Nico relished the now-noon sun on her face as she unpinned her fascinator and let those raven ringlets dance in the balmy coastal breeze. Beneath the emerald velvet of the miniature sort-of-hat, several tiny squares of coloured paper peeked out from beneath the inner rim. Stamps, if he had to guess, which were quickly pressed into a billfold and tucked away in the console. And, from within the pleats of her skirt, an engraved printing plate for some unrecognizable foreign currency. 

"You know your way to Rodeo, yeah?" she smiled bashfully as she tucked away all her stolen treasures. "There's a decent store about a block down on the left when you turn on -- they'll likely have a starter set or two that can be altered for wear today. Just to get you started. For something fully custom, we can schedule an appointment with Tartaglia down on Flower Street later in the week... I like them better than Schmidt, personally. And easier to get into, to boot." 

Nico casually prattled and name-dropped as if those statements should mean anything to him at all. He might wonder if, maybe, she forgot that he wasn't like her. But the smile in her glowing eyes told a secret - she was treating him like he was on purpose. It was a game. A trick. Not in the sense of unkindness, but to ease him into this lifestyle of hers. 

Treat someone a certain way long enough, and that was how they would inevitably begin to view themselves in your company. This was a truth she understood all too well... from both ends of existence. And one she planned to use to her advantage. 

The low roar of the engine in response stole the smoke from her lungs like a chemtrail as she took another slow drag. Leaning lazily against the door, she shifted to look him over. The bright LA sunlight illuminating her charcoal eyes to reveal a hidden kaleidoscope of warm honey and chocolate hues. "As for my... uh... trinkets," she winked, "I figure we'll give it a week or two and then send one of the youngins down to that other place you mentioned on Hollywood -- flip 'em. The plates we'll keep. See if I can't source the right necessities to make a print-run or two and launder at the currency exchange. Not like anyone around here knows enough to spot a fake dollar, much less a second series franc bank note."

Why was she explaining so much up front? 
It wasn't smart. Too many cards on the table. 
But then... he was more like her than he realized. And something about that fact - that likeness, that kinship - made her softer than was safe... or reasonable. 

The deep thought of it played across her face as she continued to drink in his features, puff after puff. No poker face. 
That was unusual. Maybe even alarming. For them both. 

Catching the slip, Nico shook the invading thoughts from her head. Not today, Satan. Plastering on a casual smile as she offered, "Have you considered what colours or fabrics you might like?"

"Yeah, I know Rodeo..." he offered out casually when she asked.

Cesare drove them down the boulevard, his eyes focused on the road before them as they sped along; dark hair whipping about with the wind as they cruised in that sleek, drop-top Lagonda V12 Rapide. Though he did steal a look her way now and then. Both as a sign of him listening, and because...well. Damn... She was a looker, and with her letting her hair down? Oof. He was slain, metaphorically speaking, of course.

As Nico continued to speak, he listened, nodding along as if he fully understood, which he did, for the most part. What he DIDN'T understand, though, was why she was TELLING him so much of it. Not that he cared. He liked knowing what she was thinking. It gave him a sense of comfort... A feeling that felt like she believed she could trust him some, like he was like her, and she was like him - just more experienced in this part of the thing they call life, this... game.

When she asked about colors and fabrics, however, he blinked a few times and fully looked her way as he pulled onto Rodeo...

"I figured black, or... tan? Maybe? MAAAYBE a dark blue? But, darlin', I got no clue on fabrics..." he chuckled, slowly easing on the brake while looking her way, his peripherals catching the stopped traffic ahead waiting to cross the next busy intersection.

"Gonna need ya's to enlighten tha uneducated on such topics, yea?"

He grinned at her, almost sheepishly, like it might be slightly embarrassing to have to be schooled on things that should be a normal way of life for someone in this thing of theirs... Hell, in life generally... But the best he could offer was... not wool? It was far too damned hot for that right now...

Nico gave a bright chuckle as she signaled the shop on the left, collecting herself in preparation for a graceful exit. Truth be told, her grace took more effort than most people realized. It didn't come naturally. And, in a lot of ways, it was both a stretch and a strain to maintain. "You say that as if you think I've dressed a man before. You trying to say you think I'm loose, kiddo?" Her pink tongue darted from behind her starlet painted lips. But the light in her eyes dimmed just a little bit - a certain fading wilt that whispered of homesick hiraeth for a time and place that would never exist again. 

