Not Of Glass, But Diamond

Because of that Goddamned EvilMinji

Chapter 1
-Venice, 1965-

Silvestro gazed out the window blankly and the morning bus grumbled at the station, engine shivering in the cold morning as those poor dawn commuters stumbled into empty seats, dropping down in isolation, not wanting to share the space they had. Silvestro didn't care so long as they didn't sit next to her, the duffel bag full of her gear taking up the rest of the seat and her luggage crushed up against her legs.

"This is the bus to Venice, yes?" someone asked, a tourist from their accent; American.

"Yes, all the way," the driver answered snappily, just as tired as the rest.

"Oh, ah, thank you," they murmured, before stepping the rest of the way into the aisle, glancing around for an empty seat. They gazed from person to person before settling to stare at Silvestro for a moment too long.

She thinned her lips and narrowed her eyes at them, challenging them to speak up. It was only when they dropped their widened eyes and scuttled to the back of the bus, something metal clanking loudly inside their backpack, did she allow them relief from her practised glower. The young Italian woman sighed to quell her aggravation as the vehicle finally lurched from the stop, rolling forward and merging with the sparse sunrise traffic.

The sun peeked into the misty sky, making the horizon a minted blue that made her eyes ache with the desire for sleep. Cars loitered around at lights as the buildings became a dusty familiar as her brown gaze drifted around. She slowly placed old memories as an ancient clock tower struck another hour of the morning, the stone blackened by the shadow of the Industrial Revolution.

Her destination was on the outskirts of Venice; not the place of canals and romantic rowboats, but still so within the catchment that it wasn't worth calling it anything other than 'Venice'. With another lurch of the bus, Silvestro pocketed her paper map to free up her hand and shrugged on her duffel bag across her shoulder, before shuffling out of the seat, the luggage causing more trouble than it would have maybe a month ago. The woman stood up, giving a grumble of annoyance as her head collided with the slanted sides of the bus' ceiling, forcing her to bow her considerable height, years of labour showing in the defined chords of her arm as she lifted the baggage.

"Thanks," she grunted as the doors opened, her solid boots thumping against the floor.

"No problem, soldier-lady."

Silvestro tongued the roof of her mouth to withhold herself as she stepped off the bus, luggage rolling after her, her sleeves adorned with a trio of golden stars, marking the hulking woman as the Capitano Silvestro Russ.

"Sure."

The wheels of her light luggage rumbled against the gravelly concrete of the footpath, eyes dragging across the long, brick apartment buildings, old, but sturdier than any of the cheap new shit they were tossing up nowadays. Her keys jangled in her pocket, a weight she hadn't felt in a while as she made her way down a short couple steps and into a council garden, the doors open for visitors and residents.

Silvestro sighed as she shifted her shoulder under the strap of her bag, looking up at the winding steps she'd need to climb; the fourth floor if she remembered correctly.

Her boots made the hollow well thunder, and the bang of her luggage jumping against the steps no doubt woke someone up in the early morn, but the militant couldn't find it in herself to care very much, too apathetic and drained. The brass numbers on red doors caught her mahogany eye under the yellowed lights, and she made a mental count before slowing to a halt before the familiar no.27.

She let go of the luggage handle and plunged her hand into her pocket, pulling out a key with a little tooth charm on the key chain. It slipped in easily enough and opened with a creak, the hinges unused in a while.

Then the luggage rolled onto its front, weight distributed unevenly.

Silvestro stared at the fallen baggage with a mixture of dispassion and annoyance, before she bent and made to grab the handle again, only for her duffle bag to slip and hang off her neck awkwardly, yanking the worn muscles in her nape and burning her skin. She gave a harsh curse as her temper flared before biting her lip and dragging everything into her apartment with aggression. She shut the door with a little too much strength and snapped the three locks in place before palming at the light switch, grumbling as it flickered with old age.

"God damn it," she exhaled deeply, dropping the keys into a bowl by the door. "Has anyone been here?"

The air itself smelt old and there was a thick carpet of dust across the shelves. There must have been some sort of fruit left in the fridge because an odour emanated from it with a lethal enmity that could only come from something truly abandoned. The windows were grimy from being frozen shut and then melted in by seasons unattended, and Silvestro didn't even want to try to sleep in her old bed just yet.

"I'll deal with it later…"

Deciding that it was wiser to keep her shoes on, for now, the woman crossed the main room to make an attempt at the window, a grunt escaping as the fingers of her left hand tried to get any sort of budge. She grit her teeth, feeling the stainless steel crown on her molar grind against calcium before the metal frame stubbornly screeched open, at the expense of a long crack splitting the glass.

