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 Posted: Fri May 21, 2010 6:39 pm
 Wikipedia Villa Borghese is a large landscape garden in the naturalistic English manner in Rome, containing a number of buildings, museums and attractions. It is the second largest public park in Rome (80 hectares or 148 acres) after that of the Villa Doria Pamphili. The gardens were developed for the Villa Borghese Pinciana ("Borghese villa on the Pincian Hill"), built by the architect Flaminio Ponzio, developing sketches by Scipione Borghese, who used it as a villa suburbana, a party villa, at the edge of Rome, and to house his art collection. The gardens as they are now were remade in the early nineteenth century.
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Posted: Thu May 27, 2010 10:07 pm
Firo Prochainezo  Looking at the address on the slip, Firo and Rowen make their way to the door of the employer that tried to have them killed. He walks up onto the door and knocks on it. The door opens and they are greeted by their employer, a fat, low ranking capo. His eyes widen in fear of the two men. Man: "Y-You are supposed to be dead?!?!" Two shots ring out as Firo shoots the man's arm at point blank range with the .50-caliber desert eagle, nearly ripping the man's arm off. In pain, he falls to the floor and reaches for his gun. Firo shoots the man's right hand clean off. "On behalf of the Albero Family and Prochainezo Parts, we'd like to thank you for your generous tip." He snaps his fingers. "Rowen, finish him."
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Posted: Fri May 28, 2010 12:30 am
Rowen cracks his neck, then his right fist, and then his left. He grabs the man gruffly by the back of his collar and hurls him at a wall. Before he can even hit the wall though, Rowen rips his gun out of it's holster and unloads all eight rounds into the man before he even connects with the wall, which broke his neck on contact. "All taken care of Boss." Rowen reloads his revolver then holsters it agin.
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Posted: Sat May 29, 2010 8:56 pm
Firo Prochainezo "And he isn't getting his bank deposite back." Firo laughed a bit as he walks out of the building. He takes out his cell phone. "Guess we should see if the boss needs us." He dials the phone as they head back to the shop.
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Posted: Sat Jun 05, 2010 1:04 pm
Yokai ran around the garden as he searches for the sound he heard. Suddenly, a knife came flying towards Yokai. He ducked and rolled away, taking out his Morning Star Gloves. The gloves then become covered in flames. Yokai looked around, trying to find out where the knife came from. Suddenly another knife came flying towards Yokai. This time instead of dodging the knife, Yokai casually caught the knife in between his two fingers, "Too easy..." Yokai saw where the knife came from, so he made two fingers with each hand, and a 2 spheres of fire formed. Yokai aimed just right and released the spheres of fire charging at the spot where the knife came from. When the spheres made contact, he heard a man scream. Yokai ran over to that spot and saw the man lying on the floor dead... Yokai shrugged. He then was about to walk away when suddenly a man came from behind Yokai and punched him. Yokai tumbled on the floor as he scrambled to get back up. Yokai looked at the man and said, "Who the hell are you?" The man did not reply, but instead charged at Yokai with a large sword, larger then a normal sword. The man swung, but Yokai ducked and did an uppercut, sending the man flying up. Yokai then jumped following the man. When Yokai reached him, he punched down sending the man down to ground and creating a small crater in concrete. The man got back up, suprising Yokai for his persistancy. Yokai spinned and tried to punch the man, but he missed, which let the man slash Yokai with his sword. Yokai was sent back as hit a rock. He was bleeding and tired. Yokai calmed his breathing then charged at the man with a fist. Yokai faked a punched to the gut, but instead dropped down to the ground, rolled over and kick the man's legs and made him fell. Yokai quickly got up. Yokai tried to do a hell drop on the man's head, but the man rolled over and kick Yokai, letting him fall. Yokai jumped back up, and flipped over the man, doing a backkick to the man's head. The man doubled over and seemed to try and get back up but couldn't, so he layed there. Yokai went over to him and did a heel drop, crushing the man's head. Yokai sighed then left.
