell is happening?" He asked with a thick Italian accent, his eyes wide with rage and confusion alike. Whatever Wolfgang might have said to try and explain was cut off as far off in the distance another individual made it apparent he was furious. Franchesca spun around and saw him.

Thom. He was in a flurrying rage, cursing everyone for not doing something sooner. He cursed everyone for not paying attention, for not listening to him when he said that Rafael was out there and in trouble... and suddenly, just as abrupt as his outbreak, Franchesca watched him break down into tears. She watched a man crumble in a matter of seconds, reduced to a sobbing mess against the cobblestone floor.

Everyone around seemed to afraid to approach him.

Suddenly she didn't care about talking to the police or Carlo Mancini trying to get an answer from Wolfgang. Franchesca tugged at the professor, muttering his name before running over to the American's side. She dropped to her knees immediately, her arms wrapping against the length of his shoulders. His sobs grew only louder as she helped place his head on her shoulder.

"I fucking told everyone... I-I.. fucking..."​

 

[Nav]

Wolfgang made no shortage in his long stride to reach outside, but no matter how quick they scurried through the building halls to reach outside, they were not quick enough. Panic rose through the crowds quick and loud, sparring none. It was like the rally all over again, but in place of content, happy faces were looks of horror, terror, and fear. Even confusion, in some. Those who had not seen the video heard of it, as the name Rafa fell out of the lips of all the students. Police officers tried to quell the crowds to some extent, but to little end. The student body would not be contended.

Wolfgang's lips curled back ever-so slightly when Carlo fled to him, his expression mirroring that of the students around him: confused and afraid, with a dash of rage mixed in. Wolfgang switched swiftly to Italian, speaking quickly and quietly to the Dean in hopes to save any ears who'd not already heard what was ongoing. All students spoke English, and select few Italian. Officers, too, filtered over, notebooks in hand, scribbling and scratching notes.

In the middle of his explanation, a terrible cry distracted him and sent his gaze following its source. Thom. At the sight, his heart quickened and felt a slice of pain ribbon through him. A glimpse of Franchesca approaching him, and another encouraging snap from Carlo sent his attention back to the Dean.

"These children need councilors," Wolfgang spat, returning to English. "They need therapy for what they're enduring." He waved his hand to motion towards the masses.

Wolfgang shook his head and glanced back to the wave of students. "Let me help get them back into the dormitories. The police must wish to speak with Thomas."
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[Bears]

Franchesca and Thom hadn't spoken more than three sentences to each other and yet there they were in the commons with the former reduced to a sobbing mess in her arms. She was surprised frankly, that she hadn't begun to cry herself. Instead the young woman just held him, only taking her eyes off of him to watch the surrounding events unfold.

The staff on hand bolstered by policemen slowly began to clear out the fields of Lorezno De Medici. Students were ushered back to their dorms and encouraged to head home for the evening to Vernazza. All the while Franchesca and Thomas didn't move, they remained there at the center of the commons for what felt like hours... until finally it became apparent that the police could not wait for answers any longer.

A taller man, a detective with wide broad shoulders shadowed over the both of them. He smelled of cigarettes and black coffee as he extended a hand to her. At first Franchesca thought the older man was offering a handshake but soon realized he was forcing her up as she was hoisted onto her feet. The lack of her support caused Thomas to fall but it didn't seem to bother him--having cried and shouted to the point of exhaustion.

"We need to speak with him." Was the only explanation the large Italian man gave and Franchesca, as soon as she was able, snapped her hands from his with little attempt to hide the following glare. She was fast to shake her head.

"Are you serious? Look at him! He's in no condition to talk with anyone right now, much less the police." Franchesca said angrily, furrowed brows shading eyes up to the brim with concern. The officer shot a scowl in her direction and with just a wave of his hand--disregarded her words. The young artist crossed her arms in response, her face narrowing as she spoke quieter out of respect for the man lying on the ground before them. "He along with everybody else in this damn school just saw his best friend being tormented on video."

"What everybody in the school just saw is now a police investigation." The officer replied with a thick Italian accent. Franchesca's eyes glanced down to at his badge. He was a detective. A Detective Marinelli "According to the reports this man was the last person who we know was with Rafael, he comes with us... now step aside or I'll book you for interfering too."

Franchesca had been arrested once before back in Seattle at a peace protest. She wasn't afraid then and she refused to be afraid now. She took a step in between Marinelli and Thomas, her gaze as defiant as a it was intense. "He'll talk when he's ready."