"Fuck," Silvestro uttered quietly, touching the snapped pane.

The woman let out a puff of dust when she slapped her hand against it, and the brittle nature told her she would need to replace that too. She sighed and scrubbed her hand through her black crew cut, before backing off and dropping on the little red couch, too short for her to lie across, knees hooked over the armrest.

It took shuffling, but Silvestro eventually managed to get comfortable, bringing her watch's velcro to her teeth to rip it off and let the time face fall onto the dusty carpet. She let out a deflating breath and melded to the shape of the couch, staring up at the ceiling blankly as cars cast momentary light across the white surface.

"… My arm hurts," she commented, talking about her right arm.

Which wasn't surprising, despite it not being there anymore.

0 0 0

"And darling, darling stand by me. Oh, now, now, stand by me. Stand by me, stand by me!" The radio chatted over the screeching of the vacuum which didn't exactly 'glide' over Silvestro's floorboards, catching on corners and rolling over whenever she needed to turn an angle any greater than 45 degrees.

The ex-militant had woken up from a restless sleep with an aching back, shoulders stiff and feet numb from a lack of circulation, making it uncomfortable to walk around, but she had grit her teeth and persevered, the state of her discarded apartment something that irked her to no end. She had rolled up her sleeve, with some difficulty, before getting to work.

It turns out that there was indeed something left in the fridge from the months ago she had left, an oversight that resulted in a bunch of bananas not being able to decide if they wanted to liquefy into sweetly pungent, black slick, or calcify into a fossil in the bottom drawer. Her hand still felt rubbery from the intense scrubbing and chemical detergents that went into the effort of removing the stained shelf which was now soaking in steaming hot water.

Silvestro sighed and stomped on the button at the back of the vacuum to turn it off, the floors and surfaces clean, finally, after hours of maintenance. All she had to do now was wait for her sheets to finish washing and the cushions and mattress to air out so she could assemble everything, then her apartment will be back in order and stop bothering her.

Her back creaked as she stretched and rolled her shoulders, scar tissue pulling uncomfortably for a moment on the right side before settling under her shirt. Hardwood eyes trailed around the living quarters critically, trying to find fault or inconsistency, before she nodded to herself, satisfied with the state of the apartment and turned on her socked heel to prepare for the next on her list.

The woman leant closer to the vanity's mirror in the bathroom to inspect the scar on the corner of her jaw, closer to her ear than her chin and, of course, on the right side of her face. She sighed when it was still tender to the touch, before tearing off a portion of MediSil tape and covering it up, the salve making her skin a bit itchy, but to be expected. The MediSil was prescribed to her in order to dissuade visible scarring on her face and neck, and though she really had no problem with such things, she agreed to do it if only to get the people at the barracks to stop staring at her whenever they visited the ward.

She pushed off the sink with a grunt and shed her clothing, wardrobe freshly washed and still sun-warmed to her hands as she rooted through, trying to find something warm in this weather. Her lips pulled as she was faced with a plethora of long dresses, the reminder that this was her selection now, rather than the male's uniform that had been shoved into her arms years ago.

"I have to go clothes shopping too," Silvestro uttered, dropping the seventh too small dress. She hummed in annoyance before tugging back on her uniform pants and a shirt that had been too large when she had bought it years ago, a black tweed overcoat that once belonged to a man following next.

A forgotten, folded paper crinkled in her pant pocket as Silvestro stuffed her feet into yesterday's boots, keys hanging off her thumb while the right arm of her dark coat hung, hollow. She stared at it for a moment before squeezing her hand, feeling the metal keys bite into her palm in self-reprimand.

A quick breath prompted her forwards, and she flipped off the lights as she stepped into the hall of her apartment building, the faintest of chatter audible from within rooms. She locked her door and pocketed her key before making her way down the levels, all of which looked oddly different to when they had been doused in murky light. Her boots thudded down the steps and crunched on the debris of Autumn leaves as a chill blasted the woman, making her lip tug into a frown.

Silvestro shoved her hand in her pocket as she trudged down the street, her lips coming to be pulled taut and thin as passersby did not-so-subtle double-takes at the limply hanging sleeve. Her shoulder pulsed with an ache when she acknowledged the lost part, making her shake her head and march on, rounding a little town-square fountain that sparked a memory, before she stepped into a bustling shopping district, Italian jumping from hagglers and dealers in rushed, practised lines.