"A capsule wardrobe is what you're looking for," she followed up, signaling - with no small amount of self-abdicating surrender - that she did, in fact, know how to dress a man... for reasons undisclosed. "Black will likely be your staple based on what I've seen of your style. I'd recommend a few, in various styles. But if you want a versatile, foolproof system, you're also going to buy one in Navy, Charcoal, a Tan or Brown - depending on your preference (both if you want range) - and a statement piece in either a pattern or bold colour of your choice that is complementary to your other pieces. If you want to keep that whole 'I'm not as lanky as I look' vibe that you have going, pinstripes are gonna be your friend. Beyond that, you'll request two white shirts, two cream shirts, two blue, black, if you desire, and something to complement your statement set... to mix and match for a full and functional wardrobe." 

Nico winked, waving off the questions that no doubt danced behind his eyes. "And... should you see anything else that tickles your particular fancy, we'll get that, too. As for fabrics, linen is classic and dependable. But you could easily get away with a seersucker or chambray... even a light-woven flannel, if you want a little variation in texture and weave. Depending on what they have in stock, of course." 

Tucking herself into the crook of his arm, Nico jubilantly escorted Ces through the jingling door with a lilting coo, "Baaarty, dear"~ 

Inside the shop, floor-to-ceiling windows warmed the hardwood floors with a shining glow. Rows of neatly organized clothing draped from bars along the walls, perfectly framing the bay windows and leaving ample space for a velvet-cushioned alcove in the round of each one. Toward the 'back' of the space, a small counter served as a partition between the shop proper and the apparent workshop behind. A mess of fabric-mountainted tables, half-empty bolts, and machines haphazardly arranged around a screened fitting pedestal. The logic and flow of the chaos unfathomable to any save the mind that designed it. 

From amidst the explosion of tweed and twill, the ruddy and bespectacled face of a jolly older man popped up with an expression of elation and surprise. 'Barty', it was to be assumed, was haunched and gnarled with both age and labour. Almost comically short in stature and white from head to toe - literally. His entire outfit, down to his shoes and kerchief, coordinated to match the snow of his hair. The only splashes of colour, a tape measure draped around his neck and a few straightpins poking at various angles from his cuffs. "My stars," the man chirped in a voice that only compounded his appearance - sounding like, surely, Nico had somehow dragged Cesare into the lair of some little-known urban gnome or other fairy creature. "Nicolettaaaaa," he pipped, matching the lilting coo in such a way that it seemed she must have learned it straight from him. "Oh, my dear Nicoletta DiFaro... my sweet little Lighthouse Keeper. I haven't seen you since.........." 

Sharply, the man fell silent, looking guilty, whilst Nico very nearly looked as if she'd been slapped. Both of them shared a weighty glance that agreed - We Don't Talk About Bruno.

Barty silently crossed himself as he wordlessly allowed the brunette a beat to recollect her momentarily shattered persona. Meanwhile, Nico's grip on Ces' arm tightened to a deathgrip vice. Her gaze fixed on the floor for a long, unbreathing moment before she finally convinced herself to exhale and pasted a calm smile back onto her shaken face. 

"Barty, darling, this is Mister Torretino. He is a Dear Friend, you understand?" Grinning teasingly, she tugged at the obviously oversized clothes that hung like just-spent foreskin from his frame, "I've recommended you to help him look... comfortably suited - pun intended - to this thing of ours, yes? He's clueless, so be gentle."

And with that, she shoved Ces at the man unceremoniously and went to take a seat by the windows. An afterthought called out over her shoulder as the men shifted toward the workshop, "Oh, and Barty... darling... we're here to pay, not trade. So don't go dropping any of your pins on cos'è mio, capisci?"

Whether Ces understood or not, a boisterous and melodic giggle bubbled from his newfound escort as a pair of ancient, knobbled hands drug him by the shoulders toward the back of the shop. "Come on, lad. Let's get your measurements," Barty winked with a mischievous smirk that jestfully threatened... something. Hopefully, well-tailored clothes.

As Cesare was escorted to the back, his brow rose... ^{"No pins on what's hers, huh?"} he thought quietly to himself, curious just how she meant that. But either way, he was here for one thing, and one thing alone... Measurements for a suit, and to leave with one that fit better while the thread-meister worked his magic for the custom-tailored (or altered) suits.

