The call to catch caught his attention, causing Damien to spin on a hell and face the direction of her voice. And without much trouble at all, he would proceed to catch any fruit she threw down to him. Perhaps this was intended as a peace offering for her father, who hopefully had a soft spot for ripe fruit.
"I'm sure your parents must have had a hard time getting you down from there." His comment was backed by an amused smirk, because clearly he was enjoying the downtime and more so the fact he was spending it with her. While he waited for Fiorella to scale back down the tree, he examined the fruit he was holding. Everything about it was foreign to him, from the way it looked and even the smell. Though he was never so distracted that he wouldn't be able to help her down if necessary, or catch her in the event of a mishap.
If anything, he was glad for her persistent interludes to tease and provoke him. It helped break up any potential uncertainty, and instead allowed him to reorient himself mentally and get his bearings. So it was no wonder that he seemed to be in his element again, and just in time for whatever was going to happen on the other side of those gates.
As she stood on the sturdy branch, Fiorella spread her arms and let out a soft chuckle.
"[I am afraid, my dear, that even you may find it a challenge to coax me down from these heights. You should learn how to fly, perhaps.]"
She caught the 'apple' in her teeth and crouched down. Gripping the branch firmly with her left hand, she slowly descended. In this reflexive gesture, she unwittingly displayed her unnatural Outcast strength; her left hand could support her entire weight and lower her down - slowly, controllably, and comfortably. There were no signs of any straining in her face. It felt as casual as lifting a cup of tea.
However, it took only a couple of seconds before she descended into his arms and 'allowed' him to catch her and set her on the ground. Once her feet touched the earth, she smiled, took a bite of her 'apple', and continued towards her estate.
"[During our excursion to Houston, I almost paid a visit the rooftop of our hotel. I believe it would be quite feasible from the balcony.]"
Her body language was relaxed, more active, in motion, and full of energy. She had left her image of the icy, calculating queen in orbit – or at least concealed it quite skillfully.
Since she'd entitled him to the luxury of holding her for a moment, he playfully spun for a moment before setting her down. The moment was his, so he might as well enjoy it a little. Especially if she was going to keep teasing to test his patience.
"Climbing to the roof in your pajamas would have been quite the spectacle." Finding himself to be standing still for a moment and falling behind, he jogged a step or two to catch up and then settled back into an easy pace. This was it, at least ostensibly - the gate was right there and they were walking straight through it and into the lush compound. And while still quite confident to express himself properly, and receive favorable reception, Damien still reached for Fiorella's hand for reassurance.
It was instinctive, and if he was honest with himself it was something he caught himself wishing he could do quite frequently. "Who should we meet first?" It seemed prudent to ask now and set an agenda for the rest of the day. There were a lot of relatives to go through after all.
Upon his inquiry, she merely shrugged her shoulders lightly, seemingly indifferent about who they might first encounter on her estate. She appeared relaxed and at ease, in her element, on her home turf. She consumed her plucked 'apple' rather swiftly—the hard, discarded stem thrown into the grass was all that remained of the fruit.
"[Fiorella!]"
A young male voice called out from the alley to their right.
"[Julian! You are well, I presume?]"
She inquired of Julian de Marco as they embraced warmly in greeting. His chuckle was a positive response. He appeared youthful and relatively inexperienced, no older than twenty-five. Yet, in his eyes, he sparkled with the willingness to prove himself.
"[Julian de Marco, my younger cousin and one of my finest freight pilots. He earned his wings during several blockade and trade runs.]"
She gestured toward the dark-haired young man in white, loose clothes as she introduced him to Damien, then, with the same gesture, indicated her companion.
"[Damien Morreti, commander of the Xeno Alliance, my guest, and the biological father of my daughter.]"
The mention of Damien as the father of Fiorella's daughter, Ciara de Marco, elicited a slight surprise on her cousin's face. It was as if he was unsure whether to protect his cousin from this foreign influence or to endorse her decision.
Ultimately, a mix of both sentiments seemed to prevail, and he moved to shake Damien's hand. The offered handshake was warm and welcoming, yet the subsequent grip's strength could be interpreted as a warning. Welcome among us, but if you harm her or break her heart, our retribution will be swift and merciless.
