Poker-face
Legacy Name: Poker-face

"Ya shouldn’ta left with 'im," he heard a familiar voice warn from somewhere behind him in the alley. Everything else that night had been a blur, but this disturbance in the rhythm (Mave's voice) hit him like a wrench in the cog, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Lucy's goddit out for ya now. You ain't unner the protection of the Moretti's no mores."
It was Thursday night, three in the morning, and he was half drunk. What the hell did he want with him? He cast him a judgmental, backwards glare, and made a motion with his hands for him to "go away." "Yeah yeah yeah... can’t a guy drink 'is woes away in peace wit'out bein' r'minded o' 'is fuck-ups?" he chuckled dryly as he tipped his head back and chugged the rest of the bottle of Blue Moon in his hand. The response merited a lowered glare and a curling snarl, but he just returned the enmity with a sardonic grin, turning sour by the second. "... you shouldn't be out 'ere. If they see ya-"
"I ain’t the one in danger Ricci, you damn well knowdat," he responded quickly, and somewhat bitterly. Mave was still reeling from the shock of his betrayal, which stung harsher than his words. Nineteen dead, five injured, and fourteen turned traitor; the Moretti's had sustained a crippling blow with his help, and Mave still couldn't believe it.
Ricci swallowed hard under his glower. He was right- if Lucy had ordered him to follow him that night, he was a dead man walking. Though from what he could tell (to the best of his.. current ability), Mave was pissed but he didn't seem like he was warming up to a kill. Yet.
Ricci shifted his weight cautiously before letting out a small sigh, then turning and glancing away from him. "... why ya here, Mave?"
"B'cause ah wont da truth oudda ya's, ah wonna 'ear it from yous m'self," he replied with a disgusted, but pained expression. It was a horrible look for him, this drunken back-alley bar-rat bullshit. Ricci'd been down that road before, and it wasn't particularly something he wanted to see him fall back into again, but the way things looked, at this rate...
"Why?" he half-laughed as he turned to face him, swinging the arm with the bottle in his hand like dead weight. "So yous can beat me t' death y'sself?"
"Why...?" he echoed the question angrily, "Because ah know you oughta known bedda, and ah know you had a bedda relationship wit Lucy thanta juss' go runnin' off wit' dat finocchio at da first sign uh trouble!" he practically roared, the clamor of his voice carrying down the alley they were standing in, and into the back-lot.
Inwardly, Ricci trembled- he hated angering Mave; it was one thing that really scared the hell out of him, but being the experienced liar he was, even in this almost drunken state, he kept himself composed, calm right down to the unwavering, exasperated expression in his eyes.
"So why ya donnit, huh?" The anger in his words spoke over the faint murmur of chatter, music, and clinking glassware inside the bar. "Whadid we evah do ta make yous hate us? All ah ever did was treat you like a brudda, n' Lucy, he-" As soon as he'd said his name Mave stopped mid-sentence, turned and paced away, and drew a trembling hand down his face as he recalled the terrible things Lucy had done to rats and traitors; the realization that this time Ricci would be on the receiving end sickened him. Good ol' Lucy, Ricci thought to himself: probably one of the few men in this town that could get Mave to hesitate at just the mention of his name... and Ricci had royally pissed him off. "Hell-" he continued after regaining his composure, "Ya oughta consider y'self lucky enough he ain't comen' taken careuh' ya hisself yet."
Lucky? Oh yeah, sure.. Ricci was real lucky. That's why he'd thought it was such a great idea to go out that night and drink until everything was punch-drunk fucking hilarious. That's why he'd wandered out into that alley alone, knowing Mave would be there, probably to kill him. If only... if only he knew. "I kinna wish e' would; e'd be doin' me a favor," he replied with a slightly troubled look that though subtle, spoke volumes to Maverick. It wasn't like Ricci to let onto what he was thinking, not even when intoxicated. As Mave eyed him carefully, he blinked calmly, straightened up and took an off-balance half-stumble-step toward the alley wall, catching himself before he slumped over into it with one shoulder. "Y'wonna tolk, Mave? Let's tolk," he replied reluctantly, bottle still gripped in one hand by the neck, the other slipped into his coat's pocket. "But if not, get th'fuck outta my face."
"Ahright, Ricci," Mave half-mocked as he crossed his arms and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, "You first."
That was the first telltale sign that he needed to start choosing his words more carefully. Ricci knew if he didn't get Mave to understand soon, things would get ugly. "Hey, believe me Mave, I don' wonna cross Lucy anymore n' you would, da guy's like a fatha t'me-"
"Then what got inna y’ head, boy!?" he questioned as he gave him a slightly rough shove, causing him to rock onto his heels and take a step back. "What coulda possibly possessed ya ta tink that it’d be a good idea ta take Darcy’s side? You know he ain’t gonna live ta see the enna dis."
"It ain't what'cha tink-"
One hand gripped tightly on his jaw and upper neck, and he lifted him off the ground as he leaned in close enough to hear him at a whisper. "Really? Den what issit, huh?" he hissed into his face. "Enlighten me."
Ricci's body couldn't hold up against the pressure in Mave's grip, and he grimaced at the crackling sensation in his throat and mandible as it started to give. "He-" he stammered painfully as the blood flow started to swell in his head and taper off to the rest of his body. One hand clawed at his wrist as the other desperately smacked the bottle in it against the wall, trying to break it. ".. made me do it- I found out what e' was plannin', n' he blacked me inna it-"
"So yer scared? Of Pisani..?" he asked in a mocking tone as his hands pressed tighter around his neck.
"But E-..." he choked before giving up on talking at a normal level, coughed violently and whispered, ".. he threatened Molly and Luke." One last hard swing against the wall and the bottle finally shattered, giving him something to work with. Ricci reached up and swiped at his chest with the glass, but Mave had already dropped him and retreated out of reach, giving him a moment to catch his breath. The wheels in Mave's head were turning, he could tell by the way he hadn't rushed him again.

