banshees
mister sneakers
nico
wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it
nico pavatelli
he/him
21
bisexual
6'0
personality
In another life, Nico would have been a kinder person. He was born with a gigantic heart that makes up for his lack of natural intellect. He rarely thinks with his head before acting, which is usually more of a curse than a blessing. Nico is intensely charismatic; although he can’t quite be considered charming, he’s innately skilled at easing tension and finding the humor in every situation. However, this is a double edged sword: Nico doesn’t take anything seriously until it suddenly becomes very serious. “It’s fine” is his motto, even when it’s definitely not fine at all. Despite being dangerously optimistic and easy-going, Nico has a rather erratic temper. It depends on the day; punch him in the face on Tuesday and he might laugh, but cut him off mid-sentence on Wednesday and be met with six feet of pure rage. Lastly, he is incredibly terrible at saving money. He’s not to keen on the administrative aspects of life; he’ll worry when he’s dead. After all, he’s here for a good time, not a long time.
biography
to be decided
code by
pasta
Nico Pavatelli couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out on a Saturday without ending up unconscious one way or another. Last week he’d gotten blackout drunk at the same club he was at now, unable to say no to the cajoling of his brothers, which was hardly rare for him. He could never back down from a challenge, and Mikey had bet that he could drink Nico under the table before eleven o’clock. It was never a good idea to take Mikey on in a drinking game (and he used the word game very, very loosely) because everyone knew Mikey drank to forget. Nico didn’t drink to forget, though; he drank to have a good time, and even though he had 20 pounds on Mikey he ended up quite literally under the table by ten. He woke up the next day in his own bed, stripped to his socks, which should have been much more concerning than it was.
He never worried. Don Gionicci’s boys took care of each other. The next Saturday, he was right back at The Blue Lounge, only that time he wasn’t there as a customer. He was in the freezers in the back, teaching some unfortunate soul what happens when you don’t keep your promises to Don Gionicci. Mikey wasn’t drinking this time; he was holding the guy’s arms behind his back while Nico hit him. He didn’t like shaking guys down like this; he preferred fair fights, relished the sight of a man’s face falling when he realized this had been Nico’s fight all along. He even liked the burn that came after losing, the ache making itself known in every last joint and muscle, the hurt reminding him that he was alive, alive, alive. Beating guys down like this was just a chore to him; it didn’t mean shit when the guy already knew there was no chance in hell he was gonna come out on top. He was almost finished when the guy jerked out of Mikey’s grasp and nailed Nico right between the eyes. He remembered reeling back, his head hit the freezer door, and then: nothing. Total darkness. He had woken up the next day in his own bed, considerably less naked than the last time he had blacked out at the Lounge, with a headache so terrible that it felt like someone was trying to crack his forehead open like an egg.
This was a new Saturday. He planned to stay awake this time. Mikey was nowhere to be seen, which boded well for his sobriety, and Don Gionicci didn’t give him any errands, so he would probably remain concussion-free. Probably. He leaned back against the bar, elbows propped up on the counter, drink dangling from one hand. He felt sort of loose and unhinged, like anything could happen. This wasn’t strange, though. Nico usually felt like he was anticipating something wild to begin. He looked good, too, handsome and sharp in a way he was usually too busy to cultivate. He had never really favored suits like his brothers did; they thought it made them look respectable and inconspicuous, but he didn’t see the point in paying so much money for something that would end up ruined and bloodied within a few days. Vince and Tommy had corralled him into one, though, because they had decided he needed to get laid. As if he couldn’t get by on his own charm and charisma. They underestimated him.
Then why haven’t you had anyone in your bed since January, his brain sang at him. It was currently May. He looked down at himself and smoothed a hand down his shirt, popping a few buttons open from the top as he went. Maybe they had a point.
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