Falling Harmonized Flames:400
Complete Harmony:400
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Posted: Mon Jun 07, 2010 8:33 pm
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXRomanov De LucaXXXXBUT ALL'S TOO WEAK FOR HIM
XXXXDISDAINING FORTUNE WITH HIS BRANDISHED STEEL
XXXXWHICH SMOKED FROM BLOODY EXECUTION
XXXXLIKE VALOUR'S MINION CARVED OUT HIS PASSAGE The Solemn JesterXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXTILL HE FACED THE SLAVE
WHICH NE'ER SHOOK HANDS NOR BADE FAREWELL TO HIMXXXX
TILL HE UNSEAMED HIM FROM THE NAVE TO TH'CHAPSXXXX
AND FIXED HIS HEAD UPON THE BATTLEMENTSXXXX  F rank // Flame Power: 20 // Agility: 10 // Power: 2 // Stamina: 5 // Resistance: 3 A white haired boy sat on a bench of the Village Borghese gardens, his legs dangling in the air. He was not even tall enough for his feet to touch the ground, and he stared blankly at the ground, unseeing. His feet swung rhythmically back and forth, and his fingers toyed with a deck of cards, looking almost new. His skillful fingers shuffled them back and forth, performing all kinds of trickery with it that would almost be impossible for a boy of his age, a mere 12 year old boy.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him, and Romanov looked up – only to see a muscular, burly looking man standing over him. The man had tattoos over his arms, one of them bearing a dragon and the other bearing a tiger. He grinned, showing yellowed and sharp canines, almost as though he was not entirely human but instead partly beast.
”Qui è un delicato uno…”
The man nodded to himself and spoke in Italian, licking his lips as though he was relishing the taste of the boy’s flesh. Romanov knew only too well what this man wanted. Only two possibilities: one was that he wanted a slave boy to himself, and two was that he wanted to sell him off for child labour. Either way, it was not going to be too pleasant.
”Desole monsieur, mai je ne veux pas venir avec toi, si possible.”
Romanov replied curtly in French, knowing that this burly looking man probably would not understand him anyway. The man’s eyes widened only for a split second, but quickly regained his composure. Baring his teeth in a growl, he thrust his face right in front of Romanov’s, the heavy scent of beer wafting off his breath.
”Hai capito? Ho intenzione di vendere per un sacco di soldi.”
Without waiting for Romanov to respond, the man whipped out a handkerchief from his pocket, intending to clamp it over Romanov’s nose and mouth. Romanov knew only too well what it was: Chloroform, to knock him out in less than 5 seconds. Only managing to hold his breath at the last second, Romanov made his move. He moved like chained lightning: ducking his head, clenching his hands into fists and driving one of them HARD into the man’s gut. The man wheezed, as Romanov had obviously hit a painful spot. With his free hand, Romanov warded off the man’s hand with the handkerchief, fastening it in an iron-vice grip. Romanov then dealt an awful blow to the man’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. As he did, his jacket fluttered open, revealing 8 throwing knives strapped to his belt, ready to be used any moment to slice the man open.
”Comprende? Je ne veux pas etre un jouer pour toi.”
Romanov said coldly, his face holding absolutely no expression as he planted one foot on the man’s terrified face. In a flurry of movements he whipped out two of his knives, before whipping around and plunging both of them into the man’s chest, right into his lungs. A horrible wheezing sound emitted from the man’s mouth, and air started leaking out of his lungs. Romanov had skillfully punctured both of the man’s lungs, and now he was as good as dead. But not dead yet. In another flurry of movements, Romanov whipped out two more of his blades, plunging one into the man’s throat and the other into the man’s gut. The man went into a horrible spasm of movements before finally lying still. His trachea had been severed in half, both of his lungs punctured, and his gut had been slashed open, cutting the intestines inside. Romanov was unmoved by the gruesome killing he had just performed, instead he calmly pulled out his four bloodied blades and planting them into his belt, dripping blood as he started to walk away. An audience had gathered around, some of the weaker hearted ones had screamed and fainted, while others tried to shield their loved ones from this psychotic killer of a 12 year old boy. Romanov calmly walked away from the body, leaving a trail of blood after him. No one tried to stop him, for he was a boy who had no hesitation of killing – even if it is a burly, muscular man at least three times his size.