The detective was not amused, his face contorting into disbelief and eventually anger. He leaned in closer, dangerously close in a bid to intimidate her. Franchesca leaned back in response but her face remained adamant.

"Do I need to call in your principal girl? This isn't a game, this is a damned murder investigation. Step. Aside."​

 

[Nav]

It took nearly twenty minutes to encouorage students back to their dormitories, their homes, or where ever it was they needed to be, but the professors corralled the vast majority of them up and sent them off. Though he knew none of them would likely sleep that night, at least they were safe in locked buildings—and advised to lock their room doors, as well. Many of the professors, too, went to see themselves off to their own homes, but Wolfgang lingered behind, looking through the last mingling in the crowd for someone in particular.

He individual he sought was not hard to find, and he felt he should have been less surprised to see her nose to nose with a detective. Maybe it wasn't his place to intervene, but Wolfgang had never been very good at stopping himself from sticking his own nose into other people's business.

"Detective Marinelli," Wolfgang said as he crossed the grass lawn with a long, purposeful stride. The two must have been acquainted at some point, for when the detective swiveled his thick head, straining his even thicker neck, to look at the man approaching, a softening of recognition twinkled in his eye.

"Ah, Wolfie!" the man cried, slapping a hand across the professor's back a few times, patting it in greeting.

For one, the slapping was a greeting of old friends… but Wolfgang's eyes rolled closed at the touch and his face turned strained, like a child who was determined not to weep. It wasn't until the detective's hand was entirely removed from his shoulder did Wolfgang relax back into his neutral expression.

Upon arrival, Wolfgang had realized his earlier mistake. The police certainly did want to talk to Thomas, as he expected, but the boy was in no state to do any talking. "I don't think you'll get any useful information out of that student tonight," Wolfgang continued once he'd shaken himself off. "Let me help. I will ensure he's at the police station tomorrow, anytime of your choosing, but let him go home tonight and rest. It'll be more productive for you that way. If you believe you're to get anything useful out of him this evening still…"

Wolfgang trailed off, his eyes turning to Thomas who had yet to even pick himself up off the grass. Professor and detective looked to Thomas with varied expressions.

"Ten AM tomorrow," the detective said after a beat. "Police station in town."

"I'll make sure he's there, personally."

The detective whispered something in Italian that sounded like it treaded the line between a threat and a parting of friends, before turning off and returning to his circle of officers gathered about their squads.
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[Bears]

Franchesca did little as the professor came to their aid, choosing to remain silent as an odd sort of reunion took place before her. In reality she was a little afraid, afraid that if she were to let up even the slightest the detective would take Thomas despite their best efforts... so her face remained determined all throughout the interaction, even if the nickname he called the professor was enough to cause a quirked brow.

She had taken note of course, of Wolfie's expression when the detective reached to touch him, but now was hardly the time to pry. When Marinelli turned to leave, Franchesca turned to Wolfgang and gave him a silent 'thank you' with her lips. She bent down afterwards, placing a hand gingerly on the American's back.

"Thom? We should get going... where do you live?" She paused, taking another glance back at the professor who stood above the both of them. She looked back at him, smiling ever so slightly as he began to stir. "We'll take you home. C'mon."

No one said anything as the young man forced himself to a stand, his legs anything but steady beneath them. Thom sniffled and shot the both of them a weary glance. His expression would've been rather hard had his entire face not been softened by the swell of his eyes and the redness of his nose. For a moment he seemed to consider telling the both of them off, but with a long sigh he submitted.

"I... the last place I want to be right now is my mom's place." Thom admitted reluctantly, perhaps embarrassed now that the front of his emotions had passed. Franchesca frowned but she was relentless and gave the young man just as much option as she had given Wolfgang when she volunteered his time along with hers.

"My godmother runs an inn. The Tregua--you can stay there for tonight. Seriously, I'm not asking." Franchesca explained bluntly. Thom's expression grew harder out of suspicion, and he turned to the professor standing beside them. He had had a few classes with Wolfgang Reiter over the years but the young man was never the type to really get to know his mentors.

"Why all the generosity? Because now that some sick freak sent a video to the university everybody knows that I was right?" Thom's words came out harsh. He was angry. Angry that his words had fallen on deaf ears for so long. "I... I don't need charity. What I need is for someone to find Rafael while he's still out there kicking."

His glare bore through the both of them and landed directly on the gather of cops. "Those pigs aren't going to do any of that, that's for sure. They'd rather just pin it on the closest drug addict and call it a day."

