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“Master Venigni, you have ten minutes before you are expected at Lady Antonia's gala.” Pulcinella warned.
“Patience, compagno. One must never appear disheveled in front of the masses.” Venigni practiced his famous grin in his reflection as he adjusted the tie just so. “Besides, it would be rather rude of me to steal the spotlight so early.”
A quiet ‘hm’ was barely audible from Pulcinella, but Venigni knew it wasn't meant with ill intent. Besides, he already had a fall back excuse to give that both raised the curiosity of those in high society as well as give validity to his position. Of course when he shared that to Pulcinella, the butler merely stared in silence before conceding.
(If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed that, if he could, Pulcinella would roll his eyes.)
Venigni adjusted his signature red coat, checking his reflection for anything out of place. Gloves were on, the fur on his coat was fluffed, insignia was shining, and minus his top hat that needed to be placed neatly on his head. All that was left aside from the aforementioned hat was the one thing that put this entire look together.
That luminescent smile of his.
The one that put on a show of confidence even when he was unsure of the trajectory of his current innovation. The one that had the people swoon and disregard any accidental slip of the tongue. The one that said a thousand words when he had none. The one that managed to win higher ups, like one Giuseppe Geppetto.
Sure, he had heard the murmuring and scoffing of his fellow peers of how empty it was, how hollow and vain and sometimes cruel to have that stupid smile plastered all over Krat. But who cared? He surely didn’t. He couldn’t. He was not permitted to give them the vindication of the truth of their words, even if it was not entirely true. It was too costly to care as that could, no… would jeopardize all that he had worked for. Because a slip of his perfect smile could reveal a weakness, a mistake.
It could reveal how that illuminating smile of his was, truthfully, a front.
A mask.
It took time, lots and lots and lots of time. Dating all the way back since he was but a boy having witnessed the worst night of his life, he recalled vividly how the police kept questioning him, over and over and over and over again. How his words felt trapped in his throat. He wanted to tell them, to cry out what happened and by who and yet… he also couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it, he couldn’t let them know that the blood thirsty killer was a puppet, despite the fact that he so badly wanted justice here and now.
Because telling them would mean his only family he had left that was metaphorically breathing would leave him. And he would truly and deeply be alone.
Being questioned and surrounded by so many adults demanding answers, demanding he speak… that he performs… for any child, it would be too much. It was too much.
But not for him. Not for Lorenzini Venigni.
Despite the fact that all he wanted was for his parents to come and hold him. To come and quell the masses and say it was nothing… it was a reality that was stolen from him. That was thoroughly and irrevocably denied from this small child. And he, being a Venigni, had to keep the audience entertained. To keep them content. He couldn’t let them be dissatisfied, it simply wasn’t the way, even his own father taught him as such.
So he smiled.
Or at least, as best as he could, all else considering. It was too wobbly and lopsided, even by his own young standards. But at least he was able to keep them at bay, to satisfy the masses.
At least he was able to push them away.
And after the horrendous night, after spending countless evenings in the arms of Pulcinella begging for his parents again, he swore that never again would he be left blindsided.
Lorenzini Venigni was determined. He was going to be something akin to a God when it came to the puppets, as he was going to learn everything, inside and out.
With practice, as the years went on, he had learned to utilize that smile of his to his own advantage. By the time he was eighteen, when he was legally able to run the family factory, his smile had grown only stronger. More confident. As he knew what he was talking about when it came to the technicalities of these puppets, of all the innovations that were happening rapidly in Krat.
Using his mind and his resources he had inherited, Venigni’s name grew rapidly, like a bubbling lava with nothing to stop him. He was both the brains and the charm to his father’s– to his company. Always inventing, always entertaining, always smiling. He was the perfect showman.
At least, on paper he was.
His smile and brilliance only got so far before he heard again those murmurs and whispers regarding his age. Always talking about how youthful he looked, so young and boyish. All those galas he partook had him listening to those murmured judgement of how he was just a boy. He looked too young. Too inexperienced. He couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about.
