Chapter Text
Things haven’t been the same for the mafia capo Isabelle ever since she, alongside her childhood friend Lucio, have been ordered to participate in a Thumb-run club revolving around language and composition.
Right now, they’re walking to their first meeting; it apparently will take place in a fancy Thumb-run lounge. As they roam throughout the building (one that reeks of alcohol and has smooth, Palermitan jazz music constantly blasting through their ears), Isabelle and Lucio quietly chat.
“You seem like the type to be good at writing, Lucio,” Isabelle side-eyes her tall friend, running her fingers through his long ponytail. “Must’ve been very smart to get an apprenticeship under that ex-sottocapo… what was her name?”
“Um…” Lucio clears her throat, eyeing his map of the lounge in order to determine which room their fellow club members are supposed to be in. “I suggest you do not worry about that, or about my education.”
He pauses once he realizes he has stopped in front of a private room reserved for the club members. He can tell because of the sign that very obviously reads: Amuninni Language Club.
Isabelle puffs some smoke from her cigar before opening the door for her friend. “Apprentices first.”
Lucio dips his head and slips past the doorway. Isabelle follows suit and shuts their door behind them.
The jazz music and stench of alcohol mixed with smoke is immediately drowned out by the quiet sounds of pen against paper and chatter. The apparently sound-proofed room carries a faint scent of apples and bergamot.
In front of the duo sit two club members, writing away. One has long, wavy purple hair and choppy bangs. She adjusts her circular glasses as she squints at the page, while her desk partner seems to be more focused on inspecting his steel knuckles every few seconds.
Towards the back of the room, where some windows are, is a short man with brown hair chatting on the phone with someone. He speaks in hushed Italian.
Lucio and Isabelle decide to observe the two closer to them.
“Yo, Katriel,” the one with the steel knuckles nudges the purple-haired woman. “What’s ethos again?”
The woman named Katriel sighs loudly and glances over at her clubmate’s paper. “It's when you establish credibility and trust by appealing to someone with authority or expertise.”
“What?”
“For example, Boris: the ‘e’ in ethos stands for expertise. You can trust me because I am an experienced writer,” Katriel shuts her eyes, as if trying to avoid rolling her eyes in front of him.
“Nah, I thought Denis was the poetry guy,” Boris motions to the man at the windowsill. “You know, one time he showed me his love poe--”
Katriel’s eyes widen at the two strangers staring at her and her friend.
“Ahem,” Katriel lowers Boris’ hand, tilting her head towards the newcomers. “Greetings…”
She scrutinizes the badges on the duo’s uniforms and then draws another piece of paper from under her ink-stained one, reading it over. “Are you two… Conditional Capo Quarto Lucio and Capo Quarto Isabelle?”
“Yes,” Isabelle steps forward, nearly overshadowing Lucio.
“You may call me Katriel, and that over there is Boris.” Katriel glances at her fellow Capo. “Our Club Leader standing over there --she motions to the windowsill-- is Denis, and he is currently on the phone with our supervisor, Sottocapo Kalo. Please do not disturb him.”
“Of course,” Lucio politely nods. “May I ask what we are supposed to do now, then?”
“Katriel and I’ve been trying to analyze some of Denis' poetry, that’s what,” Boris snorts. Isabelle realizes he has dark sunglasses on for some reason. “Can’t understand what that guy is trying to say.”
“It's truly not that difficult,” Katriel interjects. “Boris is… Boris simply excels in other forms of literature.”
“What kind?” Isabelle blinks, gazing intently at Boris’ face.
“Essays are better,” Boris answers. “No. Honestly, anything that’s not Denis’ poetry.”
“Stop speaking so loudly or else Denis will tell on you,” Katriel hisses in his ear.
“Anyway, come analyze this stuff with us,” Boris pats the desk beside him. “I’ll help you out, because I’m super intelligent.”
Katriel’s eye twitches; she decides to bite her tongue as Isabelle takes a seat beside Boris. Lucio takes the one beside Katriel.
Katriel passes a copy of Denis’ poem to Lucio and has Boris give Isabelle one.
“May I ask what you two know about composition in writing?” Katriel glances at both of them.
They are silent. Isabelle stares at Lucio in desperation.
Lucio straightens, gazing back at Katriel.
With all the composure he can muster, he answers. “S.P.A.C.E.”
“Pardon?” Boris fails to stifle some laughter. “I don’t think--”
“Ah!” Katriel snaps her fingers. “Yes, yes… the acronym denoting the Rhetorical Situation!”
“What is that?” Isabelle’s eyes widen.
“It stands for ‘speaker, purpose, audience, context, and exigence’,” Katriel explains, a smug smile forming on her lips. “Or, essentially, why the speaker is making certain choices when addressing their audience.”
“So the audience influences the speaker’s choices?” Isabelle raises a brow. “Like, what words they use and what examples they give and how they speak?”
“Precisely, Isabelle,” Lucio nods.
Isabelle sighs. Since when has the mafia been concerned with any of that?
“Yeah, yeah,” Boris leans back in his chair. “Now that these two’ve gotten a review of the basic stuff, we gotta find out what Denis’ purpose is in this poem!”
“Why does that… why does that even matter?” Isabelle groans.
“Having a purpose acts as a guide for what will be written,” Katriel offers the exhausted Capo a weary smile. “For example, if Denis wanted to write a love letter to someone, then he would have to actually admit he has a crush on them in his writing.”
“Does he actually have a crush on someone or something?” Isabelle questions, brows furrowed. Boris and Katriel merely glance at each other and grin mischievously, offering no answer.
Lucio, meanwhile, skims over the poem.
Whatever this is, it certainly isn’t romantic. Yet Isabelle continues pressing Katriel and Boris for an answer.
“Wait, is Capo Denis in love or what?” Isabelle whispers to Boris. It's been a while since the Thumb has had any good gossip…
“Mm, I mean,” Boris hums back. “If you’re writing a poem about love, you’re probably gonna use pathos, right? You know, like, an appeal to emotions. Think about it: you make the audience feel something so that they relate to whatever point you’re making. In Denis’ case, he’d probably try to make the reader pity him so they can date.”
“Is that in the poem?” Isabelle snatches the poem, holding it close to her face.
But she can’t focus thanks to Katriel’s voice piercing through her thoughts. “To be honest, Boris, I believe Denis would try to use logos in a love letter.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t the point of logos to make an argument sound logical and convincing as a result?” Boris wrinkles his nose.
“You know Denis would use all kinds of data to prove why someone should date him,” Katriel elbows him. “At some point, I am sure Sottocapo Kalo will have us comb through that man’s search history…”
“Pardon me,” Lucio lowers his paper with the poem on it. “But it would seem like this poem isn’t about love at all.”