Franchesca's frown deepened and once again her eyes turned to Wolfgang, hoping that somehow he'd convince Thom to just calm down for the night​

 

[Nav]

If there was one thing Wolfgang Reiter knew to be true of Thomas, it was that he wasn't going to accept any sort of help readily. He and Rafa both. They'd been handfuls when they took both semesters of his intro to composition class—sitting in the back, poking at each other, laughing and making jokes in the back of the class. Even when Wolfgang had reached his wits end and separated the two boys to opposites sides of the room, they found ways to communicate obnoxiously. When group projects were being done, the two boys always stuck together like adhesive, never accepting help from any other team member forced to join them, usually unwillingly.

They cared only about each other, it seemed, fended for one another, and no one else. Seeing Thom's reaction to the ordeal did not surprise him.

Thom's gaze seemed to implicate he wanted nothing to do with Wolfgang's presence, and that would have been fine by him had he not been further associated in the situation by Ches's comment of "we'll take you home." Thom was neither Ches's problem nor concern, but she'd taken it upon herself to try and be there for the boy, even though he didn't seem to want it, and Wolfgang couldn't up and abandon them both. It seemed plenty of professors and campus faculty had already done that, seeing as all the professors had retired to their homes. Only the Dean remained, though he was talking with police.

"Thomas," Wolfgang said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps you are correct and those officers will do nothing to help, but you will, will you not? There is video evidence that your friend is still alive and he needs you now more than he ever has before. You want to help him? You need to accept some help for once."

His tone was not hostile, but it was firm. Wolfgang slid his hands into his pockets and stood with his eyes following Thom. It was a gesture he'd learned to perform in order to placate students who displayed high emotions on failing exams, or classes.

"Regardless of whether or not you're accepting charity, you need it, because I strongly believe if anyone has a chance at finding Rafa, it is you, but you can't do it like this. You have a friend there who is offering you somewhere to stay without any gain for herself, and I'd suggest you consider taking her up on the offer."
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[Bears]

It would seem that Franchesca was not done with thanking Wolfgang tonight as his words looked to have rung true after quite the lengthy pause. Thomas was determined to rebel at first but his face softened even further than before at the professor's words, and for a moment he looked almost like an innocent child and not a young man coping with an inane amount of problems. The American swallowed with uncertainty in his eyes before turning back to Franchesca--who was just trying her best not to seem patronizing.

"Alright... fine. But if either of you expect me to try and talk through my feelings on the walk over you can fuck off." Thomas began, trying his best to take up his usual can't-hurt-me persona despite everything they had just see him go do. A falter in the form of a poignant frown stopped him in his tracks and suddenly he shook his head tiredly. He just wanted to sleep and forget about everything for awhile. Thomas sighed and looked at the both of them. "...Thank you."

Without warning the man lurched forward and began the walk towards the university's gate, clearly uncomfortable with how vulnerable of a time they had caught him. For a moment Franchesca wondered if this was how it felt like to deal with her all the time--unapologetic comments and storming off seemed to be inclinations they both shared after all.

The professor was right in Franchesca wanting to help him but knew it wouldn't hurt to give him some space in the form of a head start. So instead of following immediately after Thom, Franchesca turned back around to Wolfgang with a sheepish smile. Today had been an absolute whirlwind of emotions but she was just thankful that despite their first meeting, he had been there to help her along.

"I'm sorry I know I just promised some of your time away without asking but.." Fearing she'd sound repetitive, Franchesca didn't thank him again outright--instead she just drifted off with a glance in Thom's direction. With Wolfgang at her side she began to walk after him. "What a hell of a second day it's been..."​

 

[Nav]

If Wolfgang was a jesting man, he might have asked Thom if he 'looked the type of person who enjoyed walking others through their feelings.' Alas, a sense of professorial obligation overcame him and, while he hated to admit it, concern over their welfare of walking alone, at night, through a town with some ongoing violence. Whether the attack on Rafa had been a random selection or targeted was still in question and without knowing whether or not the attacker was done taking victims, he couldn't leave the two students to defend themselves.

Hands still in his pockets, he walked alongside Franchesca with a wary eye set ahead on Thom and not letting him get too far ahead of their pace.

"No need to apologise," Wolfgang clarified. He appreciated the apology, however, and made it clear in a very small, barely noticeable, half-smile. "It's late, it's dark. At this point, it's a question of how safe it is to walk at night alone. Plus, it can't be far, and I don't live on campus, so, I'd be walking that general direction anyways."