"[Welcome to our little valley, Damien. You should spend some time under our sun; you look unnaturally pale.]"
Damien stood out among the dark-haired Outcasts of the south, whose skin was more or less bronzed from the Maltese sun.
Accepting the handshake, Damien was sure to maintain eye contact throughout this exchange. Seemingly unbothered by the implied threat behind the grip on his hand and simply reciprocating it. Matching the grip had its implications, with the first and foremost being the intent to dispel any illusions of ill intent regarding Fiorella and a shared future. The second was confidence which was rooted in a lack of insecurity about his intentions here and relationship. And when paired together these things served as reassurance in the face of Julian's apprehension.
"[That's just how we look where I'm from. But it's a pleasure to be visiting all the same.]" Even if he disagreed with the fine print of how society operated here, he was still being given the benefit of hospitality despite the extreme cultural differences. And so in turn it felt only fair that he defer and give due respect when necessary while never allowing himself to come across as obsequious. "[Blockade running? Quite daring. That's arguably when the value of access to supplies is at its highest, and usually so is the associated risk. It's no small achievement.]" Damien glanced between his partner and Julian, wordlessly implying that he was simply picking up on something Fiorella had said.
He continued further, if only briefly. "[While I've never done it myself, I have at times been part of a spearhead to help blockade runners make it past the former part of their namesake. So I'm not surprised that you're made of tough stuff. It takes a certain kind to be willing to fly a block of metal through a wall of guns.]" An honest compliment and one steeped in an extremely colorful background of personal experience. More importantly, it was an open invitation to share stories of such experiences - one that Damien seemed keen for Julian to accept. But whether that eagerness was from a position of feigning sincerity or actual sincerity was for the young man alone to determine over time.
She stood silently beside the two men, displaying no discomfort from not being the focus of attention. On the contrary, it seemed she found listening more natural than being the center of attention. Her cousin, Julian de Marco, continued the conversation with her companion after their handshake.
"[The thrill is unparalleled, especially traversing the Tau region brimming with hostiles. Fortunately, our freighters are faster and more agile than anything attempting to catch us, or we are better armed, creating a breach in their patrols and vanishing before they can regroup and send in reinforcements.]"
"[But back to you, Damien - How do you find Malta? Does it align with your expectations?]"
Fiorella oversaw the interaction between Damien and Julian, almost as if ensuring everything proceeded as planned. An increasing wind that tousled her long black hair into her face eventually prompted her to turn away and seek shelter behind one of the larger fruit trees.
Then, her gaze was drawn to a tall, athletically poised, mature man observing them from a window of her villa. It was Salvatore de Marco, her father.
"[It can actually be quite quaint and charming out towards the villages. Ignoring the unexploded ordnance of course.]" A smirk underlined the fact that his comment about the buried bombs was in good humor and not an attempt to besmirch the picturesque quality of the landscape. "[But as for expectations? I learned long ago to not let your first impressions of people or things be burdened by that. Not that I ever knew much about Malta before now to ever really develop an impression of it.]" Damien glanced between his partner and Julian, wordlessly implying that he was simply picking up on something Fiorella had said.
As if out of habit, Damien glanced to either side to check on his partner - only to not find her standing beside him but having strategically relocated to use a tree for cover. "[Everything alright, dearest?]" A well rehearsed gesture of the hand would see Damien excuse himself from Julian. It seemed to him as if Fiorella was looking intently at something, or someone in this case. Needless to say that when a brief survey of what his partner had been looking at revealed Salvatore, Damien was hardly surprised.
But as expected as this particular occurrence was, the reception he was about to receive could not be predicted.
On indefinite hiatus because the current state of gameplay sucks - ping me over discord if replies are needed
Julian de Marco acknowledged his response with a nod. Still, he refrained from posing any further inquiries as soon as it became apparent that Damien was inclined to attend to his elder cousin. Fiorella directed her steel-blue gaze towards Damien, briefly revealing a hint of discomfort. However, the source of this unease remained undisclosed in her expression and body language. When she redirected her gaze to the window where she had observed her father, Salvatore de Marco was no longer present.
"[You should be aware of something, Damien.]"
She uttered, her voice low and deliberate as if keen to be heard and understood.
