Hide your face so the world will never find you.

[Nicola Rangé]

Nicola nodded his head slowly in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Rosa," he said equally as quiet. He wondered how difficult it must have been for her--to comfort another man, given her feelings towards them. He knew well her opinions of how men were, no matter how bad he wanted to prove them false. He remembered their conversation from when they first met.

Not all men are pigs. He chuckled quietly under his breath. He still believed it true, even if she didn't think so. His innocence in the world was much more apparent then, but he had seen good men do good deeds. He only wished she could see the world the way he did now.

[Rosa Giovanno]

She didn't speak any response to his thank-you, but nodded instead. He knew he was welcome, or at least she hoped he did. When Rosa had first met him, when she had tried to lure him into walking with her so she could deliver her deathly information to someone more capable, she misjudged him, placing him into the category of all other men. But now, after knowing him better, she decided that Nicola had his own category. He was sweet and innocent and slow to sour. Perhaps even slow to be influenced, which in her mind was good. She guessed he was a few years younger than her, and yet he didn't seem to be corrupted, as most men his age were, by greed and power, among other things. There would come a time, she was sad and certain, that he would become like all the others. And it would be a slow change, the way sunny days give way to snow, as warmth slowly diminishes until there is nothing left but cold. And she knew that men, unlike seasons, never changed again. Once taken by the city, or by experiences, or even just by being themselves, they were cold for good. "What's so funny?" she asked, turning her face up again to look at him. She had hardly noticed that her gaze had gradually returned to the floor, and she felt the hours of the evening suddenly alight themselves upon her eyelids, making them heavy. She was glad for her mask so that she wouldn't appear to be so suddenly tired, and waited to hear his joke - or whatever it was he was laughing at.

[Rahmil Binachi]

She scoffed, placing a hand on her stomach while the other was used to support herself.
“Nauseous? I have a stomach of steel!” She smiled while continuing to chuckle.
“How could you doubt me so?”
She let him steer her out of the church and into the street. The sudden burst of cold seemed to smack the smile right off her face, and she pushed herself closer to Diego, trying to let his fur warm her.
“Stomach of steel, but skin of flesh.” She mumbled, trying to quicken her pace and not tumble at the same time.
Now was a time she really was glad that his place was closer.

[Diego Liberatore]

"Yes. And muscles of straw and hardly any fat, Scrawny." he teased her. But he was glad for her steel-stomach, as she claimed. The wind was brutally bitter, worse than it had been when they had first entered the church. Wisps of snow swirled off the rooftops and skittered across the streets like white smoke, or the pale spirits of ghosts. Not that it was a frightful scene, in fact it was rather beautiful. But for those without proper attire, as their costumes were, it was indeed something to shudder at. Diego took off his cape and wrapped it around her, so that now he really was bare-chested and bare-backed. He stifled a frozen laugh, considering himself a bare bear. But at least it would keep her warm, because what was a cape to him seemed more like a shawl to someone of her stature. He stayed close to her, trying to move as quickly as he could in the direction of his home without breaking into a run. "You look nice in fur." he mused, though speaking quickly through chilly breath. It was a shame she hadn't sided with the Templars and made friendships with the noble Liberatores, so she could wear it often and with purpose. And he almost told her so, too, but refrained in the end. He knew where her allegiances lied, and he had just regained her friendship the same night. He wasn't about to go making jokes like that. Of course, she had somewhat made friends with his family, she had saved them after all. Maybe he could get his aunt to make one for... for a friend. As a Christmas gift. It could just be a nice cloak, anyway, and didn't need to be connected to the Templar nobility.

[Nicola Rangé]

Nicola re-met her gaze as she looked back at him. He thought over in his head whether he should tell her or not, though he figured she wouldn't find it as funny as he did. "Oh... Nothing," he replied. "I'm just tired. The night is coming to an end," he added. He was about ready to head home and catch up on some sleep. Tomorrow he would continue to enjoy his vacation and relax, and get away from the crowds to get some time to himself.