"Barty was it?" Ces started as he focused his attention on the older, well-kept gentleman. "Cesare," he offered with his hand extended. Shaking, the two nodded, and Barty offered a genuine smile, "Pleasure, I'm certain, Mister Torretino, since you've come in with my Stars." His grip on the younger Ces' hand squeezed tightly. "But don't you hurt her now, boy," he hushed seriously. It was perhaps the most gentle, but authentic threat Ces had ever gotten, and it made him laugh.

"No worries there, Mister Barty. I'm more afraid of gettin' hurt by her than hurtin' her myself, pal." He winked and downed a nod. Barty, chuckling in understanding, released Cesare's hand and nodded. "Oh, that one's a viper, I'll tell ya," Barty laughed out. "But if you earn her loyalty and trust, she'll be the best friend you could ever have, son."

"Now, what are ya lookin' for?"

"Uhhhh. Fuc-... Heck if I know, mista. But Nico suggested linen if I wanted ta play it safe... But could get away with somethin' called, seersucker? I don' like that name... Sounds like a chump. Or, chardonnay? Like tha wine?"

"Ah, Chambray," Barty corrected.

"Yeah, tha's what I said," Ces nodded with a wave of his hand. "I figure linen works fine for me. I already know how ta keep that sh-tuff clean an' cared for. This was ma pops suit when I were little... Had it since tha day he died sixteen years ago. Finally grew inn'a it... Sorta." He chuckled.

"Anyways, Nico said somethin' 'bout black, navy, an' maybe a tan or brown, an' a charcoal? Seems like a lot."

"Well, suits for all occasions, son," Barty nodded.

Cesare also nodded. "Alright. Well then. Suppose that's what I got... OH, an' uh... two white shirts, two cream, an' maybe a blue one an' a black one too?"

"My my, plannin' to give me work for a month are ya son?"

"A month?!" Cesare spun, surprised...

"For that many? Sure, easily. But you'll have them each as they're done. Hmm," he looked over Cesare's frame, "She happened to mention pinstripes for you?"

"Yea, somethin' 'bout keepin' that 'I'm not as lanky as I look' vibe? But, I don't think I wanna be that me anymore. Don't really wanna hide."

Barty nodded. "Alright then, son, let's get you measured, and I can get started after we get you fit into an altered loaner."

Cesare stripped down to his oversized pants so that Barty could get his shoulders, arms, back, waist, chest, neck; all the necessities and some for the shirts and coats... Luckily for Ces, the man was good enough to get the legs without needing him to strip to his skivvies... 

"Alright, got your numbers... Black, Navy, Tan, Brown, Charcoal... Two white shirts, two cream, one blue, one black... What kind of accents? We've got many a tie to choose from - neck or bow, depending on how fancy you'd like."

"Um... Neck tie - never fancied them bow-ties none... Pick me a few that you think would match well, and then I'll pick what I like outta that?"

"I can do that. Maybe let Nico take a look, too," he chuckled, patting Ces' leg before huffing as he stood to go and retrieve some ties that would be good for the suit colors. With his measurements taken, Ces half-assed redressed, at least buttoning his shirt back over his torso for the moment, and walked around to nod at Nico. "Got me all pinned an' taped for tha suits. Guess he'll see if we's can alter one'a these while we's waitin' for Barty ta finish tha custom fits."

Nico perked up and smiled as Ces returned from the back. The briefest flicker of a bashful smile hidden behind a curtain of dark curls before they were tucked behind her ear and the smile was locked away behind that well-practiced mask of demure composure. Behind the counter, a silent perk of Barty's brow went unnoticed by the brunette. 

"Bartyyy~" Nico chastized playfully, "I said no pins..." For only the second time in their short acquaintance, Nico laughed. Full and fully embodied. Her head tossed back to meet the high noon sun through the windows as she and her Old Friend shared an inside joke that left poor Cesare just outside the innermost circle. How on Earth could a tailor work without pins?? Not possible. It had to be code. 

Seeing his perplexed expression only made her laugh all the more. Her tightly-walled exterior relaxed a bit in the presence of a safe space. And ever so briefly, her newfound accomplice was allowed a fleeting glimpse of the youthful exuberance and blithe vivacity that was characteristic in the before times... the aliveness that used to animate every thread and fibre of her life before the tapestry was irreovcably frayed by whatever it was that Barty stopped himself from saying. 

