[ P ] sand inside my shoe

my heart is with you hiding
danger in the fabric
of this thing i made
but my mind's not made

Ginevra isn’t certain where she’s going, only that she has to move, or this insidious thing will fester inside of her until it eats her alive. She can’t get the feeling of Matteo’s palm on her skin out of her head, or the enveloping heat of his body pressed against hers. He’d proven his point—that he is capable of doing whatever he wants to her, but that isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is that a part of her had come alive in that moment, unlike any feelings that Etienne had ever stirred from her—oh shit, Etienne.

She stops dead in her tracks as the prince comes barreling into the forefront of her mind for the first time since she had to flee her palatial home. Would he come and collect her if she sent a raven? Would she want him to? A dozen other questions flare to life in her mind, and Ginevra starts walking again—this time faster. She is paying far too much attention to her racing mind and far too little to her surroundings.

It’s an accident waiting to happen.

She rounds a corner more quickly than she ought to, and crashes right into something—or, someone. Sort of. There’s an explosion of paper and leather, some things thudding to the floor whilst others flutter, and Ginevra flushes hot, immediately dropping to the floor to start gathering the books and papers and quills. “Oh mio dios, mi dispiace tanto,” ( Oh my gods, I’m so sorry ) she blabbers, clearly flustered and frantic, to the point where she hasn’t even looked at the wolf she ran into yet. Honestly, though, she’ll take anyone who isn’t Matteo right now.

code // art

they're circling above
smirking at fresh blood
but this is not enough

There's a chaotic symphony on repeat in Alessandra's ever racing head; she's stewing over the fuck ups, over the frustrations and tedious little steps she had to dance in order to get what needed to be done done. Her father played a part in her fumbles, how much of it was him testing her— how much of it was her father orchestrating an act that he knew his precious little diamond would not question, and simply bend and blindly follow the strings he was using to manipulate her and gods knows what else, all in the name of Vincenza business?

Her return home was far from joyous and jubilant, she did not run to Luciano so easily and merrily, and clearly he was already well aware of that fact. She returned home to her father and the second her mouth opened, he only calmy chided her for the scene she so ungraciously held an audience with back at the courthouse. She fired back with the frustrations of information being redacted or hidden in the dark, and he only told her that she had all she needed, and despite the shitshow afterwards, she did her job. And then, Luciano offered a peck to the top of her head and a stack of papers to dive into whenever she could get to the them.

It took her a couple of days, but eventually she barged in to her father's office and stole away the papers and buried herself in them. She fought her mind, making it focus on the newest cases while fighting back the instant replays of the most recent events- clearly a job in and of itself.

She knew these halls too well, she could close her eyes and get where she needed to go. The usual faces, like her siblings and father, Vittoria and the various staff, and even the shady "business partners" moved about with ease and never crossed into a path unannounced. So when her body collided with another and her collection of everything, it was enough to pull her out of her head and into the here-and-now. Blue eyes are hardly noticed but she catches them just before the woman throws herself to the ground to pick up what was dropped. She gives the world's biggest eye roll as a growl reverberates up her chest. The sound of her beginning to count down from ten starts and fades all in the same breath. Sparkling ivories reveal themselves as she zero's in on the girl.

"Ho dimenticato come contare fino a dieci, che sfortuna per te." ("I have forgotten how to count to ten, how unlucky for you.") She spits at the woman, stepping closer to her but pausing as brows furrowed when her snout picks up a scent of familiarity-one she can't exactly seem to pluck out, but its familiar nonetheless. "Who are you?" she questions, her tongue switching at the drop of a hat to better suit the woman- too often did she forget that Italian was a tongue not quite known by many around here. Brows still furrowed, she moved as the woman moved, placing a paw towards each of the stranger's paws that moved in an attempt to stop her from getting any glimpses of the information that someone like her should not be seeing.

She doesn't wait for a reply, she not so subtly gives a shove with her body to direct the woman elsewhere, while giving a quick laugh to herself. "Un giocattolo perduto dei fratelli, scommetto. Senza supervisione, niente meno." ("A lost toy of the siblings, i bet. Unsupervised, no less.") clicking her tongue as she collects her belongings by herself. Patience is nearly non-existent, so she prods again already. "So? Who? Who are you," she commands, rather brusque and lacking the care for an answer that didn't satisfy her. She continues in her lecture. "Chi sei e perché sei qui?" (Who are you and why are you here?) A brow quirks as she waits ever impatiently for an answer, mismatched hues are burning into the woman's face as she gives a poor attempt at trying to figure out whether or not she's seen her before.


"speech"

code

my heart is with you hiding
danger in the fabric
of this thing i made
but my mind's not made

Ginevra's ears are buzzing so loudly, both from her frustration with Matteo and now this, that she doesn't even hear the woman say anything at first. It isn't until her paws are nudging at Ginevra's that she pauses, arching her brows slightly and glancing up at the taller wolf, whose expression makes it clear enough that she would rather not have the assistance. She backs up a step, raising a paw in a placating gesture, though her expression rapidly morphs from apologetic to annoyed.

"Non sono un giocattolo," ( I'm not a toy ) Ginevra snaps, squaring up against the slightly larger female with her lips set in a firm line. She makes no further effort to help the woman collect her scattered papers, and no further effort to apologize, either. Groveling isn't her way, but she's not an asshole, so Ginevra is more than willing to admit when she's made a mistake. Evidently, everyone who lives in this opulent manor lacks the same general respect for others.