[Rosa Giovanno]

Nicola was right, it had been a long night. And Rosa had stayed much longer than she had anticipated, but at least her belly was full with free food and wine, so she couldn't complain. People were beginning to filter out of the church, some staying behind, waiting for the last notes before they would leave. It was as if her feet stopped even before she told them too, ending their dance. "Thanks for the fun, Nicola." she said politely, pulling away from him to stand on her own. It was odd for a moment, not to lean on someone. And she felt the cold air quickly filling the space between them as it blew in from the open doors. It was good to be cold, she concluded. It woke her up a bit, readying her for what was sure to be a brisk walk back to her room in the building she regrettably called home. "And merry Christmas." she added.

[Rahmil Binachi]

"Yes. And muscles of straw and hardly any fat, Scrawny."
His remark came in and left, just as quickly as the wind yanked at her hair and clothing. Leaving Rahmil only enough time to grunt, and to resume her silent shivering.
Suddenly though, a weight was rested on her shoulders, and the softness of fur brushed against her neck and cheeks. Looking up, she saw that Diego had given her his cloak, and she was instantly grateful. She was about to reply in thanks, when he spoke up again through shivery breaths.
"You look nice in fur."
She laughed, pressing herself closer to him, and feeling bad for taking his only top layer.
" _{I feel nice in fur as well. Grazie L'orso!} "

[Diego Liberatore]

He nodded a 'you're welcome' as he hustled his way home through the snow. As always his frozen fingers fumbled through a ring of keys, but he was quick to find his house key and unlocked the door. The warmth of the stove he had left burning was faint, its fine logs reduced to coals, and Diego wasted no time in replenishing its fuel. His fingers stretched outward, slowly regaining feeling, only to be met soon after with the inevitable itching that came from thawing. Diego gnawed at his palms irritatedly, pausing for a moment to look at Rahmil as he realized he was being an awful host.

But the cold had sapped away the rest of his energy, and he trusted it had done some good in sobering her up aswell. She knew where everything was from her previous stay, and if she didn't she could find it on her own. There wasn't much to his humble abode, just a kitchen, a bedroom and something passable for a living room. "Good night, Rahmil." he said, wrapping himself up in a blanket and claiming the couch as his own with one final plop as all but thew himself into the very crevices of the cushions. "There are plenty of spare quilts in your room if you get cold. And spare pajamas. And there are snacks in the cupboard. And..." though he spoke directly to her, his eyes were already closed. "Just make yourself -" he yawned half way through his sentence. "At home. Merry Christmas, Rahmil." And with that, he drifted into a state between consciousness and sleep. For a while he could hear the things around him, the stove, the wind and the occasional pop of one of the burning logs. Then the fogginess of slumber settled over him, turning off his remaining senses until he was dead to the world, not feeling like the best host on the planet, but certainly the most exhausted. Somehow, he didn't think she would mind.

[Rahmil Binachi]

Diego had practically just walked in, and passed out.
If Rahmil had never been to the house before, and perhaps was sober, she would have sat in the corner awkwardly until told where to go.
But this was not her first time, and she was not sober.
So she simply just made her way to the back room, shut the door, and began to search for something to relieve her from the dress.
Sure enough, like he said, there were spare pajamas in his drawer. But it wasn't like he was using them anyways, he practically just passed out in his costume. Not that there was much left anyways.
Shedding her layers, she threw on his over-sized shirt and too-big pants, which she tied around her waist with her dress sash, and grabbed a large quilt from his bed and made her way back out into the main room. In his rush to sleep, he obviously forgot to blow out the lights, and lock the door.
There was no way she was going to sleep well that night, sober or not sober, with the door unlocked.
Putting the lock down and moving to block out the last light, she looked at his sleeping form and laughed quietly to herself.
Like he's hibernating she thought, pinching out the last light and tip-toeing back to his room.

" _{Good night L'orso, and Merry Christmas to you too.} "