Catching the curious stare from his direction, Nico turned away from Ces toward the various suit sets hanging along the walls. "You should pick a loaner or three. Lord knows, I'm not doing your laundry EVERY DAY." She was doing his laundry at all?? "Besides, if you pick a few, I reckon it'll help Barty narrow down your style. Get a proper FEEL of you." She winked as a boisterous and high-pitched giggle echoed from the workshop area... perhaps beginning to help the jokes make sense as a noticeable pink flush crept over Barty's face along with the sound. 'Of'. Not 'for'. 

"Do you want help?"

Ces was lost - at first. But the pink flush that crept over Barty's face? The high-pitched giggle? The word play from Nico? His..."Pins"? Wachow, over his head. He missed it. He was still as clueless about Barty's persuasion as the moment he'd walked in. But he grinned, laughed, and pointed at Barty. "Ahhhh, ya got me, eh?" Ces laughed out, then shook his head, looking at Nico with an audible, "I don't get it," loud enough for them both to hear.

Barty damn near blew snot from trying not to laugh... Which he did. He laughed. Loud. One, good, guffaw.

Regardless, Ces focused on the suits, walking over to them. "Uh, yea. Help me pick ou- wait... Since when is yous doin' my laundry?" he paused mid-gaze and turned back to Nico with a finger pointed in her direction. "Cause tha's news ta me even," he laughed. "But c'mere, pick out a color looks good with ya eyes."

He winked at her with a smile.

Nico snickered as she stood, moving over to brush the hair from his face and take a good look at his sharp, dark eyes. Her gentle touch lingered - perhaps just a bit too long - as she looked him over with just a soft, all-enveloping scrutiny. "Well, with brown, it's not really hard. Jewel to........" There was a blink, her head pulling back in bashful surprise as his actual words registered just a bit too late. HER eyes. Not his. Quietly, she dropped her hand, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she spun away to peruse the various sets along the wall. 

It was the same answer, really. Even if hers were a few shades darker. So, trying her best to cover the flub, she simply continued: "Jewel tones are your friend. Emerald, burgundy, violet, indigo, sapphire. I'd wager with that olive undertone of yours, you could get away with some gold tones or rich yellows. It's really up to you and your level of confidence. Blues are generally the safe, professional choice - beyond basic black. But... there are plenty of family men that embrace a more... shall we say flamboyant? palette when it suits them." 

Nico pulled out a few examples as she spoke, pairing coloured shirts with various combinations of complementary blazers and pants. Some plain, some rich and vibrant. Even a few in more refined patterns and fabrics. Unsure exactly WHAT his style would become as it evolved... but sure that he'd never been given the opportunity to consider wearing something that was designed to be seen. 

"Take a look and tell me what you like. It doesn't have to be sensical yet. Just... what makes you excited to put on?"

Cesare chuckled slightly when she finally pulled her hands away from his face... Was he red? He couldn't tell... Could they tell? What if he was blushing? He panicked momentarily and breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she spun away - maybe no one had noticed. (They probably had...) So with a gentle clearing of his throat, he stepped up behind her...

"Uh, anything that fits?" he snickered, still somewhat lost. "But, I like blue, and black... and gold. I'd be happy wearing some gold. Might pair with a gold watch for a blue day, and silver for a black day. I do have one of each color. Oh, or silver and blue for a cold look, black and gold for a refined look!" He started to pick through the blazers, pants, and vests - leaving ties for a more... Trained eye.

"I like this," he pulled out a rather plain black blazer and pants. "Would go nice with the white or black shirt, and a nice colored tie? Right?" Maybe? He was trying at least...

"Oh, oh! Or this dark blue! I like this dark blue - that would be great with the silver watch... I think?" He pursed his lips, looking at both sets; one in each hand.

"I dunno, Nico. I guess this is more thought than I ever put inn'a lookin' well-dressed. Just kin'a used ta this olive-colored oldie I gots on. Heh," he chuckled a bit bashfully. "But, I think tha dark blue one looks really nice."

