W O R K . -open-

[giovanni montague]

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

His muscles flexed as he did the pull up's on the bar with ease, beads of sweat running down his tan skin. Of course he didn't have a shirt on...Whether there was anyone in the large gym or not, he would have taken it off. It was too much of a hassle and he grew up being taught not to be ashamed...Of his physic at least. Even if he was a stick. But luckily for him he wasn't. With the music playing (On to the Next One by Jay-Z), it seemed to just pump adrenaline into his system as he continued; up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Over and over with no problem. A bullet would was visible on his left shoulder that he was forever oblivious to, even when it had happened. It was what he was trained for after all. The best of the Italian Mob's hit men had to make sacrifices and his was his family, a normal life, a social life, normal schooling, and basically his actual life- breathing, heart beating, the vitals.

Whatever happened happened and he had to live like tomorrow would never happen. At one point he did think of the future...back when he actually cared about someone else's life other than his family's. But obviously it had been his own mistake sohe moved on from it. It was himself and his family, no one else mattered. Letting go of the bar, he was on his feet, easily balancing like a cat, grabbing a towel to wipe off his face, he ran his fingers through his hair. He had some basketball shorts on and some sneakers...Nothing too amazing. He would look like any normal person if it wasn't for that damn bullet wound..It was probably why he always got weird looks other than the fact he went missing for over a decade of his life and suddenly reappeared. Seemed like all the Old Money kids regarded him with wary or curiosity and the rest just didn't mess with him. They shouldn't. He didn't like dealing with people all that much.

They were annoying and deceiving.

Going over to the pexi glass window that looked over the main gymnasium, he yawned before grabbing a water bottle and practically chugging it. There were a few people down there actually running or doing something productive but for the most part, he was only up here to get his mind off everything. Last night he came back from Portugal after killing another hitman for the Russian mob. Not fun. He didn't want to get caught up in that war. He was suppose to only protect his family not do their dirty work. But they always found a justifiable reason for him to do what he was doing and it was all he could hold on to so he could lay his head down at night without so much guilt and paranoia.

Turning his bare back to the glass, he leaned against it, looking at the gym equipment and how it seemed to go on endlessly. Eh. Maybe he should go jogging but not on the treadmill because that was just annoying. Running in place wasn't as fun as running outside with the air hitting your face and either having the music playing in your headphones like he had or the sounds of the world around you. Yeah, he'd definitely go running before he went to bed tonight. Maybe around the campus or something. It was his favorite stress reliever other than smoking as contradicting as that sounded.

So sighing deeply, he let another yawn slip out before taking another gulp of water. The song had just ended and so he heard clearly when the door slammed opened and then closed at the far end by the treadmills at the exit and entrance of the gym from the locker rooms. Bleh. A shower actually sounded good right now before he went on a night out with some friends or something. Yes, he surprisingly had friends...ok. Associates. Who would tell him who he'd put on his hit list next.


-open-

[JEWEL SAMEDI CAMPBELL]

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

His muscles flexed under the weight of the petite female, sitting between his shoulder blades, her slender ankles resting right over the curve of his sculpted, roman-era ass cheeks. The heels dangled from her pedicured toes, the pampering evident in every aspect of her slight disrepair, and yet… she was bored with it. There was always something that proved she’d been up to no good, be it a bit of smudged lipstick or a misplaced earring, mismatched socks or a bra that was a size too big for her own breasts. It wasn’t that Jewel regularly purchased oversized things of that sort, merely that during her nighttime behavior, she ended up losing them and it was all she could do not to go around braless all the time - steal someone else’s. if she was being honest, she was lacking a bit in the fun bags department, but she made up for it with a good deal of flexibility and resourcefulness when it came to location, as well as any kind of manipulation it would take to allow whatever someone wanted to happen. She didn’t get paid, she just thoroughly enjoyed sexual fantasies and getting that far into people’s minds. Deluded? Yes. Of course. Did she give a flying fuck about how people treated or responded to her? No. because she’d whip out her fists of frustration and fury and kick the living shit out of them. As stated before, a gentle state of disrepair was preferred in comparison to the impeccably groomed state most of her relatives were found in, and thus Jewel specialized in not only insulting people until they smacked her, or other physical confrontation. Ripping off testicles or pulling hair out of people’s skulls was not beneath her, however completely pathetic and desperate that made her sound. It wasn’t like she could carry around the glock she kept under her bed. That was for special emergencies. Pushing a bored hand through her hair, she listened to the boy doing push ups beneath her, his breath coming in and out in such a steady stream that she had to wonder if he was human, even if the wondering was only momentary. Up, down. Up, down. She sighed, shifted. He struggled under her weight. If he fell, she wouldn’t be able to help the delicate giggle that would escape her lips, and she knew it. Praying to god he wouldn’t collapse down, she crossed one leg over the other, hands poised on the boy’s shoulders to keep herself from toppling over.

