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Paradisa, unknown
Molotov offers the carton, and Ezio takes a cigarette from it.
"Do you know how to use it?" she asks, using That Tone. Ezio can never tell if That Tone is laughing with him or at him, but he doesn't mind too much –– she's a powerful woman, and he has enough respect for her that he doesn't mind a little bit of fun at his expense.
"No," he replies.
Her red lips curve into a smile, and the cigarette teeters precariously off the edge of her lips. She leans close to him, gesturing to her own mouth, and Ezio copies her. She pulls out her lighter and holds it to the end of the cigarette, one hand cupped around to protect the little flame from the breeze. Up close, he can see hints of her natural red eyebrows, spots that escaped the wrath of her dark eyebrow pencil.
"Inhale, exhale. You know how to breathe, da?" she asks.
"Of course I know how to breathe," he replies.
Molotov chuckles, and then shakes her head when Ezio coughs on the first breath.
"Take your time, Ezio," she chides. "You're always in such a rush."
Ezio removes the cigarette from his mouth for a moment, feeling the slight burn in his lungs, but he's determined to get the hang of it. Molotov goes back to staring at the horizon, taking a long drag off of her own cigarette.
"It's easy to feel like there's never enough time, here," Ezio says, finally. "Even if there is little to do, I find myself struggling to do everything, in case someone goes home tomorrow."
"If you dropped the sluts, you wouldn't be so busy." Molotov glances at him, exhaling and sending a whorl of grey smoke through the air, around her own face. "You're thirty years old tomorrow. Time to stop wasting your time."
"I don't think it's a waste," he replies. "They're all important to me."
"Hmm," she murmurs. "Well, stop fucking teenagers, at any rate, or I will start taking your fingers."
Ezio chuckles, leaning back on one hand.
"Maybe that would do it. Irene says I just need discipline. That I don't learn a damn thing unless there's punishment waiting for me."
Molotov scoffs, and as her cigarette burns down, she plucks it from her lips and crushes the head against the roof tiles.
"You've got plenty of motivation, kroshka, you just don't know when to say 'no.' I hope you do not pay this woman to tell you what any of your friends can tell you for free."
"She is a professional," Ezio shrugs.
"She is enabling you," Molotov says, in a tone that tells him she's right, he's wrong, and there's nothing he can do about it. "Get a lover to spank you and play out this ridiculous domination thing of yours. If you want to learn how to say 'no', just act your age. It is that simple."
Ezio just laughs, and she leans in to take his cigarette away. He lets her have it, watching her take a drag off of it, and then he says, "I'll consider it."
"And stop sleeping with your enemies," she replies, still business-like. She eyes him with her one good eye. "Sooner or later you're going to find a knife in your back, and I don't want to waste time on funerals."
"They'd have to see my back, first."
Her expression sours.
"Men," she scoffs.
Molotov offers the carton, and Ezio takes a cigarette from it.
"Do you know how to use it?" she asks, using That Tone. Ezio can never tell if That Tone is laughing with him or at him, but he doesn't mind too much –– she's a powerful woman, and he has enough respect for her that he doesn't mind a little bit of fun at his expense.
"No," he replies.
Her red lips curve into a smile, and the cigarette teeters precariously off the edge of her lips. She leans close to him, gesturing to her own mouth, and Ezio copies her. She pulls out her lighter and holds it to the end of the cigarette, one hand cupped around to protect the little flame from the breeze. Up close, he can see hints of her natural red eyebrows, spots that escaped the wrath of her dark eyebrow pencil.
"Inhale, exhale. You know how to breathe, da?" she asks.
"Of course I know how to breathe," he replies.
Molotov chuckles, and then shakes her head when Ezio coughs on the first breath.
"Take your time, Ezio," she chides. "You're always in such a rush."
Ezio removes the cigarette from his mouth for a moment, feeling the slight burn in his lungs, but he's determined to get the hang of it. Molotov goes back to staring at the horizon, taking a long drag off of her own cigarette.
"It's easy to feel like there's never enough time, here," Ezio says, finally. "Even if there is little to do, I find myself struggling to do everything, in case someone goes home tomorrow."
"If you dropped the sluts, you wouldn't be so busy." Molotov glances at him, exhaling and sending a whorl of grey smoke through the air, around her own face. "You're thirty years old tomorrow. Time to stop wasting your time."
"I don't think it's a waste," he replies. "They're all important to me."
"Hmm," she murmurs. "Well, stop fucking teenagers, at any rate, or I will start taking your fingers."
Ezio chuckles, leaning back on one hand.
"Maybe that would do it. Irene says I just need discipline. That I don't learn a damn thing unless there's punishment waiting for me."
Molotov scoffs, and as her cigarette burns down, she plucks it from her lips and crushes the head against the roof tiles.
"You've got plenty of motivation, kroshka, you just don't know when to say 'no.' I hope you do not pay this woman to tell you what any of your friends can tell you for free."
"She is a professional," Ezio shrugs.
"She is enabling you," Molotov says, in a tone that tells him she's right, he's wrong, and there's nothing he can do about it. "Get a lover to spank you and play out this ridiculous domination thing of yours. If you want to learn how to say 'no', just act your age. It is that simple."
Ezio just laughs, and she leans in to take his cigarette away. He lets her have it, watching her take a drag off of it, and then he says, "I'll consider it."
"And stop sleeping with your enemies," she replies, still business-like. She eyes him with her one good eye. "Sooner or later you're going to find a knife in your back, and I don't want to waste time on funerals."
"They'd have to see my back, first."
Her expression sours.
"Men," she scoffs.