With the campus near the point of the Cliffside, there was only one direction the rest of town could go. The city grew on a jutting point of rock, which controlled the direction of its growth. University or not, the city stayed small with only nine or ten thousand people living there full-time. Some lived only seasonally, and the city's limits were tested in summer, when it became a destination for foreign tourists to visit and enjoy.

Despite all that happened, it was amazing how peaceful everything felt. After the last sunrays of the day kissed the heathland, when the greens and purples melted into grey under the moonlight, that was when the streets emptied and the rabbits came out to forage and play. They moved slowly, lolloping through gardens in their ungainly way, grazing as they went. Whenever the trio passed one, they'd read up on their hind legs, black eyes staring in all directions.

Houses illuminated with warm, yellow lights, and the air smelled like a hundred cooking suppers—all delicious, and all reminding Wolfgang he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morn.

"Where is this little Inn, anyways?"
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[Bears]

It was hard knowing that in a place so beautiful so much evil could still take root. Franchesca had resigned to a comfortable, if not reflective, silence during the walk back down to town. She walked despite the bicycle she was bringing along the least Franchesca could do after taking the professor's times (even though he had fair enough reason to walk with them himself) was keep him a little company.

Her eyes had been on the glow of the city before they turned to Wolfgang. "I've become content just describing the area as the outer ring of the town lately, I still need some time to figure where exactly is what in Vernazza." Franchesca laughed softly, glad to think of something else aside from the video... even if it was a something as regular as where she lived. "It's a stone building, wooden french doors. A little expensive if I'm being completely honest but I'm pretty sure I can convince my aunt to have mercy on our friend over there."

Franchesca looked back forward at the man who remained at a rather decent distance before them. When they were in the small town bustle of Vernazza itself she'd have to pull him back and lead the way so Franchesca wasted no time moving onto a topic she could only speak of now while her and the professor were alone.

"The detective back there had quite the nickname for you. I never penned you down as the type to do nicknames." Franchesca smiled lightly, looking over at him with just her eyes in order to gauge his reaction. She seemed to stifle a laugh before continuing. "Especially one as... cutesy as Wolfie."

The young woman looked over at him fully, the beautiful assortment of colors in the sky coloring her expression rather warm despite tonight's events. Franchesca's smile evened out. "Care to elaborate on that one?"​

 

[Nav]

He'd love Italy since he took his first Italian language class in secondary school. The moment his mouth wrapped around the beautiful words, he'd been enamored, and promised himself he'd go there, live there, someday. And, he had, though under different circumstances than he imagined he would. He never expected to be a professor, for one. Then again, he never expected to be an artist with any shred of fame, either. In school, he'd done poorly in the sciences and math. He hadn't been allowed to apply to university in Austria, and was expected to live his life out as a laborer. A low-income, nine to five warehouse employee.

Funny how so many things changed, and how he was now able to stare out over cobblestone bathed in a silver veil of moonlight. It would have been even more idyllic had his time in Italy not been plagued with one trouble after another.

"Yes, Vernazza is very lovely, especially in Spring. It's my favourite time of year here, when the trees blossom and the sea turns bluer than it is any other time of year." Vernazza was beautiful all times of year, he had to admit. On rare occasions of snow, it turned into an ethereal image, and in summer, when the grass was green and rich, it was alive with flowers and blooms. As they talked, and he thought, Wolfgang kept an eye on Thom, ensuring he didn't stumble too far ahead and out of sight.

The sound of Wolfie caused his head to tilt slightly. His gaze peeled away from Thom and landed on Franchesca. "I ought to have known you were going to bring that up," he mentioned. "Mmm. The detective started calling me Wolfie last semester. The police were investigating a string of minor robberies throughout town. At first, they thought they might have a connection to one of the students and they were doing interviews. That is how he and I were first introduced. As for why he decided to call me Wolfie, I'm unsure. Wolfgang was too long for him, I suppose, and Professor Reiter too formal. Plenty of people in my past have done so."

Wolfgang was too cumbersome to pronounce, he supposed. Wolfie was easier—and it disarmed him to an extent.

"What does that mean?" he asked. "Cutesy? Is it a slang?"

His English was excellent and, had it not been for his accent, it would have been easy to forget he wasn't native to the tongue. Still, every so often, he'd encounter a word he never heard before. He still didn't understand what 'gag me with a spoon' meant.
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[Bears]

Franchesca liked the name Wolfie for the professor, in a way it softened the man... it made him seem more than the idea of his reputation. It made him seem more than the famous artist that he was, more than just the idea that drew her to Lorezno De Medici in the first place.

