[Leone Abbacchio is no stranger to repetitive behavior. Habits, maybe, habits for normal people—but none of them in the gang are normal by sheer virtue of their positions in life, to say nothing of everything else about them, so - habits happen to other people. To them, patterns. Even in the always wild, often reckless behavior of their little subset of the gang, predictability emerges in the downtime between missions. Almost a routine.
Not a comfortable routine, the way they live, but a routine nonetheless. Abbacchio has never vied for the position of leader, or even tried to bully Fugo out of the sort-of-second station he filled for a while, as he's never wanted it... but he's the oldest, and somehow the most level-headed in a crisis (he says), so it falls to him to keep the kids in line when Bruno is away on a mission of his own. This role he did actually bully his way into, but they listen to him when he tells them that Bruno being away for a few extra days isn't anything to worry about; that the short communication that could express only that, and even that too vaguely for comfort, is nothing to worry about. That the routine breaking in such a dramatic way is... just fine.
And naturally, when he's finally left alone and the others have... whatever it is they do to keep them busy, he smokes like a chimney and drinks most of a bottle of wine by himself. He does it on the roof of the apartment building they've holed up in in this town after telling the others he's going out somewhere, because he doesn't need the rest of the gang getting on his ass about his absolutely blatant lies.
Because Bruno being absent for days longer than predicted is absolutely something to worry about. The panic coils in Abbacchio's chest like a snake constricting around his heart, and with each passing day he wonders if the next morning will be the one where a message arrives, impersonal and with Further Instructions, telling them their leader has unfortunately been murdered and dumped in a canal somewhere they'll never see. Days turn to hours to minutes, and so Abbacchio leans his elbows on the ledge surrounding this rooftop and drinks straight from the bottle, watching the street, waiting.
It's not to say his stomach lurches every time he sees a dark-haired figure in the street below. It doesn't. Surely not. He doesn't look over his shoulder every time the wind makes something on the rooftop creak like the door opening, aside from every time he does.
He surely does not do any of that, but if he did, it would be better than letting his mind wander away to what will happen to the rest of them if they're left suddenly and tragically alone. He, personally, will probably will find a hole to crawl into until he dies—
It is at this point that the wind blows over some ancient construction materials left up on the rooftop which clatter away loudly enough to startle Abbacchio into spilling the rest of his wine. Now, he is only focused on all this adult grape juice he just spilled down his own leg. Great!!] —Fuck.
rooftop: scenic, time: dusk, melodrama: out
Not a comfortable routine, the way they live, but a routine nonetheless. Abbacchio has never vied for the position of leader, or even tried to bully Fugo out of the sort-of-second station he filled for a while, as he's never wanted it... but he's the oldest, and somehow the most level-headed in a crisis (he says), so it falls to him to keep the kids in line when Bruno is away on a mission of his own. This role he did actually bully his way into, but they listen to him when he tells them that Bruno being away for a few extra days isn't anything to worry about; that the short communication that could express only that, and even that too vaguely for comfort, is nothing to worry about. That the routine breaking in such a dramatic way is... just fine.
And naturally, when he's finally left alone and the others have... whatever it is they do to keep them busy, he smokes like a chimney and drinks most of a bottle of wine by himself. He does it on the roof of the apartment building they've holed up in in this town after telling the others he's going out somewhere, because he doesn't need the rest of the gang getting on his ass about his absolutely blatant lies.
Because Bruno being absent for days longer than predicted is absolutely something to worry about. The panic coils in Abbacchio's chest like a snake constricting around his heart, and with each passing day he wonders if the next morning will be the one where a message arrives, impersonal and with Further Instructions, telling them their leader has unfortunately been murdered and dumped in a canal somewhere they'll never see. Days turn to hours to minutes, and so Abbacchio leans his elbows on the ledge surrounding this rooftop and drinks straight from the bottle, watching the street, waiting.
It's not to say his stomach lurches every time he sees a dark-haired figure in the street below. It doesn't. Surely not. He doesn't look over his shoulder every time the wind makes something on the rooftop creak like the door opening, aside from every time he does.
He surely does not do any of that, but if he did, it would be better than letting his mind wander away to what will happen to the rest of them if they're left suddenly and tragically alone. He, personally, will probably will find a hole to crawl into until he dies—
It is at this point that the wind blows over some ancient construction materials left up on the rooftop which clatter away loudly enough to startle Abbacchio into spilling the rest of his wine. Now, he is only focused on all this adult grape juice he just spilled down his own leg. Great!!] —Fuck.