The noise was enough to make the woman stressed for a moment before she trained herself and walked on, her hand coming to lay over her wallet in her back pocket as she shoved past a crowd of people. Upon entering a familiar little greengrocer, Aurelio's, Silvestro relaxed and grabbed a basket, making a mental note of what she needed as a starter, too tired to bother with a proper haul. It was only a walk away anyway, she could come back later if need be.

Silvestro made rounds of the store, knowing this store from before her discharge. The owner, Aurelio, and she were good friends, though she'd hesitate to call them anything more, and they'd often discuss a range of topics after she had finished her shopping and he was ringing them up for her. His son should be just about finished High School by now if she was correct.

With a litre of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs and some frozen vegetables in her basket, she grabbed a bag of apples and made her way to the cashier, pleased by the lack of a line. A woman with two young children was the only one before her, and the ex-militant found herself blinking down at two sets of huge eyes. The youngest, a little girl, waved the lollipop in her hand up at her, and Silvestro nodded in return before they were hauled off by the sleep-deprived mother.

She placed down her load and began unpacking it for the checkout, trying to ignore the way the young cashier girl's eyes flitted from her face to her empty sleeve, before pausing as her name rung out.

"Silvestro Russ, in the flesh!" Aurelio grinned, hobbling over, beer belly straining against his apron. "Since when were you back in town?"

"Just got home this morning," Silvestro smiled, welcoming a familiar face into the less than pleasant day so far. "How have you been? Boy out of school yet?"

"Julian's out exploring the Americas now, sends his best wishes every month though-" the father's eyes dropped to her hollow as their conversation screeched to a halt. His mouth moved silently as he processed it, rather slowly. "Silvestro, um-"

Silvestro got her wallet out of her pocket and laid it out on the counter, manoeuvring her wrist to pin it to the surface while she pulled out the lira as she waited for the old man to buffer through the new information. Her teeth were grit within the veil of her lips, and she made her best to hide how her mahogany eyes went hard and apathetic with frustration, slipping her change back into her stubbornly resistant wallet.

"I'm- I'm sorry, about, um, about your-" he couldn't stop looking at it, though it was obvious he was making an effort. His eyes were constantly magnetised to the handless sleeve, the crow's-feet around his eyes flat in their widened state.

The ex-militant sighed and pocketed her purse, before shoving her receipt into the plastic bags and began piling them up on her palm. They weren't heavy, so she was able to lift them easily and turn to Aurelio, who had the sense to look guilty.

"Do you need help with those? I can get one of the boys to-"

"I'll be fine, Aurelio," Silvestro declined, trying to twitch a smile in place, only for it to turn more into a grimace. "You know me, something like this won't be too much of a hassle."

The father looked unconvinced, and there was an unspoken 'but that was before' that hung off of his tongue. He had the good idea to withhold it, however, and only nodded with hesitance.

"Sure. Hey, come around sometime, yeah? Sabrina's been bugging me to find out your latest. Bloody gossiping woman," he laughed, strained, eyes still wandering.

"Got it, I'll drop by once I'm all settled in again. See you, Aurelio; tell Sabrina that I said 'hi'."

The cashier girl fidgeted awkwardly as Silvestro tread into the open again, mindlessly making her way to the path, trying not to flinch every time someone walked too close to her side. Her feet carried her, before she paused, a sharp bird call snapping her out of her mood. The woman turned her head and blinked when she saw a yellow-orange park, the place striking an old chord in her as she took in the winding path which led around the block. It was the long way around, but it eventually led to her street.

She let out a stressed breath as leaves crunched underfoot, trees golden in their perishing, a kind of sweet-earth smell light on the wind as she inhaled the scent of the season. Mahogany eyes travelled languidly around the place, little sparks of herself going off as she recognised scenes from this park. As she passed a park bench under a Maple tree, she noted the faded ball that was caught in the top canopy that had resiliently remained there for at least three years, making her hum as she looked to the bench itself, a huff escaping her lips and turning to a plume of mist. The rather hideous shade of yellow which used to stain the wood had been replaced with a neutral brown.

Silvestro fixed her hold on her bags and lifted her hand to massage her stiff nape, a groan slipping out between her teeth, metal crown on her back teeth catching on her tongue as she clicked out annoyance, eyes falling shut for a moment.

Then was promptly ploughed over.

"Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck!" A man hissed, untangling himself from her and scrambling to get away, not even getting to his feet and relying on his hands and knees.