In a way it made him more human, she supposed. Still, she had to remind herself that he was her mentor and it'd be disrespectful to refer to him as otherwise... but then again--she did promise herself no hesitation when it came to matters involving him.

Franchesca laughed softly, shaking her head at his question. At first it didn't settle in that he had been completely genuine when asking but once the look of confusion remained she found herself scrambling to find the definition to a word that had never really needed defining for her. "Oh sorry, you know us Americans... assuming everybody just understands what we are saying."

Franchesca paused for a moment in thought before, with a shrug, she answered. "It's not slang. It just means cute... like when you see a kitten or a toddler. Honestly now that you have me thinking about it, it is an awfully weird word."

She was rambling a bit but like she had plenty of times leading to that moment Franchesca, without warning, threw a curve ball. The young woman glanced back at him, amusement playing lightly in her tone. "Do you mind if I call you Wolfie or should I just stick to Professor Wolfgang?"​

 

[Nav]

"So, cutesy just means cute?" he asked, though it was more meant as a rhetorical question. He couldn't help but shake his head at how confusing English could be. He'd mastered the language, or so he believed, but then came the small nuances of actually speaking it… and everything he learned fell apart. Austrian German had been easy, though that was his native tongue, then came Italian, which was similar enough in simplicity that it was not difficult. Last came English, which proved most challenging. Idioms, slang… it could be overwhelming.

All of this pondering nearly had him missing Franchesca's question, though once it registered, he looked to her with raised eyebrows in a subtle shift of expression on his face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Not ever had a student asked to call him by anything other than Professor Wolfgang or Mr Reiter, and he didn't have a prepared answer to the question at hand. He preferred his life to be scripted—to know exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it before it was spoken, because that way, he could be learnt and not scrambling for words.

Unlike he was now, which was scrambling.

"You may call me Wolfie," he said after a moment's pause. After agreeing, he decided it was probably a bad idea to allow her such informality—her, a student, and a freshman student at that—but he couldn't take it back once he'd agreed.

It made him uneasy to think how easy conversation had become with Franchesca, though they'd only known each other for two days. There was something oddly reminiscent about her, a feeling like he'd known her for a long time—a past life, perhaps. It was a dangerous line he knew he was treading, to become friends with students, but he dismissed the thoughts entirely, because he knew he was getting ahead of himself. Unlike Professor Poppins, he hadn't the same connections to go about doing whatever pleased him to do.
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[Bears]

"And you may call me Franchesca. It's nice to meet you properly." She quipped and with a smile seemed to be content with letting the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below fill up the air as white noise.

Perhaps she was pushing it. Okay, Franchesca was definitely pushing it... but she took comfort in the fact that it was only because that was the kind of person she was. It wasn't the feeling that she couldn't quite put to words that was unique to interactions with him... right?

Regardless, the quiet bustle of a small town grew and Franchesca motioned for the professor--for Wolfie--to pick up his pace. She gave little warning before hopping onto the seat of her bicycle in one fluid motion. Comfortably she sped forward, catching up to a somber Thom and successfully convincing him to slow down so she could lead the way minutes later.

Franchesca led them down the familiar path to The Tregua. As she had described earlier, the small little coastal inn sat along the cliff line of the city with its stoney exterior facing out towards the ocean. It was a modest little place to rest, with only a small sign hanging above its worn wooden doors to tell that it was an inn and not a family home. Warm light poured out from the windows, vibrantly green plants in clay pots laid strewn about the front door and the smell of the sea mixed with that of baked bread. There was a buzz of activity from the inside as the first floor also served as a rustic little pub.

Franchesca was the first to step inside and was immediately greeted by a warm, bubbly woman just barely five feet tall. It was apparent from her worn clothes and dusty apron that she was a maid but the young artist treated her with the affection of a family member--kissing her on the cheek right before she spoke.

"Dov'è mia zia, Amelia?" She asked politely, the maid lighting up in response. The exchange of Italian was quick but the beckoning of a customer deeper into the pub called for Amelia's immediate attention. Franchesca turned to both boys and motioned for them to follow her upstairs when suddenly the explosive and eccentric voice of socialite extraordinaire Isabelle Rossi filled the air.

