orison

"...You didn't have to do this."

A voice started, barely audible over the bustle of the little corner diner the two decided to stop at.

The soldato straightened her posture, glancing up from the paper menu in her hands. It's the first time the boy has spoken since she'd come across him; she was starting to think that he was mute.

His eyes are trained to his lap, distant uncertainty written across his dirt-coated face. It's a look she'd seen plenty of times before, cold and detached and startlingly familiar. Was the boy homeless..? It's not a rare sight on this side of Naples, he didn’t seem to have any possessions, and it would explain why he hadn’t questioned a stranger taking him out to dinner.

"I wanted to." She leans back with practiced composure, lacing her gloved fingers together. "I've seen many people down on their luck. People who have nothing to lose. It drives them to do terrible things." The soldato paused. "You’re one of them"

The boy glanced up, gradually, the same absent look in his eyes. In this lighting, she noticed the series of markings over his left eye was a tattoo of sorts, contrasting against his pale face. She frowned. He seemed too young for a tattoo.

"Here, go ahead and pick something." She briskly pushed the second menu closer to him, silencing her concern.

He slowly looked down for a few moments, grey eyes slowly tracing the entrées. The soldato was content with that, leaning forward to pick up her wine glass, push down her mask, and take a sip, shifting her attention to the rest of the diner. It's a dainty little watering hole, homey. It's a nice welcome home after a long mission away from Italy. She never would have thought she’d find solace in diners like these. The boy across from her stayed quiet, wringing his hands and leveling her with an anxious expression.

"Who are you."

His voice was much lower than she expected, scratchy from disuse. The soldato perked up slightly, leaning forward and clasping her hands together on her knee.

"Menta Cervo." A beat.

"... Tiramisu." He ducked his head shyly, "Uhm. Why are you doing this? For me."

A soft laugh came from Menta, followed by a barely noticeable shrug.

"I don't know. I think there's just something about you that made it hard to look away."

Tiramisu's brows furrowed, bewildered. "I— There's nothing special about me."

Menta seemed to consider that, curtly tilting her head as she regarded him. The boy in front of her didn't waver, a small, rare determination behind his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t as hopeless as he appeared to be.

"And yet, I’ve found my way to you.” She smiled, hidden beneath the mask. “Tell me, Tiramisu, what drives you? What is it in you that keeps you fighting?”

Tiramisu fell quiet, tugging idly at the pale fabric of his shirt. Menta let him have his space, attentive as always. It’s a question she’s asked herself when she was just a child, alone in the world and doing whatever it took to live another day. Was it to prove herself? To defy all that she’s lost? Was it as simple as innate self preservation that drove her to do things she once thought was inconceivable? She’s still not entirely sure. Still, the desire to have permanence, to sink your claws into any kind of comfort and abandon everything to keep it, is intimately familiar. She sees the same wild terror in his disposition.

“I don’t know. I— ” He cut himself off, clenching his fists. “I’ve… just been going for so long that I’m scared to stop. I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I do.”

He met her eyes again, frantic. “I don’t know how to be around people. I don’t know what to do with myself or where to go. I’m just— ” He choked on a sob, staring a hole into the floor. “Stuck. I’m stuck.”

Menta watched him from the other side of the table, leveling her expression. Soldatos do not give in to emotion.

Still… she couldn’t imagine what this kid has been through.

“Tiramisu.”

She was almost convinced that he didn’t hear her, barely holding back the tears falling from his face. Gradually, he dipped his head in a weak nod, which was enough for her.

“I see that spark in you, the fight in your eyes is still there. It’s an admirable thing. Tell me, how would you feel about joining my gang?”

He looked up fully, face flushed from crying. His terrified expression lasted for just a moment, immediately replaced with a shocked, nervous laugh.

“I’m really not worth the trouble.”

“Trouble?” Menta scoffed incredulously. “Hardly. I wouldn't have bothered if I thought you were a lost cause, have some faith in me."

With that, she extended a gloved hand, closing her eyes in lieu of a smile.

"I want to help you find your way, Tiramisu, through all the hardships you’ll face.”

Tiramisu stared unblinkingly at her offering hand, a shy smile creeping onto his face as he accepted it into his own. The brief handshake shared between them seemed to last forever.

Menta then crossed her arms, resting her elbows on the edge of the table. She nodded towards the menu in front of Tiramisu with amusement in her voice.

“Now that that’s settled, go ahead and pick something. We’ll get into the details later on, alright?”

Tiramisu picked it up with a short laugh, flitting through the dishes as Menta returned to her wine, watching the busy streets outside the window.

Maybe his prayers were answered after all.