Up, down. Up, down. “All right, I’m fucking done,” he muttered, laying his body down and seeming to give up on the ultimate process. She leaned forward, nibbled on his cheek, wiped a drop of sweat from the side of his head onto her finger, and from there to the shirt he was wearing, shifted easily off of him and began to trek that would take her from one side of the gym to the other, and subsequently out, unless she saw anyone else who needed her assistance. In all reality, she’d intended to find the coach and see if they didn’t have some sort of program that could channel her anger into something productive and overall functional, but she’d been caught by the boy from the beach, his expression reading like a book. She’d fascinated him with her violent acts and obviously, he wanted more where the first dose came from. So she’d given it to him, and helped him build a little muscle by doing one hundred push ups with the added weight of her slender frame on his spine, as well as his own flesh and organs. It was disgusting to think of the contents of a human. It really was.

Heels clicking against the wooden gym floor in a somewhat rhythmic pattern, she’d just begun to anticipate the feeling of cool autumn air on her face when all of a sudden, the revelation that she actually knew the guy leaning up against the window smacked her in the face like Doli with a spatula. [ahahahah xD] She stopped walking altogether, the sound that had been surrounding her ceasing to exist as she just stared, the only person who got something of an uncalculated response from her. Because she didn’t know how to respond. In fact, she had no fucking idea. Her mouth would have dropped open if she had enough effort to let it do so, instead she seemed afflicted with a case of lockjaw. Nothing would come out of her mouth if she did so much as manage to crack her teeth apart, even a little bit. Crossing the distance between them in four quick steps, her long legs easily spanning the distance, she enveloped the boy in a hug - it wasn’t something she would frequently do, but he’d saved her from a life she neither wanted nor knew she was going to have, and for the expense of his own situation. It was a sacrifice even Jewel was forced to respect. And she did. Greatly.

click.

[giovanni montague]

Hugs. Touching.

At first he almost immediately flinched away, his face having something like disdain across it as a frown fell on his lips and his eyebrows knitted together. Hugs. It wasn't that he didn't like them, he actually loved them tremendously because he didn't get them often but that was just the problem. When he did get them, he got emotional and thus,when he realized who it was, simply patted her head slightly with his hand and slithered out, scrunching up his nose but letting the blank look fall on his features, "Ms. Campbell," he mentioned simply as if addressing a superior. It was an old habit, "A bit unprofessional," it wasn't a question, but instead a statement. Once a client always a client. If she paid him he would follow orders. In her case, his payment he ended up spending on a necklace he gave to his mother for her birthday that year. It was probably the only gift she ever appreciated from him until she found out he hadn't gotten the money from the family but instead from an outside source and that he was doing outside work.

Truth was, he was hoping he would never see Ms. Campbell again. He had been given the order to take her out the next time he found her but that there was no real pressure to do so. They, being the Italian mob and his parents, found her to be a disgrace and traitor for reasons he was not told of. That was all the information given to make him rest at night with ease and to find killing her a bit more justifiable. It wasn't like she ever told him why she wanted those certain people taken out that she paid him to do and it wasn't like he was going to ask. He was basically the product, the robot, the toy who would do as he was told unless otherwise when it came to that department. He could very well think on his own but never, on his own, would he become a hitman. Maybe a surgeon...He always wanted to do operations...Cardiology or Neurology... Forensics Pathologist. Maybe he just had some weird obsession with the human body in general...Not just the killing and bringing it back to life sort of deal.

Or maybe it was his way of thinking that if he helped enough people to make up for all of those he killed in his years thus far that it could somehow help him buy his way into heaven because he was raised to be well aware of such religious beliefs...Which meant he knew damn well one couldn't buy their way into heaven no matter what.

