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The hideout didn’t originally come with any mirrors. Reflective surfaces, sure, but no mirrors.
Illuso could work with it in theory, but in practice, he didn’t want to.
He’d built up a habit, as soon as he’d learned how to properly utilize his stand, access his realm as smoothly as a king stepping through castle gates, to pick up any mirror he liked.
(For this purpose, he frequented antique stores, ending up a known regular for a couple of elderly store owners. His feelings on that are irrelevant.)
So, there was an easy fix here.
ILLUSO: Formaggio.
It takes a moment for the other man to message back.
FORMAGGIO: What
ILLUSO: Leave the hideout unlocked
FORMAGGIO: You’re a pain in my ass
FORMAGGIO: I just left
When Illuso arrived that night, he was able to–carefully, goddamnit–open up the door, no questions asked, and…
Great. The mirror got stuck in a spiderweb. He scowled, shooting the spider a glare before pulling the item out and stepping inside.
He sneezed at the dust, but, gripping the mirror tightly, managed to not drop it.
And then came issue #1: finding a place to put it.
…No, no. Issue #1 was actually tidying the place first so it would deserve to have one of his favorite mirrors hung up here.
“Dusty place,” He scowled, smashing a dustbunny underneath his heel and hearing the floorboards creak.
He had no mind to do a substantial amount of cleaning, but what he did allowed him to clear up a spot. Placing it was easy, and so he did.
-
The morning afterwards, however–
RISOTTO: Illuso.
ILLUSO: What?
RISOTTO sent a photo.
[PHOTO ID: A shattered mirror, fallen off the wall.]
RISOTTO: Come clean up your mess.
To say Illuso’s blood boiled would be an understatement. There were few things in the world Illuso hated more than being made a fool of, and this was certainly enacting that.
But he knew how to properly speak to one’s leader.
ILLUSO: On it.
(As much as it made him feel terribly indignant. Whatever.)
-
It happened several times. He’d find a place just right for the mirror, he made damn sure to adjust it and attach it and make sure it would stick- only to be humiliated.
“I think this fucking place hates me,” Illuso snarled to Formaggio, after what he thought should have been the final time.
Formaggio, in the middle of dressing a wound, snickered. “Can’t be helped.”
Illuso threw a shard of glass at him.
“Rude.” Formaggio caught it, rolling his eyes.
“Someone’s got to be undoing this.” Illuso said, hardly to Formaggio so much as to himself. “I know I know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe you should have less self confidence.” Formaggio suggested instead, earning another piece of glass tossed at him, and a glare thrown his way for good measure.
“Seriously.” Illuso crossed his arms. “Maybe this place isn’t as secure as we thought.”
Now that made Formaggio pause. He looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Eh?”
“Think about it.” Illuso insisted. “Maybe this is just the thing that’s most noticeable, but… what else has been going on that we haven’t noticed.”
Formaggio sighed.
“Or shit that’s been set up that we haven’t noticed."
“If I look for listening devices with you, will you shut up about it?” He was already standing up.
Illuso rolled his eyes. “If it stops happening, sure.”
(Ultimately, they found nothing. Illuso almost wished they did.)
-
One thing you really did not want to do, especially in the mafia, was annoy your team leader. Everyone knew that.
Sorbet, Gelato, Ghiaccio. Everyone.
So, Illuso was not particularly looking forward to whatever Risotto wanted to talk to him about. But he couldn’t just say no, fuck off, because, well. Yeah.
So. He showed up, taking note of the fact Risotto was standing up when he walked in. Also not a good sign.
“Illuso.”
“Sir.” He hated the taste of that word in his mouth.
Risotto stepped over to the wall, tracing a puncture in the wall from a nail. From last week. “Remind me, if you would, where this is from.”
“A hammer.” Risotto’s eyes narrowed, and Illuso quickly amended, “Me. My hammer. Yes.”
“Right.” Risotto crossed his arms. “You know how many of these I can point out?”
Illuso shook his head.
“Twenty-six.”
“Oh.” Illuso didn’t think that was right. He was not going to argue, however, because he liked two things: having a job and being alive. And arguing, he suspected, would compromise both of these.
“Do you know how often hideout transfers are given?” Risotto tilted his head, fixing his gaze on Illuso in such a way it felt like ice crawled down his spine.
“I don’t,” Illuso admitted, almost-bitter.
“Very, very rarely. It’s one of the biggest goddamn hassles you can make Passione deal with. So, Illuso–” Risotto stepped closer to him “–what do you think is unwise to do with our newly acquired safehouse?”
Illuso swallowed nervously. Risotto was notorious for disliking contact with others, typically only allowing it in brief, fleeting moments. By association, sitting next to others or being too close fell under the same category of aversion. “Riddle it with holes?” (He’d set aside his pride for this. As much as he hated it.)
Risotto nodded. “I understand your Stand needs mirrors. However…” He looked back at the wall. “At the same time, this is unacceptable.”
Illuso bit back a scoff. “If the mirrors would just stay up–”
“Have you considered looking for a spot where a mirror might fit, instead of making space yourself?” Risotto interrupted.
Illuso paused, mildly blindsided. “What?”
“It has not escaped my notice that every time you’ve tried to put up a mirror, it has been by making a spot. Have you looked for one that’s already there yet?”
“Why would I do that?” Illuso said, before really thinking about his words. Risotto looked right back at him, raising an eyebrow.
“I mean–” Illuso reached up, adjusting one of his ponytails “–It’s not like it’s a big deal, that part. Right?”
Risotto sighed, not speaking for too long a pause, as he thought over his next words.
“Your Stand also requires you to pay attention to your surroundings, doesn’t it? What’s already there, and what you can utilize. You won’t typically have the time to rearrange it to your liking.”
Some anger boiled in Illuso’s stomach. As if he needed his own Stand explained to him.
“I’m asking you to consider that.” Risotto finished, then stepped past him, beginning to leave. Before he opened the door, however, he added, “And also, to stop hammering into the walls. It’s disruptive and fucks up the structural stability.”
Illuso stood, almost calmly, as the door closed behind Risotto. He knew defying him was a poor idea, and unfortunately knew not to disregard the advice.
-
The next mirror he put up stayed so well it looked like it had always been there. And not once did it ever crack.