cards dealt: 719▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ 
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Posted: Tue Jun 08, 2010 9:38 am
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXRomanov De LucaXXXXBUT ALL'S TOO WEAK FOR HIM
XXXXDISDAINING FORTUNE WITH HIS BRANDISHED STEEL
XXXXWHICH SMOKED FROM BLOODY EXECUTION
XXXXLIKE VALOUR'S MINION CARVED OUT HIS PASSAGEThe Solemn JesterXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXTILL HE FACED THE SLAVEXXXX
WHICH NE'ER SHOOK HANDS NOR BADE FAREWELL TO HIMXXXX
TILL HE UNSEAMED HIM FROM THE NAVE TO TH'CHAPSXXXX
AND FIXED HIS HEAD UPON THE BATTLEMENTSXXXX F rank // Flame Power: 32 // Agility: 20 // Power: 2 // Stamina: 7 // Resistance: 3 ”Fermata! Fermata proprio lì! Vi assassin, mostro! Voi…voi…”
As soon as Romanov had stepped outside the circle of people that had gathered around him performing the grisly deed, the sounds of yelling and screaming reached his ears in no time at all. The young white haired boy stopped dead in his tracks, his hands tucked deep within the pockets of his fur lined jacket. Ironically, his blood splattered T-shirt was red, as though reflecting his ability to kill and shed blood mercilessly.
Behind him, four burly policemen were screaming and yelling as they dashed towards him, their sticks raised into the air as they waved their weapons in the air, as though trying to threaten Romanov into submission. Romanov’s dark blue eyes glared daggers at the four policemen without blinking, the killer that hid beneath those cold depths showing no mercy towards these faithful abiders of the law. These enforcers of the local law, although weak, portrayed the image of the ideal crime-free city of Rome, the utopia within people’s minds. Even as a 12 year old, it never ceased to amuse Romanov how these so-called enforcers of the law could even stand in the way of the mafia. Those of the true mafia had their box weapons, and could fight at superhuman levels. For those who did not have box weapons, they were the small mafia families who tried to make a name for themselves through wrecking havoc, and they were mere triads, not proper mafia families.
”Fermata! Fermata proprio li, assassin!”
The policemen screamed again as they charged towards him, four burly and muscular men at least twice Romanov’s size. By now, the crowd that had gathered around were scattering in confusion. Some were running away, while some were clutching to their loved ones, sobbing in terror. Some had attempted to grab Romanov, thinking that he was probably a weak little boy, but they obviously thought better of it as they started to back off, none of them eager to engage with the little boy in combat. The blood from the slain man – or rather, kidnapper, was oozing onto the ground in great puddles, blood from his wound flowing in relentless torrents. People were screaming, running, yelling, the sounds of terror never failed to amuse Romanov. Just a few simple strokes, and the victim lay dead. One little life lost, and so many people were unnerved. What fragile creatures they were! Even the policemen trying to advance on him had scared, terrified looks etched onto their faces.
”Arretez…vous ne voulez pas mortir ici, oui?”
Romanov’s tone was quiet, yet it was as cold as chips of flint and dangerous as bolts of lightning. He saw the four burly policemen shooting uncertain glances at each other, before turning towards him with furious expressions on their faces.
”Vi mostro! Non sarà possibile ottenere via con questo!”