She called out to Franchesca with even great affection than Amelia--the roaring fifty nine year old rushing down the stairs in high heels and a red hot feather boa in order to take her niece into an embrace. Franchesca found herself drowned out in the presence of her godmother. Isabelle turned to Thom and Wolfgang, offering her cheek in greeting as usual of an Italian woman. Thom stood confused for a moment, but quickly caught on.

"Oh my goodness, Franchesca Aria Rossi you should have warned your poor aunt that we were having visitors! You two come from the university, yes? Of course you are, Chesca here is absolutely enamored by that school even if she doesn't like to let it on." It was apparent from the start that Isabelle Rossi had one setting and it was go. Before anyone could protest she was ushering them over to the private dining room where dinner would be reserved for just the three of them.

Franchesca barely had time to throw a pleading look Wolfgang's way before everyone was sat down a wooden table beautifully decorated like the front door outside, with rustic accents and vibrant green plants taking center stage. Isabelle sat at the head of the table, crossing her legs as she indulged in a single cigarette. Out of courtesy the older woman offered a smoke to everyone at the table and Thom was the only one who accepted.

Amelia rushed around between the dining room and the kitchen--bringing out first glasses of water and later the antipasto--jarred roasted red and yellow peppers, garlic hummus and pita bread.

"My professor can't stay for long, zia. He was just making sure that my friend here and I made it back safe." Franchesca began to explain, pausing in order to consider her wording. "There was a commotion at school and everybody is a little on edge."

Isabelle of course only took what she wanted to hear and ran with it--turning to Wolfgang and smiling. "If not for that white hair of yours I'd think you too young to be teaching my little Chesca here... how is she doing? I know it hasn't been long since classes started but she was just so worried leading up to orientation about meeting this one man... he had something to do with wolves or something--I can't recall exactly..."

Thom snorted from across the table and Franchesca wanted to die.

"Please! Do tell me your name and try the hummus, its our specialty here at the Tregua well... that and friendly conversation of course!"​

 

[Nav]

Wolfgang might have left them at the stoop once they arrived, had his love for Parisian architecture not driven him to follow Franchesca inside when she gave him a coaxing wave to follow. Inside, the stone work was beautiful and made homely by the warm glow of orange lights and the aromatics of hops and cooking foods. Again, his stomach churned as a painful reminder of just how hungry he'd become in the passing hours. Glancing about, he admired the homely space, and was on the verge of saying his good nights and good byes, when he was cut off before he even started.

Persuaded up the stairs, Wolfgang followed, cursing his intuitive politeness and finding it rude to decline. Unfortunately, what met them before they even reached the staircase was a wild-willed woman who was overwhelming to every sense Wolfgang possessed. A boa in her hand and a mad grin on her face, the woman was a whirlwind of energy. The pleading look from Franchesca was caught and mirrored with one of his own, for Wolfgang looked like he was drowning in the woman's flamboyancy.
He declined her offer for a cigarette. "It is lovely to meet you," he said, but if she heard him, she didn't act on it. He cursed inwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the next and glancing back towards the door.

Not only was it a terrible idea for him to be in the living space of one of his students, but it was also an incredibly overwhelming scene for him. There were too many people, too much noise, and too much unknown. It felt pitifully all out of his control, and he never cared for situations like that much.

"Ah, yes," Wolfgang smiled, though it was a hollowed effort reserved for when he was forced to talk with parents and guardians. "She is a lovely, and very talented student." The smile turned to a genuine smirk at the aunt's lingering comments… wolves, Wolfie… close enough, he supposed. Franchesca certainly had made a lasting impression on him, despite her worries.

"Well, it's been lovely to meet you, I should probably go before I interrupt any longer than I have. You have a beautiful Inn, by the by." He was just looking for an escape route.
​

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[Bears]

Franchesca nearly jumped the moment the word go left her professor's lips. 'I'll make sure he finds the way out alright' was what she had said as she tried to stand. The young woman was fully aware that it made no sense considering the front door was just one room away but she was looking for a way out just as much as he was. Isabelle stopped the both of them however with the wave of a hand.

"Oh heavens but we haven't even served the main course!" It was almost like pleading to a brick wall. Her eyes flashed towards the professor, and she clasped her hands together as she began to plead with an exaggerated amount of drama. "Please stay until at least dessert, I promise you won't regret it. Please you must eat! You are so skinny."

In reality, Isabelle Rossi was perhaps the skinniest person at the table... an unfortunate product of her declining health but she made up for what she lacked in health with spirit. She gestured towards the younger man at the table, laughing loudly as he looked up from the pile of appetizers he had on his plate in response. "Your new american friend here Franchesca--now he has the right idea!"