Time Period: Present
Genre: Supernatural Crime
RP status: Closed

Name / Nick / Alias: Ricci Durand / "Ric" / "Ronnie Banks"
Nationality / Language(s): American Mutt / English (Primary), Italian (Secondary), American Sign Language (Secondary)
Age / Birthday / Sign: Looks to be in his late 20's / November 4th, 1952 / Scorpio
Height / Weight: 6'1" / 165 lbs.
Species: Shapeshifter- Berserker
Eyes: Dark Red
Hair: Blonde- short, shaggy with razored layers
Skin: Fair
Build: Athletic- Medium frame with some muscle and tone
Scars: A very noticeable large scar over his left eye, the bottom of which can be seen trailing from under his eyepatch down his cheek, leading to a few smaller slashes at the corner of his mouth; various gunshot and knife wounds
Tattoos / Piercings: Sleeves on both arms that stop about mid-forearm, and spread partly across his shoulders and upper back / None
Wardrobe: Dresses mostly in dress slacks, dress shirts, and dress vests, a pair of brown oxfords, and suspenders, but will on occasion trade out his formal attire for more casual threads- ribbed tanks, jeans, long shorts, flannel, twill, etc.

Orientation / Status: Heterosexual / In a Relationship
Love: Zoey
Parents: Deceased
Family: Molly (Sister, younger) & Luke (Brother, younger)
Friends: Mave, Jacquie, Sienna, Marco, Fiona, Lucy, James, Taylor, York, Michael, Allen, Zoey, Po
Occupation: Property Manager / Realtor; Owns and runs many Gentleman's Clubs / bars; currently aiding the Calidori crime family as Antonio's advisor
Location: Manhattan, NYC, NY

Vice: Paranoia
Virtue:
Strong Points:
Faults: hides many of the truths about his life
Religion: None
Quirks:
Traits: Polite, fun-loving, playful, coy, witty, mouthy, easygoing, organized, clean-cut, social, cunning, high self-control, confident, hard-working, manipulative, mischievous, fearless, strong, secretive, observer, problem-solver, charismatic, assertive, cautious
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