They yelled as they slowly advanced towards him, cautious as though they were facing a savage animal. To them, that was exactly what Romanov was. He was a savage beast, a beast needing to be caged, and the policemen were the tamers. Usually, when an animal feels threatened, it would retaliate and strike back, in a desperate attempt to save its own life. Adrenaline would course through its veins, granting it unmatched strength for a few minutes to save its own life. In Romanov’s case, however, none of this happened. Adrenaline did indeed course through his body, but it was because of anticipation for the blood that he will soon shed. It was the excitement that he would soon sate his body’s craving for blood, and the joy of seeing the vital redness splattering against the dull, lifeless gray concrete ground.
The four policemen started to surround him, covering all routes of escape. It seemed almost amusing that these four burly men were so afraid of one young boy, but then again, they had just witnessed a little boy murdering a man twice his size in cold blood. All four policemen had one hand latched onto their pistol holsters, while they clutched their cop beating stick with the other hand tightly. To Romanov, playtime was over. These cops were serious about arresting him, and he would show them that age was not a factor in terms of combat and arrest.
Moving in a flurry of fast movements, he first whipped out two of his steel throwing knives. The knives were dyed with blood from its previous victim, the man who tried to kidnap him. The knives glinted in the sunlight for a split second before whistling through the air…and finally burying themselves within the guts of two policemen. Almost as if in slow motion, he saw the other two policemen pulling the triggers of their pistols, ready to fire. Romanov never gave them a chance to aim. His hands were already on the handles of another two daggers, and as their fingers touched the trigger, he threw out both knives. They, like the previous two knives, buried themselves in the guts of the policemen up until the hilt. The policemen would suffer a slow death, and nothing would be able to save them. By the time the ambulance had arrived, they would find 5 bodies, and not a single person in sight. The policemen all had punctured stomachs, and as they now lay groaning on the ground, their stomach acid would leak into their systems, killing them ever so slowly. Romanov calmly walked over to each policemen and pulled out his knives, wiping them on the uniform of each policeman. Leave no traces, that was the way he worked. No fingerprints would be left on the policemen’s uniform, and no blood of his would remain.
The audience around him had already scattered, most of them trying to get as far away from this psychotic killer of a boy as possible. Some were brave enough to phone the ambulance, but it was to no avail, the policemen would be dead long before the ambulance arrived. Without as much as a backward glance, Romanov got up and dusted his jacket, careful not to get any bloodstains on his expensive, tailor made jacket. It was a good day, a day that he had just killed 5 people in cold blood.
cards dealt: 1043▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
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Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 9:07 am
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXRomanov De LucaXXXXBUT ALL'S TOO WEAK FOR HIM
XXXXDISDAINING FORTUNE WITH HIS BRANDISHED STEEL
XXXXWHICH SMOKED FROM BLOODY EXECUTION
XXXXLIKE VALOUR'S MINION CARVED OUT HIS PASSAGEThe Solemn JesterXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXTILL HE FACED THE SLAVEXXXX
WHICH NE'ER SHOOK HANDS NOR BADE FAREWELL TO HIMXXXX
TILL HE UNSEAMED HIM FROM THE NAVE TO TH'CHAPSXXXX
AND FIXED HIS HEAD UPON THE BATTLEMENTSXXXX F rank // Flame Power: 32 // Agility: 20 // Power: 2 // Stamina: 7 // Resistance: 3 ”Lì, capretto, fermata. Abbiamo visto quello che hai fatto, non cercare di nascondersi o fuggire…”
A menacing voice sounded behind Romanov, making him stop in his tracks. His face showed no change in expression, and the only thing he did was to raise his head slightly, his cold expression unchanging. Slow footsteps sounded behind him; plop, plop, plop, plop. In front of him, he could see three shadows slowly looming over him. Even though they were standing behind him, their shadows quickly overtook the length of his own shadow by a few feet, showing just how vast their difference in height was. Very slowly, as though attempting to drag on and savour the moment for longer, Romanov turned around to face his three confronters, his hands deep within the pockets of his fur lined jacket.
”Oui? Qu’est-ce que vous voulez? Moi, ou mes competences?”