Running his fingers through his hair, a slight yawn escaped his lips. He could kill her right then and there...Hit a pressure point or two to knock her out so there was no blood spill and then snap her neck so she would never wake up or if she did, well, she would most likely be quadriplegic and not being able to move, she wouldn't survive. Unlike most hitmen, if he actually had the time he would bury the person or cremate them...That way they didn't have to just lie in a ditch and rot forever, yeah? He was being respectful and covering his tracks as well. Not like it mattered. Most of the police in European countries (at least) did not give two craps about what he did with his time because they got paid to stay out of the way.

"I'm surprised to see you here," another statement as he walked over to the bench to lift some weights since now he had to distract himself before he did end up killing her because that order was sticking out like a sore thumb in his mind.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

And up again. He let his breathe out steadily and kept up with pace like a very steady and slow heartbeat, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he did so. If he remembered correctly she would either sit on him or sit on the weight to add her own weight onto it which he didn't mind. She was as light as a feather and he was as bored as the next person.

[JEWEL SAMEDI CAMPBELL]

Hugs didn't come often from the brunette, so when they did people either learned to appreciate them or found themselves stunned with the reality of what she was doing. The reaction she got from Gio was neither, though to be honest she hadn't known what to expect. Again with the intrigue of the unknown – it fascinated her to absolutely no end. Her response to his statement was something of a joke, mostly because she knew from their brief time together that he took himself very seriously and had difficulty laughing or accepting other human emotions. Apparently they weakened you, and while she typically agreed with that statement, his vague attempts at imitating a personality amused her somewhat. She almost chuckled as he patted her head, but held back and instead retorted to the strange form of acceptance with a light smirk. “Mr. Montague, I know I'm a bitch, but that doesn't mean you have to treat me like I'm man's best friend.” A pat on the head? Sure, she was younger than he was, but not by enough for that. And sure, the hug had been a bit awkward.. but it somehow felt better to have gotten that out of her system. She didn't hug. It just didn't happen. But someone who'd done her such a huge favor, who'd relieved so much stress from her system and from everything around her. He deserved it ten times over. Not to mention working for someone who was considerably younger then he was and showing no indications of either realizing it or caring. So long as he got paid, she guessed, which was a good way to work. Jewel knew nothing of his mob ties or her parent's affiliation with the Montagues apart from the few dinners they'd had, and while they seemed all right – as all right as noisy italian bastards with a retarded, brooding son could be – that was about the extent of her giving two shits. Leaning against the glass, she watched as he made his way over to the bench and lifted the bar from the holder, beginning what would obviously be a difficult, intense workout. His comment had sent her into a contemplative silence, for just a brief moment, and then she was back responding like she always did. A quirk of her eyebrow and a retort that would probably make little sense if taken out of context, but was both cutting and maybe a bit demeaning when you considered the entire conversation. “It seems I've forgone the men-only education rule, damn it. Totally forgot about that.” seeing her in a boarding school loaded with like kind was weird. Really weird. She resisted the urge to act her age and roll her eyes.

Fingers slowly inching the fabric of her mini skirt up higher around her thigh, she examined a scratch she'd achieved through some kind of rough situation, more likely than not in the act of screwing the brains out of that cabana boy earlier that week. Funny, she hadn't noticed it until now. Smoothing the skin there, she traced a hand over the delicate curve of the cut, noting how it would probably scar, and frowned. “I hate permanent marks,” she stated bluntly, knowing a response probably wasn't necessary, but saying it anyway. She'd admit – she talked because she liked the sound of her own voice more than that of anyone else. There wasn't a person on this earth besides herself who could talk continuously and she wouldn't get tired of after about an hour. For Jewel, company was subjective to her attitude and the behavior she intended to expose them to, depending on the time of day, the influence she was under, and a couple of other things that she didn't feel like mentally listing. Pushing hair hair over her shoulder, she moved easily to where he was sitting, slid one slender leg over to the other side of him, so she was straddling his stomach and then delicately positioned her legs so there was less of a straight view up her skirt. “Didn't expect you to be here either,” she stated, somewhat dryly. Fingers drumming on his chest, she smirked. “I didn't know you could make time for school with your busy schedule,”

click.