"[My father can be an exceedingly dangerous and unpredictable man, even by Outcast standards. While he has not claimed the lives of our people, some adversaries have departed from their encounters with him bearing broken limbs — sometimes arms, legs, or shattered jaws.]"
"[If you have any weapons with you, I kindly ask you to leave them here. Should there be a more intense exchange of views between you two, I would prefer it to end with bruises and broken bones rather than laser-scorched bodies.]"
As relaxed as she appeared moments ago, she now seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. The unfolding situation was evidently discomforting for her. The question remained: whom would she prioritize if forced to choose sides — her father or her lover?
What followed was an implicit show of trust, as Damien reached down and produced a laser pistol that had been safely secured in a concealed holster. This he then handed to Julian. "[May I ask that you secure this for me? I'll retrieve it personally when I leave.]" It was a humble request since Damien truly wasn't aware if they had facilities to secure weapons or not on the estate, and even if not then it was certainly safer with a member of her family than on his person. "[That was the only weapon I brought with me, just in case something went wrong on our way here.]" Ironically, it was evident to him now that the only time things might actually go wrong was when they arrived here. There was still the matter of Fiorella's father to deal with, and his tendency to be entirely unpredictable hadn't gone without consideration - especially when Damien was of a similar disposition.
For a moment his instincts were running on overdrive and were causing him to feel something not so dissimilar from pre-combat anxiety. His hands were cold, mouth dry, and the air feeding through his nose and down into his lungs felt heavy. But his mind, the real ruler of this body reminded itself of everything it had ever seen. Fire and flak across veritable war-machines, death in such dread abundance that it would prove sickening to any sane person, and every time he had personally inflicted this upon countless enemies over his years of service.
The man that was no doubt already on approach was fearsome, yes. But he was by no means any more or less lethal than a guided missile, a wall of flak, super-heated plasma, particle, laser, neutron, and tachyon cannons. The risk was all par for the course and the sole novelty was that it was in person now rather than in a ship careening through the black. It didn't make any practical difference, and this realization steeled his nerves. "[I'm ready to see him.]" The tone of these words was quiet and hardly evocative of boldness and bravery, but readiness and resolve was there - though perhaps only something Fiorella could pick up on.
With a slight nod, Julian de Marco accepted Damien's laser pistol, checking its safety before casually flipping it in his hand. Despite his youthful appearance, making him seem the least predatory of the De Marco clan, his effortless handling of the weapon seemed oddly disconcerting. It was as though Damien had handed him a hollow plastic toy instead of an actual, lethal armament.
"[Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on it.]"
Meanwhile, Fiorella bore a contemplative expression, seemingly harboring reservations about the entire scenario. In a manner possible for an Outcast, she could lift Damien over her shoulder and return to the Amalfi, avoiding this uncomfortable meeting.
However, despite his seemingly relaxed and slow movements, Salvatore de Marco did not afford them much time for deliberation. He approached the couple in his richly embroidered shirt, casually unbuttoned at the collar and with hands at his sides. He appeared unarmed, but that was of little consequence for an Outcast – their formidable physique made them inherently lethal without the need for advanced training.
He offered them a warm, cheerful smile and stepped forward to embrace Fiorella in a broad gesture. A sense of relief was visible on her face as the meeting did not immediately escalate into sharp exchanges or threats.
"[If it isn't my dearest daughter. Welcome home, Fia.]"
"[Father.]"
Despite the brevity of her response, it was laden with emotions. She clearly loved her father despite his apparent nature and reputation. Their familial bond was strong, probably more substantial than any oath.
"[Ciara is upstairs. Despite my efforts and your mother's, she's been restless since you left. Would you please see her? I have some matters to clarify with certain outsider.]"
Fiorella attempted to interject, yet the nature of her father's request or command - depending on one's perspective, and her traditional upbringing left little room for dissent.
"[Do not kill each other, gentlemen.]"
Her voice was full of disappointment as she directed at both of them. Those who put her into this uncomfortable situation, and she let it echo in both of their minds. Salvatore watched her until she disappeared through the main entrance.
Then, his no longer friendly and welcoming gaze turned to Damien, and he posed a simple yet gravely significant question.
![[Image: GAy6bGA.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/GAy6bGA.gif)