Romanov smiled as he asked, an innocent smile on his young, almost angelic looking face. Romanov was a handsome boy, perhaps even more charming and innocent looking than others of his age. This mask, an unfeeling scrap of clothing that he had learnt to put on at an extremely young age, was something that had deceived countless people until they fell victim to Romanov’s merciless killer hands of death.
”Non scherzare con noi ... abbiamo visto cosa hai fatto”
A deep voice sounded above Romanov’s head, and he had to crane his neck upwards to properly see the speaker’s face. And what he could see, was worlds different from the policemen or the kidnapper who had just tried to knock him out with chloroform. A leering sneer was etched across his face, and he had a Mohican hairdo that showed most of his shaven head. His eyes were black and beady, and when glaring at Romanov, he could almost feel as though they were piercing through his very soul. His arms were heavily tattooed, one arm covered with the scales of a dragon and the other hand tattooed into the talons of a hawk. He was wearing a sleeveless black shirt, which was torn at the chest as though he had suffered a slash in the past. His pants, similarly, were ripped at various places, as though showing signs of his harsh life. A thick leather belt bound his pants to his waist, the silver buckle gleaming brightly as though serving as a warning to anyone who was stupid enough to come near him. Romanov jokingly named him “the thug” in his mind, though of course he did not say it out.
Beside the Thug, two other men stood by his side, with the same leering grins on their slightly dumb looking faces. Romanov playfully named them “Thug sidekick 1” and “Thug sidekick 2”, though of course he was careful not to blurt that out. The two sidekicks were dressed in a similar pattern as the Thug, but with noticeably less tattoos. Romanov deduced that these tattoos were probably gained after the mafia, or rather triad, member gained the trust of their boss, or have earned it through their hard work for building up their reputation. The two sidekicks bulged their muscles, flexing their biceps to show off their perfectly toned body and brazen skin. Thugs these days, did they do nothing but body building all day long?
”Oui? Qu’est-ce que vous avez vu a tout a l’heure? Avez-vous peur? Terrifies? Ou…voulez-vous me joindre à vous?”
Romanov asked cockily, knowing full well that none of them could understand a word of French. Thugs like this were not worth his time anymore, and if they got in his way, then he would spare them no mercy. None at all, for he was the merciless killer of the De Luca family.
” Non scherzare con noi ... verrai con noi che vi piaccia o no, o vi fare.”
The Thug rolled his shoulders and stepped forwards, cracking both knuckles and his neck in an attempt to get Romanov to succumb. Not a chance. The Thug roared as he lunged towards the smaller boy, in an attempt to knock him over and place him in a headlock, and then to choke him into submission. Romanov, however, moved like a slithering snake, and seemed to slither out of his grasp. Before the thug could retaliate, Romanov had climbed on top of the man’s back, pinning both his arms behind his back with one hand and holding a knife to his throat with the other.
”Non mi fanno arrabbiare…che è stato un grosso errore hai fatto.”
Romanov leaned down and whispered into the surprised thug’s ear, pricking his neck with his knife. Behind him, the two sidekicks seemed to have finally realized what just happened. With a savage growl, they both lunged towards Romanov, hands outstretched in an attempt to grab and strangle him. Not a chance. Romanov spun around, lashing out with both legs at the same time and into the sidekicks’ faces. His legs had been trained since he could walk, and there was no way that these thugs could ever match him. As the thugs were falling, Romanov’s hand shot into his belt. Two steel throwing knives flashed out, burying into the sidekicks’ faces up to the hilt. Bits of blood and bone spilled out, as well as a considerable amount of grayish matter that could only be the brains.
”Comprende?”
Romanov whispered threateningly to the thug that was still pinned beneath him, the knife still clutched in his hand against the thug’s throat.
”Mi vuoi ucciderti lentamente o velocemente? Quale preferisci?”