Words in another language—the same one Matteo had spoken, she's certain—are met with a flat expression from Ginevra, and she isn't certain if it's the look on her face or the fact that the woman can't seem to stop talking that makes her switch dialects to something she can understand. The pied wolf snorts, and gods, everything in her wants to dig in her heels and not tell her a damn thing, just because she's rubbed Ginevra wrong; however, the female in front of her bears a striking resemblance to her generous host, and she isn't particularly interested in having guards called on her, or whatever else the woman might do when presented with a stranger in her own home who isn't telling her anything.

Ginevra blows a slow breath from her nostrils, searching for that center of calm in herself before she answers. "Matteo mi ha aiutato ieri sera, e per il momento sto con lui. Mi chiamo Ginevra," ( Matteo helped me last night, and I'm staying with him for the time being. My name is Ginevra, ) she says, leaving out a multitude of details that she doesn't think this woman has earned. "E io non sono niente per lui," ( And I'm not his anything ) she adds firmly before making a demand of her own, "chi sei?" ( who are you? )

code // art

they're circling above
smirking at fresh blood
but this is not enough

A short breath of relief escapes through her snout as the woman gives up the scramble to collect the papers and other miscellaneous items that spilled onto the floor. When she finally answers Alessandra, however, her attention is snapped from collecting her things and her subtle attempt at clicking the pieces into place. "Non sono un giocattolo," the woman snaps, and Alessa's own lips quirk into a slight smile. She gathers up herself and her belongings and side steps the woman, carrying what she can to a solid slab of stone that doubled as a table. Slate and gold wash over the contents before her, and when she's convinced everything is back in order, she swings around with ears perked as the chords from the stranger dance to Alessa's now fully amused attention. "Matteo? He—" she blurts out, a laugh echos around them until she stops her next words, realzing this woman was speaking fluently in her family's tongue. "Di certo non sei un giocattolo, quindi: non vogliono mai lasciare la sua attenzione, per non parlare della sua stanza." (Certainly you are no toy, then—they never want to leave his attention, let alone his room.) Alessandra was still left questioning just who this woman was exactly. She'd originally expected this one to have come skipping out of the quarters of Arabella, perhaps even Enzo—but Matteo? Him bringing women home was something hardly ever detectable on everyone else's radar. And to see this one far from pathetically doe eyed, or trying to see what pricey souvenirs she could collect and pawn later like other's tried to do when they were here left Alessa utterly stumped.

That train of thought was redirected for another time, now she was offered a name. She would give a small sigh, clicking her tongue once more. "Ginevra, " she chirps, her tone changing and mood flipping effortlessly like a switch. "ti sbagli di grosso, bella. Sei ospite di mio fratello - quindi ospite di Vincenza - e queste cose sono piuttosto rare per quanto riguarda Matteo." (you are very wrong, beautiful. You are my brother's guest— therefore a guest of the Vincenza's— and those are rather rare where Matteo's concerned. ) Paws carry her from the table covered with papers past Ginevra and to a smaller corridor that leads out to the cooler air of the evening. A trail of rose gold is left from the sun's slow retreat, the warmth it's touch slowly fading. Steam is seen rising endlessly from a small collection of pools just a few paces ahead of Alessa. Her tail sways at the idea of a soak and a few drinks to pair it with. She swings her head back to who she now considered her guest, lips part on a smile. "Ginevra, vuoi fare un giro della tenuta, iniziando dalle sorgenti termali?" (Ginevra, would you like a tour of the estate—starting with the hot springs? ) She pivots her frame, opening a better passage through the corridor, a paw gesturing for her to accept and join her. Perhaps she could coax some secrets out of her, pry open the box with answers to Alessa's questions—or, perhaps, she'll gain an ounce of friendship somewhere in between this all.


"speech"

code

my heart is with you hiding
danger in the fabric
of this thing i made
but my mind's not made

Ginevra doesn't know what to think when the woman laughs at her explanation in a manner that's half amused and half dumbfounded, though her inclination to bristle settles slightly when she agrees that Ginevra isn't a toy. She ignores the implications of the remainder of the she-wolf's commentary, preferring not to think about who Matteo has had in his bed before her—in a manner she doubts is even remotely as uneventful as her sleeping in it, alone. For an entire night and a day, no less. This stranger is right about one thing, she supposes: she is something, and she's not sure if that thought is comforting or unsettling.

Her eyes track the taller wolf's movement towards a narrow corridor, as though she intends to leave without explaining a single thing to her about this cryptic place. But instead, Alessa's head swings back around to face her with a smile, and she extends an invitation that has Ginevra's brows arching in surprise. Then her expression smooths, her lips finally curling up into a softening smile as she nods her agreement and moves to follow the somewhat eccentric woman. "Mi piacerebbe molto," ( I'd love that ) she murmurs, peering over the other female's shoulder and catching a glimpse of steam curling up into the air, wafting from partially obscured pools of water. Her ears strain forward, clearly intrigued by the scene in front of them.

"E' comodo," ( That's convenient ) Ginevra muses with a soft breath of a laugh, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. She's seen many rich and fine things in her short life, but a personal hot spring, hoarded by one manse of wolves? It's as ostentatious as it is beguiling. Accepting the proffered invitation, she slips out the door on quiet feet, drawing in a long breath of cooling night air as she waits for her current company's guidance.

code // art