He looked at her, questions swimming in his eyes as he slowly tried to push the door open into her much more vibrant world of fashion... Holding the blue suit up to himself, he shrugged as he turned to a full-body mirror. "Yea... Blue one an' a black one. That should be good for starters, I think."

Taking another look back at her, he questioned everything in that moment. Why was he here? He didn't know clothes that well; he just knew he wanted to look better... BE better. Command respect just by walking into a room - or at least gain attention as an influential man. SOMETHING.

Nico softened as she looked at him, watched him fight his way through insecurity and doubt toward a better understanding of himself. It wasn't long ago she'd been there. And lord knew, if either of them were to survive in this thing of theirs -- even if it was as simple gangsters the rest of their short lives -- he'd need that understanding. More than literally anything else. 

"These are easy to alter. Just a few stitches shy of ready-made. So we'll take two of each," Nico explained, sliding the black blazer off its hanger as she slipped behind him. Her deft fingers maneuvered it onto his broad shoulders with ease. "Do the button," she coached as she carefully pleated the back to mimic the cut and drape that it might have once altered - so that he could see himself truly IN it, at least to some extent. "White shirt, any tie. Black shirt, coloured or black tie. ... unless you go pinstripe. Then you can get away with a white tie and look stellar. Coloured shirt, black tie. ... probably a black on black damask or paisley." 

Quietly, she waved Barty over from the back of the shop. A selection of ties was placed into her grabby hands so that she could drape each one in place as she spoke. Occasionally, pausing to slide a swatch of shirt fabric beneath the lapels for contrast - showing him the combinations without needing to fully change into each one. 

Observing his reaction to each, she kept one hand at the back of the cinched coat. The other wrapped around to style and model each option. "Black and white is a good option for daily wear... and for any place you want to be able to control WHEN you stand out... regardless of what tie you put with it. All black certainly means business, but it IS going to draw notice - at least to some extent. So be intentional with your selection -- especially on jobs where you need to blend or easily disappear. Navy and tans are pretty unremarkable in a day-work crowd... more noticeable amidst evening wear. And, of course, colour is always going to be memorable, even -- and especially -- when well-coordinated in small accents. So..." 

Nico trailed off as Barty began to snicker softly. Suddenly hyper aware of... well... everything. Her rambling, her positioning, her breath on the back of his neck. But there was little way to extricate herself with any amount of grace at this point. So, as usual, she merely chose to fake it until she made it... remaining calm and nonchalant just as she had for what felt like days now. Always pretending that she was running the show. So well, in fact, that - for the most part - it was almost believable, particularly to newbies who didn't know to look hard enough below the surface to recognize the mask. 

Clearing her throat softly, her hand came to rest at the button. "Bl... blue is a teensy bit more limited. But basically... creme, navy, black OR a patterned blue palette all pair well depending on the colour of trousers that day." She tried not to flinch when discussing his trousers. Her dark eyes tippy-ippy toed up to just barely be able to peek over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Nearly neat enough to seem a Made Man, hm?"

Ces watched as she paired all of the colors, not even noticing the breath on the back of his neck or Barty snickering. He was... enraptured by the look in the mirror. Apparently, he cleaned up nicely. Even if this wasn't actually ON him yet. Smiling at himself, he nodded at Nico's saying they'll take two of each, but as he stood there holding the button, his head swam with a multitude of emotions and thoughts. This was something he should have learned from his dad, or Frankie... But here he was, learning from his newest friend Nico... Were they friends yet? He stole a glance. There was a hope in his eyes before he turned back to the mirror. Lord knew he could use more friends. Real friends.

And then there was Barty - he wasn't really a friend, yet, but he was here helping teach Ces about how to dress, and what it means to have a suit tailored for you. That was something. For a moment, there was a sadness that etched over Cesare's face, wiped clean a second later, before he cleared his throat again.

"Uh, yeah!" he'd zoned out a bit, lost in the sea of his mind. "Mm, I think blue, and a black. I can easily do black for some business, or when I need to look the part. Or for the nightlife. Can do blue for day-to-day scuffle work and still look good, but not stand out as much, like ya said. That seems good."

He finally looked over his shoulder, offering a smile. "Made, huh?" He chuckled. "Gettin' ahead of ourselves a bit, I think. But I could handle that."