“Nothing I can do about that, il mio amico,” he would flash that smile to hide the disdain of his age being used against him, “but perhaps, it’s good, yes? A growing face for a growing Krat!”
He would awkwardly chuckle when no one laughed back, or if they did, they just gave those pathetically weak scoffs of a laugh. But quickly, and efficiently like the perfect showman that he was, he ignored it.
And yet, a small part of Venigni felt scornful towards them. How could they even say that? Did he or did he not expedite Krat’s technological growth? Sure he was no Alchemist or even Geppetto, but he could strive to be like him… maybe even partner with him! He could do it, he knows he can do it. He is Lorenzini Venigni, dammit.
Another small part conceded, however.
Even with his fabulous combination of his smile, his words, his mind and even his finance, no matter how much he acted the part of the perfect brilliant inventor… he simply did not look the part.
And he was reminded of it with each murmur.
It was a vivid memory of how he stared at his reflection, examining closely his own details. Surrounded by newspapers and ads and all forms of illustrations showcasing the latest fashion trend of the city. He recalled how his father, as did most of the men in Krat, sporting larger than life outfits, with coats and suits of vivid patterns and colors. Most of them even had a form of facial hair that reflected who they were, from twirling mustaches to simple goatees. Even Pulcinella had facial hair!
…He wondered how he would appear with it himself.
Uncorking a marker, he began to draw on his reflection, trying to thumbnail an idea of how he can– how he will stylize himself. He liked the goatee, it made him look older, but a mustache? Just thinking of ways to twirl and curl and play with it slightly excited him.
“Master Venigni…” Pulcinella said in the guise of a sigh, “please do not draw on the mirror.”
“Ah, sorry, compagno.” He sheepishly smiled. “But I was just trying to visualize how I’d look with one. What do you think?”
“What… I think?”
“Si?”
Pulcinella stared before turning his gaze at the mirror, Venigni quickly getting back into position of his ‘stached reflection.
“I believe you look brilliant, Master Venigni.” Pulcinella answered. “Though if I may make a suggestion?”
“Always!” Venigni beamed.
With time, a lot of supposed facial oil ‘elixirs’, plenty of accidental cuts to the face, and an unholy amount of patience, he finally fixed himself in a way that felt right. Felt older, yet himself.
It was, admittedly, unabashedly comedic how much care he gave his appearance. Always slicking back his hair just right, making sure his goatee on his chin was just so that it didn’t look overbearing (though that cannot be said at all to the mustache he carefully waxed to be just right in twirl and shine), and that perfected, luminescent smile tied the entire look together. At least, outside of clothing.
On that front, he looked through what his father used to wear, keeping up with the latest trend of Krat… he should have followed it to the letter, perhaps, but he was a Vengini!
He wasn’t a trend follower, but rather a trend setter! After all, his name and reputation was everything to him, it would look rather poor if he continued to follow the masses instead of leading them.
Good money was spent commissioning his wardrobe, a silk top hat, the finest pair of dress shoes, a (once-upon-a-time) perfectly fit vest, and for a touch of the familiar, of reminding him of his roots, he would keep the family insignia on his person. But his pride and joy was his intricate pinstripe red coat with the fur trim. His eyes were drawn with how bold the red color was, how it was distinctly his compared to the seas of brown and blue from not just the citizens of Krat but even his own father.
The red coat was Lorenzini’s.
It was plush, both in density and the fluffy black fur that aligned around his neck, which was perfect for those chilly nights in the city, tailored to give him the illusion of being taller and stronger than he was (though not to say he wasn’t already rather large, what with his work with heavy machinery) by broadening his shoulders more so, giving it the guise that it was bigger than it normally was. As though to subconsciously answer the question that yes, he was going to shoulder the weight of Krat on him, just as his father before him.