By now, the thug was shaking so badly that he could not talk. Piece of trash, not even worth his time. With a quick flick of his wrist, Romanov sliced open the thug’s throat, before climbing off his now lifeless body and leaving it lying on the concrete ground with the other two bodies. His body count had risen to 9 today. Considerably high, but not much worth a day in his diary. He yawned as he started to walk off, preferably to a more interesting place.
cards dealt: 1011▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
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Posted: Thu Jun 10, 2010 10:02 am
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀ XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXRomanov De LucaXXXXBUT ALL'S TOO WEAK FOR HIM
XXXXDISDAINING FORTUNE WITH HIS BRANDISHED STEEL
XXXXWHICH SMOKED FROM BLOODY EXECUTION
XXXXLIKE VALOUR'S MINION CARVED OUT HIS PASSAGEThe Solemn JesterXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXTILL HE FACED THE SLAVEXXXX
WHICH NE'ER SHOOK HANDS NOR BADE FAREWELL TO HIMXXXX
TILL HE UNSEAMED HIM FROM THE NAVE TO TH'CHAPSXXXX
AND FIXED HIS HEAD UPON THE BATTLEMENTSXXXX F rank // Flame Power: 32 // Agility: 20 // Power: 2 // Stamina: 7 // Resistance: 3 More interesting place? Hard chance. The most interesting thing to Romanov was killing. He took joy in the art, preferring not the use of pistols or any type of firearm, instead relying on his almost unmatched skills with his blade – or rather, his blades. As he stood on a deserted lawn of the Villa Bourghese Gardens, he tapped the grass with his feet. The grass was soft and possibly only recently watered…oh well, hopefully the curators would not mind if he ruined their grounds a little. Sitting on the ground and finally lying spread eagled on the grass. Tucking up both of his legs, he slowly, almost agonizingly, raised his upper body into a crunch, and stayed in that position for a good few minutes. It was a good way to train his abdominal muscles, instead of repeatedly doing sit-ups. While freezing in this position like a statue, he was essentially constantly tensing his muscles, instead of contracting and relaxing them repeatedly during sit-ups. That way, not only would his endurance increase, but his abdominal muscles would hurt less when breathing heavily. He then slowly straightened out both legs and folded them up so that his body was folded into a V shape, using only his abdominal muscles to hold himself up. This movement was called a dish, and was one of the hardest dance or gymnastic positions to hold up in for long periods of time. Next, Romanov returned to his spread eagled position on the grass, before flipping his body over and lying with his chest against the lush grass. He then bent his arms at the elbows and placed his palms shoulder width, before off with his palms. His feet were standing with only his toes touching the ground, and as he pushed off, he could feel his arm muscles straining to lift the weight of his whole body. Countless repetitions of this movement he performed, and when he finally grew bored, he lay spread eagled on the grass again. His exercises were, of course, tedious, but he always convinced himself that it was for the better, that he was getting stronger everyday because of them. When he finally felt the lactic acid leaving his arms, he sighed as he pushed off with his arms and into a sitting position, and finally a standing position. He went running in the park, faster and farther than he’d imagined possible. Everything seemed different when he ran, everything passing by him in nothing but a blur. Romanov knew that he was considered fast, if not extraordinarily and extremely fast, maybe even having a greater stamina and speed than grown men, or maybe even Olympic competitors. He loved to feel the rhythm of his feet beating against the ground, or when he was running on loosened earth, he loved the feeling of his feet churning up soil as he passed by. It made him feel fast and powerful, as though he was an engine that ran on tireless and endless energy, churning up and eating up the ground as he ran by. When he could run no longer, he stopped to do push-ups and sit-ups. Countless repetitions. Still he had energy.
Finally feeling the urge to leave this tedious and boring place, Romanov sighed as he got up and dusted his fur lined jacket. It had been an eventful day, to say the least. Not as eventful as he would have liked it, but eventful at the very least. As he thrust his hands into his pockets, he did not even cast a backward glance at the Villa Bourghese gardens as he walked out.
cards dealt: 603▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
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