Sometimes, Alfred thought, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
He took one last look in the mirror, drinking in his reflection before shooting it a grin and a thumbs up. Sure, it wasn't a slick three piece, but he liked to think he looked good in the bomber jacket and jeans. Friendly, approachable, unconventional - but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
And being underestimated could come in handy, too.
"Oh yeah, who's the boss?" If there was a little ass shake accompanying the words, well, he wasn't owning up to it. "That's right. Me." And with that parting shot to an empty room, Alfred F. Jones left his apartment.
------
Not for the first time, Lovino questioned whether he was doing the right thing. Not so much about offing that bastardo Marco Guasconi, who had it coming the first time he'd been forced to watch Feliciano take on an assignment the sadistic pig-licker knew Feliciano couldn't complete. Just to watch Feliciano cry and beg for mercy.
Shit-sucking sonuvva whore. May wolves chew on his dick while he burned in the pits of hell, amen.
No, he just wondered whether he should have waited. Jones had been convenient because he was an outsider with the strength and ability to take out the top echelon. But therein also lay the problem. Jones was an outsider who had no fucking clue about the mafia other than a vague notion that they "did bad things."
Quote, unquote. Bash his head against hard surface repeatedly.
"Hey! Lovino, right? You know, you shouldn't keep hitting your head against the wall like that, you'll hurt yourself." Speaking of...
Ladies and gentlemen, their new overlord had arrived.
"Jones. ...Jones, what are you wearing."
The kid automatically looked down at himself. Lovino snorted at the sight. What, did the kid dress himself in the dark or something? You'd think a person would remember his own outfit. "Huh? Oh, yeah! Isn't it awesome?"
Awesome. Yeah, no, and he heard that word far too often from Beilschmidt already. The deranged one, not the one getting fucked by his brother. (Ugh.) His lips curled into a sneer as he decided whether to be blunt or politic before-- ah shit, he supposed he should play nice with his new boss for awhile at least. He felt so magnanimous. "It's a t-shirt. And jeans. And ratty sneakers."
"Hey, don't dis the sneakers! They've gotten me out of many a tough spot."
"You couldn't have worn a fucking suit or something?"
Jones seemed to actually consider that for a moment. "Nah, this is more comfy. I don't feel like I can breathe in a suit, ya know?"
Lovino did, but he wasn't sure whether he could forgive flying in the face of fashion and tradition. "Whatever, it's too late to change, anyway. Next time, you're wearing a suit."
Ugh, the kid was like an overeager puppy the way he perked right up. "So you're taking me to headquarters, right? I get to meet with everyone? I've got these great ideas I can't wait to share."
"Yes, we're going to HQ. No, we're not meeting everyone, just the more important bastards. Hold off on the idea sharing until they're more used to you."
Damage control, and then getting it through the idiot's thick head the proper way to run a Family.
And some new clothes. Definitely some new clothes.
Go Get Your Gun (1/?)
Sometimes, Alfred thought, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
He took one last look in the mirror, drinking in his reflection before shooting it a grin and a thumbs up. Sure, it wasn't a slick three piece, but he liked to think he looked good in the bomber jacket and jeans. Friendly, approachable, unconventional - but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
And being underestimated could come in handy, too.
"Oh yeah, who's the boss?" If there was a little ass shake accompanying the words, well, he wasn't owning up to it. "That's right. Me." And with that parting shot to an empty room, Alfred F. Jones left his apartment.
Not for the first time, Lovino questioned whether he was doing the right thing. Not so much about offing that bastardo Marco Guasconi, who had it coming the first time he'd been forced to watch Feliciano take on an assignment the sadistic pig-licker knew Feliciano couldn't complete. Just to watch Feliciano cry and beg for mercy.
Shit-sucking sonuvva whore. May wolves chew on his dick while he burned in the pits of hell, amen.
No, he just wondered whether he should have waited. Jones had been convenient because he was an outsider with the strength and ability to take out the top echelon. But therein also lay the problem. Jones was an outsider who had no fucking clue about the mafia other than a vague notion that they "did bad things."
Quote, unquote. Bash his head against hard surface repeatedly.
"Hey! Lovino, right? You know, you shouldn't keep hitting your head against the wall like that, you'll hurt yourself." Speaking of...
Ladies and gentlemen, their new overlord had arrived.
"Jones. ...Jones, what are you wearing."
The kid automatically looked down at himself. Lovino snorted at the sight. What, did the kid dress himself in the dark or something? You'd think a person would remember his own outfit. "Huh? Oh, yeah! Isn't it awesome?"
Awesome. Yeah, no, and he heard that word far too often from Beilschmidt already. The deranged one, not the one getting fucked by his brother. (Ugh.) His lips curled into a sneer as he decided whether to be blunt or politic before-- ah shit, he supposed he should play nice with his new boss for awhile at least. He felt so magnanimous. "It's a t-shirt. And jeans. And ratty sneakers."
"Hey, don't dis the sneakers! They've gotten me out of many a tough spot."
"You couldn't have worn a fucking suit or something?"
Jones seemed to actually consider that for a moment. "Nah, this is more comfy. I don't feel like I can breathe in a suit, ya know?"
Lovino did, but he wasn't sure whether he could forgive flying in the face of fashion and tradition. "Whatever, it's too late to change, anyway. Next time, you're wearing a suit."
Ugh, the kid was like an overeager puppy the way he perked right up. "So you're taking me to headquarters, right? I get to meet with everyone? I've got these great ideas I can't wait to share."
"Yes, we're going to HQ. No, we're not meeting everyone, just the more important bastards. Hold off on the idea sharing until they're more used to you."
Damage control, and then getting it through the idiot's thick head the proper way to run a Family.
And some new clothes. Definitely some new clothes.