Thomas seemed content to not speak and just leave the spotlight on the two other artists in the room, though for the first time that night he cracked a smile at seeing the both of them uncomfortable as they were. The smile grew into a laugh as Franchesca took a moment to shoot him her middle finger when her aunt could not notice.

Franchesca waited until her aunt began to call out for Amelia to bring the next course before she swung her boot underneath the table, kicking the professor in the shin in order to get his attention. Once he turned to her she nodded to the door and mouth the words 'get out'. It wasn't particularly helpful but the young woman was frustrated and worried that something else might slip out of her her aunt's mouth.

But almost as if Isabelle had read her mind the old socialite turned back to the table and laughed loudly before gesturing the two men to speak up. "Oh c'mon the three of you are so quiet! Why don't one of you ask me a question about Franchesca? God knows I love her--probably too much but that's not such a bad thing if you think about it..."​

 

[Nav]

Horror. That was the only word to describe the feelings Wolfgang was enduring: pure, unadulterated horror. Two parts of him were at war with one another. On one hand, the part of him that had been raised a polite, well-mannered schoolboy conflicted with the other part, the anti-social, quiet, aloof gentleman. Desperately, he wanted to escape. Desperately, he needed to appease Franchesca's aunt when she pleaded him to stay until—at least—dessert. His stomach hit the floor with such force, he was surprised it didn't make an audible 'thud.'

"I can't say no to such kindness," he muttered out between gritted teeth, straight and white, trying to make any sort of smile, though it looked more like a snarl than anything. He did what he could to soften to look in his eye, but all that was there was panic. It was as if he'd just been thrown into a room filled with vipers, and there was no exit. His heart, too, pounded in his chest and his palms went slick. With students, he was at least the professors… the eldest, the one to be respected. At the Inn, he was at the whims and discretions of someone's aunt. The lack of control was maddening.

He sat, as stiff as a corpse at the starting stages of rigor mortis, though he didn't take any appetizers. Any hunger he felt was quickly quelled with panic.

A sharp pain to his shin caused him to snap his eyes to Franchesca, narrowing his gaze steadily in a mildly threatening manner. What was she, his sister? His elder sister used to wail on him at the dinner table all the time when their mother wasn't looking, and if Franchesca believed Wolfgang was going to let that slide, she hadn't learned a damn thing about him. He wasn't often vindictive. After she made her commentary about his artistic decline, he didn't take any opportunity to snap back at her, or try and make her feel bad about her own work, no.

This, however, was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and Isabelle provided the perfect excuse for him to get back at Franchesca—just a little bit.

"A question about Franchesca? Well, if you insist," Wolfgang said, clearing his throat. "Do you have any earliest drawings, back from when she was a child? I find it fascinating how artists often evolve from childhood work."

He smiled when he asked his question, sliding his chin elegantly against the back of his hand as he glanced back across the table to Franchesca with the honest, broadest smirk he'd smiled since she started on campus. It wasn't a deep, malicious strike, but if Franchesca was anything like himself—and he believed, in this regard, she was—sharing early works was an embarrassing endeavor.
​

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[Bears]

This was decidedly not okay. Franchesca had met his wide smirk with an unapologetic glare, a glare that had long continued after Isabelle Rossi, excited by the prospect of showing off her dearest goddaughter's work, waved Amelia over from the kitchen and back into the dining room. The instruction that followed was in rapid Italian. The master bedroom upstairs. The left drawer. A folder. Franchesca knew the exact one.

As Amelia disappeared into the next room another server came in with the evening's main course, it came in the form of a Sicilian-styled swordfish grilled and flavored by just a splash of lemon. It smelled absolutely wonderful but Franchesca made no move to eat, indeed it seemed Thomas was content to eat enough for the both of them.

Meanwhile Isabelle Rossi droned on and on about all sorts of embarrassing information as they waited for Amelia.

"Franchesca was such the sweetest little girl, none of that sarcasm or attitude she has now. God, she would spend all night just playing out these scenarios in her head. Some days she was a goddess others she was a dancer. She was so all over the place nobody knew what she wanted to be when she grew up!" Isabelle had said in between long puffs of her cigarette, the older woman's laugh as infectious as it was loud. At some points the goddaughter herself found that she couldn't help but smile. "And then we bought her her first paint set and it was just immediate. We were like--that's what it is. That's what she was going to be."

