Familial Bonds [M]

Damnit. Basileus responded in an irritating way, like always, and of course in the common language as opposed to Italian. Vittore made a disgusted tch in response. He didn't understand his brother's words - unlike him, he never learned the language and still had not been exposed much to it. He should, he knew, and would soon get to it; to be able to communicate in that language would be quite useful in this land. It was no longer an option like it had been in their old homeland.

Amusement - dry, hard, and bitter - crackled in his eyes. Oh, seemed he touched a nerve, hmm? The moment Basileus spoke, Vittore more than knew he touched a nerve - and admittably, he was right about his words as well, and Vittore did slightly incline his head, admitting the truth in the mafioso's words. He had disappeared as well, though he had not forgotten the meaning of respectful unlike his brother. Basil's angry spat words were met with the righteous indignation of Vittore, though his tone had calmed from the fury it was in before. "Truthfully? Exploring the land, searching for the remaining members of our cosca... and scouting out new lands," he answered in Italian, hoping the words would be enough to make Basileus pause. He truly believed there were more of them alive; more than just his brother and Vincenzo and... and Enrico. He believed that they could revive the cosca here in these lands, though only soldati still remained. He bristled slightly at Basil's other words. "Then act like it!" This time, his voice was exasperated and frustrated. He drew back his anger, slightly, knowing that to stay as furius and to sound as furious as he was before (and still is) would simply cause Basileus to close his ears and brain even more so. He could see the signs - and so, he withheld that anger and backpedaled a bit. He would never admit that what his brother was doing was alright (it wasn't), but perhaps retreating from the anger and instead being more calm and less scolding would be advantageous.

And of course, Basil kept snapping at him, and he rolled his eyes, standing his ground firmly even as Basileus stepped towards him threateningly. "Obviously we are no saints." The very idea was laughable - they were were perhaps the opposite of saints. They dealt with murder, and various other dark-natured things. But they were classy. They were gentlemen. You could not expect to be respected and feared when you went around smelling like a bunch of women. Obviously, men would have their exploits. But to lay with prostitutes constantly? Vittore hated it when it was a single prostitute, but so many that he could smell it on his brother's fur clear as day? It was disrespectful, dishonorable, and definitely would cause disrepute. Perhaps it was his frustration, or perhaps his incredulity, but Vittore laughed, chuckling low and long, shaking his head. Special woman? Now that was amusing. "You can fuck who you want," he agreed, "but it's certainly the opposite of classy when I can smell the many women on your fur." The amusement ran its course through him, and he eyed Basil hard. "I have no intention on 'saving' myself for a 'special' woman. But I sure as hell don't plan on appearing a classless bastard with no respect for myself." Which was exactly how Basileus appeared. "Which, dear brother, is how you would appear to any mafioso. It's one thing to have your affairs. It's another to reek of them. Especially if we've any hope of rebuilding what we lost." That was a goal for Vittore - rebuilding, and reestablishing their very purpose in life.

note;; everything here was said in italian, I'm just lazy