Looking to Barty, Cesare nodded to the man. "Let's do two blue blazers, one black, one charcoal, for some business casual, one pair of black, blue, and charcoal trousers each, two white shirts, a cream shirt, and a black one, some navy socks, and black socks, and I guess a pair of white socks? And... and... some fancy ties that'll match all of those." He nodded, as if he'd made up his mind, but there was a glance stolen at Nico again with a - ^{'Did I do that right'} - question etched over his features.

Nico smiled and gave him a reassuring little pat. ^{'You done good, kid'} her eyes whispered as she nodded. 

"We'll take those from the loaners, if you can have them done today, Bartholomew," Nico purred the man's proper name. Met with a smiling nod that waved her off like it was nothing. 

"For you, my sweet... a few hours. He's not far off some of my standard sizes." 

Nodding again, Nico reached and gave the old man's hand a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Perfect. We'll finish the rest of our shopping and swing back by around end of day, okay? Just to see how you're progressing... don't work yourself too hard. There's no rush yet. And we're happy to pay for you to take your time, hm?" 

There was a gentleness and care in words. But a prideful fire in the old man's gaze. "You do that," he returned the squeeze of her hand and then, whisking the acket from Ces' shoulders, shooed them out the door. "Go on now. I'll have it ready when you're all finished." He stubbornly insisted. And, Ces was sure based on the headstrong glare he gave them, that he'd keep his word. 

So, out they went, and on their way. With no reason to drive such a short distance, Nico hummed softly along with the rhythm of her echoing heels as she guided their way down to the cobbler a few blocks up the street. Leaving Cesare to the mercy of his thoughts... or else to fill the silence if those thoughts were too daunting. 

Cesare was quiet for a bit, simply enjoying walking beside a woman such as Nico. It really was more than a few firsts for him. Most ladies like her hardly paid him any attention, aside from sneers, jeers, and accusations of harassment or theft. The latter was often true, though.

Puffing on his cigarette, he looked ahead and paused, reaching to grab Nico's arm and catch her attention as well. "Heeeey, hold up a second," he hushed in her direction, plucking his cigarette from his mouth and pointing with it toward a small gathering of people. "We'll wanna steer ourselves clear'a thems. Tha's Flaco's boys, they like carvin' folks up... Takin' they's 'cut' so ta speak."

Without giving her time to even mull it over, he lead her into the nearest store on the block... A nifty little shop full of trinkets and touristy items. "Don't mind us Jills," he called out to a rather pretty blonde who poked her head out of the back room. "Flaco's boys is outside - collection day?"

With an annoyed look on her face, she nodded, "For all tha good it does, theys don't do nothin' but take money and break shit, Ces."

He chuckled, "Ya know if ya cut'em in on ya otha market, they might fugeddaboutit?" They both snorted as he lead Nico to the back door. "FAT CHANCE ON THAT CES!" Jillian called out. "YOUS THA ONLY ONE THAT I'D SETTLE FOR RUNNIN' IT THAT AIN'T ME!"

Snickering, he pointed at a door in the back, "ALLEY CLEAR?"

"SHOULD BE!"

"AIGHT!, I'LL BE BACK BY LATER!"

Jillian nodded and slipped back into her office, shutting the door as if in anticipation for Flaco's bastards to waltz in. Cesare, dragging Nico along, turned to her and grinned. "Jills runs a few games," he rolled his eyes up to the roof. "We's grew up tagether. Her family's better off'en mine was but, kids don't care as much." He shrugged. "Figure one day I'll come clean up Flaco's bullshit, move'em out an' set up some shop in this racket. Booze, girls, an' cards on tha roof. Pretty high-end clientele for folks don't wanna be seen at tha clubs."

Pushing the door open to the alleyway, he peered both directions, then lead Nico out. "We can slip by'em in tha shadows. Won't even know we's here. Don't really feel like tryn'a fight off five'a'em right now. 'Specially without tools."

Nico's grip on Cesare's arm went slack. Dark eyes growing dim and distant as her expression blanked. In her head, the sky fell down around her feet as the ground rose up in sickly somersaults; thoughts whirling in an uncontrollable carousel of painful echoes. A clammy nausea coiled in the pit of her stomach as if she'd been punched. Her mask faltered for the first time in his presence. Almost nothing he said after that name even registered. Save for the girl-next-door blonde and the familiarity of his tone. ... and she felt socked all over again. 