Amelia arrived shortly after, smiling sweetly as she presented the folder to the professor. Suddenly Franchesca's smile wavered and she watched with great horror for the second time that day Wolfgang looked at a collection of her artwork. The first image had to be explained that it was indeed a dog (while in reality it didn't even resemble any known animal), but it became apparent with each embarrassing shot that she had improved rapidly over time.

At one point an eleven year old Franchesca's rather generous interpretation of the naked body came up. Even Thomas had gotten up to look at that one. It was nothing short of mortifying but at the very least, eleven year old Franchesca's proportions were lightening up everyone's mood. It was needed and apart of her knew that so she didn't make a big fuss.

But it was the last photo that stuck out the most and Franchesca had nearly stood up when she realized it was coming up. She didn't want him to see it but it was too late... as Wolfgang got to the end of the folder he was treated to one of her earliest attempts at an oil painting. It was hard to recognize at first with how unskilled she had been at the time but it would become apparent that it was an imitation of one of his works.​

 

[Nav]

Wolfgang listened politely, his eyes lingering on the slender, older woman as she spoke with such enthusiasm and warmth, that Wolfgang nearly regretted asking any question about Franchesca at all. Not because the information wasn't amusing in its own right, but there was so much love and admiration for her niece in her voice when she spoke, he felt a worming sense of his own isolation piercing right through his heart. The weight of which was immense. His smirk softened into a sad smile, and then back into his standard neutral air.

He was thankful for the distraction when the maid returned with a manila folder, chalk full of childhood scribbles and drawings. A part of him wondered if there was a folder—just like the one in his hands—of his own work somewhere out in the world. He imagined there was, though he'd never be able to guess as to where. He flipped through them. The old paper crinkly and rustling as his fingers turned them over, one by one. Thom's breath crept down the back of his neck as the young man stood poised over his shoulder, looking at the work. His breath smelt strongly of lemon, and Wolfgang's hunger returned, though he'd hardly taken but two bites from his own plate.

Thom seemed happy. Or, happier, at least, and it seemed everyone at the table knew he needed those moments. The food, the silly childhood works in his hands—it did him some good. Wolfgang could only hope it helped him enough to be more effective with the police the next day.

When he reached the last painting, he paused a moment. The composition was immediately recognized, but different than the original. The hand was less steady, the lines less precise, but the image was the same. How long ago had he painted that original? A great number of years. He'd been in his early twenties and had just really gotten his foot in the door. He'd forgotten how vivid and bright many of his early painting used to be, and the colours were just as rich and bright on the paper as he remembered them being on the canvas.

That painting had been sold long ago. He'd forgotten all about it. It felt like it had come from another lifetime.

Closing the folder, Wolfgang extended it back to Isabelle. "Well," he began, "your niece was much more talented at that age than I could ever claim to be. When you know, you know, as they say, and there is no denying that she was, and is, a born artist. Your niece will do great things."
​

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[Bears]

Isabelle had been too busy listening to Wolfgang with intent to see it, Thomas was just a little bit too preoccupied returning to his seat for seconds to see it, she wasn't even sure if she wanted him to see it... but his words were enough to bring a genuine smile to Franchesca's lips. Her entire face was tinted rosy with embarrassment as the young woman cleared her throat--redirecting all the attention back to her.

She stood up and despite the displeasure in her godmother's face, Franchesca was the one to finally cut the dinner short. "I think that's enough for tonight, zia. As much as I love entertaining everybody with my lighthearted humiliation we can't keep the professor up too long, he still has to walk home after all."

Isabelle shifted in her seat and pouted in response and for a moment the two of them seemed to have switched roles in the household. Franchesca appeared the voice of reason and discipline and her eccentric aunt became the child wanting nothing but to keep the fun going. Soon enough however, Isabelle nodded and stood to give the boys a kiss goodbye. First was the professor but when she came to Thom, Franchesca interceded. The younger Rossi woman explained that Thom was staying the night and her older counterpart jumped at the opportunity to show him to his room.

Franchesca watched from the doorway with amusement as the American was practically dragged by the arm from the table to the next room and up the stairs. Afterwards, she let out a long sigh and turned to the only other man in the room. Offering him a smile more sheepish than anything, she nodded towards the door. "Long day. Want me to walk you out, Wolfie?"

It rolled off of her tongue without thought. It didn't feel wrong to say but it was weird now that it was up in the air. "Did... you mean all that just now by the way, or were you being polite?"

She seemed to steady herself for a moment. "I want the truth, don't lie to me."​