The militant pushed herself up with her hand and looked to the strewn bags, milk pouring out onto the path and eggshells peppering the scene. She grunted and got to her feet, staring after the crawling man who was still dressed in his pyjamas, inside slippers hanging awkwardly off his feet. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something come into focus, seemingly having melted out the shadow of the trees.

"Oh, frightfully sorry. My friend here is terribly clumsy, I apologies on his behalf," crooned a man whose lips were pulled into a remorseful pout.

Silvestro eyed the thin man; from the downward, concealing tilt of his yellow-band fedora to the slightest dusting of gravel on the tips of his polished dress shoes. She knew instantly, from both his disposition and the manner of her shivering assailant, that these men were not friends.

The ex-militant was about to call the man out on his lie but was interrupted when the one on the floor scrambled to his feet and launched himself at her, the metallic flick of a pocket knife springing free being followed by the cold press against her jugular. There was a tense silence that followed in which everyone finally caught up with the new weight to the situation.

Breath was hot against her nape and bitter to her nose as the man growled at the other from over her shoulder, the one clad in an expensive, black suit staring blankly. Gone from his expression was the sheepish apology, the disarming courtesy, and instead was a steely confidence. This one examined the scenario without true care for it at all, and it made Silvestro thin her lips as she reigned her bubbling temper, her hollow shoulder pulsing with an uncomprehended pain.

Oh, how her patience had been tested. How the only thing standing between her and a levelled city-scape was the weeks of relentless drilling from her time as a cadet. The looks, the jeers, the expectation, the pity, and the God-forsaken tedious need to relearn fine motor functions. It had all been chiselling away at her foundations, taking away a grain at a time.

"You crippled bitch," he spat, spinning her around to glare at the woman, which altogether wasn't much of a threatening sight when he had to lift his chin to do so. "Pay attention when I'm talking to-"

Silvestro grabbed the man by the side of his shirt and yanked him forwards before shoving her empty shoulder under the forcibly risen arm, her left foot sliding up behind her right before she threw her weight and brought the man sailing over her shoulder to slam on to the dirt path. The solid thud of flesh hitting stone hadn't finished ringing out by the time the militant had brought him back into the air and slammed her knee into his stomach, a faint clatter of the knife falling from his limp hand reaching her as she threaded her fingers through his sleep-knotted hair and fixed her hold. The grand maple tree shuddered and let down a curtain of leaves as the man's nose crunched against its bark, Silvestro's teeth grit within her jaw as she exhaled heavily through her nose, only slightly satiated by the whimper that gurgled in his throat as she let him slide down the trunk and pool in a mass of pain at her feet.

"Oh, belladonna, you shouldn't dirty your delicate hands with someone like him. I'll handle everything, you can rest easy."

There was the scraping of gravel and Silvestro turned her gaze upon the other forgotten man, her eyes still sharpened into a miffed narrow. The lanky guy was watching her with a mixture of well-concealed things she couldn't be damned to identify before she made her way towards him, frown firm in her expression.

"This is your fault too, you son of a bitch!"

Fedora man's lips twitched into something that could have been described as a surprised reflex-smile, before Silvestro had grabbed him by the expensive lapels of his suit and spun him around, his prominently curling sideburns twirling with him. Her leg came up, and with the strength earned from dawn marches in rain or swelter, she booted the bean-stalk in the behind, ridged shoe-print showing in an earthy dusting in his black slacks.

The ex-militant's arm pulsed angrily at her, abrupt stump-ended shoulder not appreciating having been used as a flipping board. She grit her teeth against it; it wouldn't have hurt just months ago. Her hand came to cup the blunted limb as it beat hotly with her heart, lip chewed roughly in aggravation as she glared down at the empty sleeve which swung when she moved or a breeze blasted.

The scuffling of movement made her snap around, a grunted annoyance leaving her as the figure of the would-be attacker rounded a corner and disappeared beyond the buildings. When she turned back, the lanky, fedora man was gone as well, without so much as a shifting of the leaves.

Silvestro looked around in surprise, trying to catch even a glimpse of him, but found she was alone in the park. The milk was only half of what she had bought, and the eggs were fractured beyond salvation. Bread felt beaten and squashed in her hand, and the only truly saved things were the frozen vegetables and apples.

A sigh escaped her as she squatted down and began trying to pack up the mess, her hand sticky with yolk and dairy.

"Guess I haven't really had Bread Pudding in a while."

A/N: Not everything I write will be exact in the time period of the 1960's. I'm going to try and keep it somewhat within that range, but some things will just have to be settled in. I hope you like where this is going so far!

-Lenori