'Jills', he called her. Jills and Ces. Ces and Jills. 

Nico and... no one. No one since... 
No one because... 

She was nearly limp in mindless, blind compliance as he moved her through the shop. Pliable as he tugged her into the alley. 
He wanted Jills rackets. A loaded trinket shop. ... booze, girls, cards ...not a secret penthouse.
Certainly not her baggage. 

Robotic and empty-eyed, Nico couldn't tell if the alleyway was dimmed or if the edges of her vision had tunneled and gone fuzzy again. It had been such a long while since the last time it got this bad. But then, it had been such a long time since... 

Why did she come here? 
Why did she think she was ready to come here? 
What was she thinking? 
What was she doing?? 
Actually, no. Really. What was she doing? 

"I... I ha... I have... ha... I have...  I have tools," she stammered out, clawing her way out of her own haunted head. For once, her words weren't perfectly crisp with preplanned elegance as she stuttered to a stop. Dropping his arm to crack open the box clutch clenched beneath hers. A miniature armoury hidden within. From which, she offered an FN Baby Browning and several varieties of stilettos and balisongs in various lengths - all suited to small hands and small hiding places. "I have tools." 

He felt her vanish... Once out in the alleyway, he paused and was looking at her when she seemed to rejoin him... somewhat.

Tools, she said. She had tools. And opened her clutch purse. "Er... well, I suppose I could make use of somethin' in there if need be - but we can skip dealin' with those bastards right now. I'd prefer ta come back with a bat an' my gun, personally." He reached up and attempted to touch her face, but stopped noticing her distant eyes.

"Heya, Nico... You feelin' alright? Should we head back to your place? I can - I can take ya home an' make ya some food? Draw a bath? Yous gettin' a bit woozy lookin'."

He opted to take her arms instead of touching her face, gripping her near her shoulders. "C'mon, we can go an' stash some'a this money anyways, then I'll feel betta an' we's can come back an' clean house." He turned them back toward Barty's shop in the alleyway, trying to see if she'd join him, but paused when she didn't move. Was she shaking? Maybe, he wasn't sure - but her confidence had shifted terribly.

Placing his cigarette between his lips, he stepped closer and lowered his head, looking up into her eyes. "Tell me right now, Flaco's bastards hurt ya? I'll go do every one'a them goons right this instant if theys touched you or anyone ya cared about..."

Would she even realize the importance of 'Jills could wait' but for her he'd go 'immediately'? Who knew. He didn't even know that was a THING yet... But would she even notice the inflection? The intent? The meaning?

His eyes were dark, a haunting expression deep within them, as he looked up at her. "What'cha thinkin', darlin'? We goin' home, or we squeezin' some low-life punks outta theys corner?"

None of it was entirely lost on her. But all of it felt like swimming through quicksand. Dull, deadened, heavy. The only thing that felt at all keen or clear was the trembling radiating from her core. There was something so familiar about that look in his eyes. Just like... 

No. She shook her head violently at the thought, bobby pins springing loose from her coiffed curls. 

'Darling'... 'home'... 

She stilled as the weight of his grip settled onto her shoulders, anchoring her into her body. Staring down at him, she peered into that haunting gaze, into the windows of his soul and directly through him down to the core. Seeing him and seeing a living ghost all at once.

'Killer' the thought echoed in her mind once more. And she marveled at the absolute void of emotion or reaction that stirred in response. Only the tiniest trill of something that felt like half a smile mustered. Beyond that, nothing.   

"You need shoes," she answered gently. Stubbornly. "Today is about you - who you want to be. And you need shoes." 

She didn't elaborate. Didn't confirm. But the answer was as clear as crystal in her dark eyes as they began to swim with unshed tears. Hurt? Oh, yes. More deeply than any blade ever could. The 'price' they'd carved away wasn't flesh. It was a future. The kind of unhealable loss that comes with soul-deep grief... that changes a person so intrinsically, so completely, that whoever she'd been before ceased to exist in anything more than precious fleeting flashes half glimpsed through the fragile facade of coping. Her body would have healed. Her heart... her mind... her HOME... those were other matters entirely. 

And beneath the barely concealed, vacuous ache that stared back at him, swam an ocean of slow-simmering, bloodthirsty violence and vengeance.

One day... ONE DAY. ... but not today. Today, shoes.