But the color… the color spoke volumes to him. Bright, vibrant, bold, just like he was. The brighter and bolder, the better. Because now all eyes will have to be on him and his smile. No one can ignore this.
No one… not even Venigni himself.
As his ungloved hands rubbed against the softness of the fabric, he recalled the vibrancy of the last time he saw a red this vibrant. He recalled seeing that vibrant red on the floor and how it stained his parents’ bodies, stained his shoes, the grinning menacing puppet that was splattered in that vibrancy as he towered over him… the color red was simply everywhere.
His breath hitched.
“Master Venigni.” Pulcinella spoke softly. “Are you certain you would like this particular shade? You appear to be distraught.”
“No… I mean, yes. I’m sure.” His thumb rubbed against the fabric. A bold color, vibrant and strong and unforgettable. Why did that monster get to keep that color to himself? No, he wasn’t going to let them be selfish and keep it to himself, he was going to share it to the world. He put on that confident smile, and flashed it to Pulcinella. “It’s a bold color, do you not agree?”
“I agree.”
“Then we are in agreement, my friend.” He swiftly slipped into his coat, examining himself properly in the mirror as he twisted his body to get a better look of his attire. It definitely made him look larger, though perhaps that was due to the height of his hat. Flashing a practiced smile, he stood taller and glanced at his butler’s reflection. “Well? What do you think?”
“You look aristocratic, Master Venigni.” Pulcinella answered. “Just like your father.”
“Is that so, compagno?”
“I have no doubt he would be proud to see you now.”
His lip quivered just slightly, but he refrained from breaking, even if he was with a private company. A Venigni never frowns. He raised his head high and kept the smile up, blinking back the stinging tears. “I can only hope, my friend.” He cleared his throat and eyed Pulcinella for a moment, rubbing his goatee as he tilted his head. “Perhaps we will give you a matching attire, eh? Make you look spectacular among the other puppets.”
“I look forward to it, Master Venigni.”
“Fantastico! Then it’s settled!”
Pulcinella was the first to match him in that pinstripe red outfit, which, for Venigni, not only was he just rich financially, but most definitely looked the part if Pulcinella matching him was indicative of anything. More to that, he knew he landed (metaphorically) in gold when soon enough his fan-club asked for it themselves and he became the sole topic in one of the many parties he attended.
Soon enough, talks of whether or not he knew what he sold, what he made, how to run a business fell harshly to the wayside. His charismatic personality lowered the defenses, but his broad shoulders in the pinstripe red coat, perfectly coiffed facial hair, and blinding smile was enough to shut the doubts of his legitimacy to be a part of the elites effectively… Even with the graffiti on the factory walls, competitors snark, and a handful of other upper class citizens still had thoughts and words to whisper in the streets of Krat.
It didn’t matter, he would tell himself. He not only looked the part and knew to talk, he knew his craft. He excelled at his craft. And he would be damned to have anyone question his capability as an inventor, despite being a Venigni in both name and blood.
No one, not even Geppetto himself, needed to know all of this was for people to not know that underneath Venigni’s broad shoulder and flashing smile was Lorenzini. As long as he can keep this up, as long as he can continue to help and evolve Krat to something grander, no matter how long he has to, he will keep that mask up.
It's second nature by now.
“Pulcinella, il mio compagno, how much time do I have?” He asked, finding himself now thoroughly back in the present as he stared at his reflection, turning his head this way and there.
“Five minutes, Master Venigni.” Pulcinella answered, holding his top hat.
“Ha ha, see? Told you not to worry about the time.” He flashed that perfect smile while briefly looking away from his own reflection, as vain as it may seem.
(Venigni could have sworn he heard something akin to a scoff from Pulcinella.)
Carefully, he examined the famous mustache, making sure not a single hair was out of place and took gently the silk top hat, placing it just so on his brushed back hair before adjusting the furry lapels of his pinstripe red coat.
For the final touch, he flashed his signature smile.
He looked like the richest man in Krat.