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"Mr. Tannenbaum," Gabriella de Bellis said, pinning the lawyer with an imperious gaze as he sat down in her parlor. "Mr. Sarkov, whom you recommended us to, has taken it into his head that can buy our daughter from us. He's been rather insistent."
Vittorio glowered from behind his wife, his stocky shoulders and neck straining against his expensive suit. "We are holding you responsible. If he tries to bully us one more time, I want there to be immediate repercussions. He can pay his money to sit and listen to music, but he cannot buy her."
Ira Tannenbaum stared evenly back at the husband and wife, considering them for a moment. He was richer, and well connected, but they were nearly as rich, with older money, and much better connections. He was outmatched in this particular contest, but that didn't necessarily mean that he would simply roll over for them. After another moment's consideration, he spoke. "I know a man. He will suit your purposes nicely. My caveat is this: If I get him here for you, he becomes your responsibility. I'm afraid that he will offend your sensibilities, especially yours, Mrs. de Bellis, but you will not regret having him around. Provide him room and board, clothes, make him your daughter's manservant, and I guarantee that you will have no more problems with Sarkov."
Gabriella narrowed her eyes at Tannenbaum, pursing her lips for a moment before responding. "And who is this man?"
"Beau Barton." The lawyer smiled briefly, keeping his sense of victory to himself as he saw the expressions their faces.
"The Breaker." Vittorio's teeth glinted in the light as he grinned with satisfaction.

~*~

"Drive."
Tannenbaum's chauffeur complied as soon as the door was shut, leaving the lawyer to his thoughts. Getting the Breaker cost him nothing, as he already owned the giant, who was about as useful as feet on a fish to the lawyer. Pulling out his phone, he found the number and dialed. "Barton. Get here now. Right now. Get your ass on a bus, I'll deal with the rest. There'll be tickets waiting for you."
Hanging up the phone, Ira Tannenbaum made a few more calls, ensuring that Barton wouldn't get arrested on sight once arriving in the city.

~*~

Beau stared at the crappy little cell phone that had rung for the first time in months, the 'call ended' blinking at him for a few moments before he closed it, delicately putting the phone back in his pocket.
"Barton! What the hell are you doing? Get that mess cleaned up!"
The big man looked down at the combined mess of milk and orange soda on the floor, then to the mop in his hand, dwarfed to the point that it almost looked like a Q-tip. "I have to go..."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Slowly setting the mop in the bucket, Barton took of the ludicrously small apron and handed it to his manager as he shuffled out the door, his head bent low and his shoulders stooped. "I have to go."

Thirty six hours later, Beau stood in the parlor of Vittorio and Gabriella de Bellis, his cow-like eyes moving slowly around the room as he shifted uneasily from foot to foot, the floorboards groaning beneath his nervous weight. He'd been cleaned up, given a decent, filling meal for the first time in months, and he was dressed in a suit for the first time in his life, let alone one that actually fit and was tailored. Still, even though he towered over the man and woman, they looked down at him.
"Do you know why you're here?" Asked the woman, her voice every bit as cutting and imperious as she herself looked.
"No ma'am, Mrs. da Ballas."
"It's de Bellis, you idiot. De. Bellis."
"Yes, Mrs. de Bellis. Sorry, Mrs. de Bellis."
With an aggravated sigh, Gabriella glanced at her husband, who was staring at the Breaker emotionlessly, as if processing other information in regards to the giant. "You are here to serve and to protect our daughter. If she's thirsty, you get her water. If she's hungry, you get her food. You do what she tells you to. More importantly, you do what we tell you to. Understood?"
Beau hunched his shoulders slightly as his new employer cut into him. He didn't want to be there, but it was his only other option besides going back to prison, since Larissa's mother had moved across the country and Tannenbaum essentially sold him to the de Bellis'. Beau Barton was 'Family' owned, that much was certain. "Yes, Mrs. de Bellis. I understand."
He didn't really, but that wasn't really the point. Point was, Beau did what his was told.
"Good. Now go upstairs and introduce yourself."
Nodding, Beau turned and made his way through the house, stepping as lightly as possible to he didn't cause anything to fall off any shelves. Reaching the door he was told that the girl was behind, he knocked gently, the door rattling on its hinges from the weight of his fist, then spoke, his voice carrying though the door like a low wave. "Miss Cecilia? My name's Beau. I'm supposed to be your..." At a loss for words, unsure of what he was supposed to be exactly, the giant trailed off. "My name's Beau."";

(I have a feeling this is 1x1?)

(yes it is, sorry!)

Cecilia rose from her chair and walked across the cold floor, her toes aching from it. As she opened the door, she held her back straight. She didn't look at him, or even through him. Her eyes were hidden behind beautiful glasses with dark frames.

She stepped aside, her bare feet barely making a sound as she moved. She wore a simple dress, white and long. It was loose on her chest, but left nothing in the open. he could see she wasn't wearing a bra - but there wasn't too much there to need to cover. Her arms were left bare, but she had a pair of gloves in one hand. The dress reached for her ankles, but didn't quite make it.

The room was cool. Almost enough to show small silvery puffs of breath as she spoke, "Welcome." Her entire body was covered in gooseflesh and she leaned forward towards the warmth of the hallway, "I apologize. I am practising. Would you like to sit and listen, Mr. Barton?" Her voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear.

Where Cecilia barely seemed to make an impact upon the environment of the room, Beau certainly did, his breath coming out in great plumes of fog, like a draft animal on a chilly night. Indeed, though the giant seemed untouched by the cool air, he almost acted like a low-burning stove, raising the temperature around him little by little.
Her greeting somewhat startled the big man, and he looked around confused for a moment before bashfully bowing his head. "Just Beau, Miss Cecilia. Nobody calls me 'Mr.' no more." He didn't add that the only times that he'd been called 'Mr.' were in a courtroom, usually just before being sent to jail again.
"I'll stay, if you want." The behemoth spoke as quiet as he could, as if awed, or fearful, of the house and his new situation. "Or should I wait outside? ...I don't really know..."

Cecilia half smiled - but it didn't touch the rest of her face. She sat back down finding her bow, "Please come in. I am rarely allowed company when I'm not practising." Her hand reached for the violin on the spot next to her, each long, dainty finger outstretched. She didn't seem to be looking too hard for it. Instead she was feeling the plush of the cushion, each finger taking in the sensation of velvet.

Though she didn't smile further, her face was full of contemplation. She ran her thumb across the bow's hair, down to the eyelet and the frog. She didn't care that she was being watched, she didn't even notice anymore.

So long as her parents weren't there, she would linger, feeling things with bare, naked fingers, feeling a rush from that act of defiance.

Beau was oblivious to the acts of defiance. Instead, the behemoth stood awkwardly, watching the girl for any sign that she might need him. He was, at the very least, eager to please. Even with his bovine brain, he had his own hopes, mainly centered upon his daughter, the thought of which caused him to speak without thinking.
"Larissa plays violin. I haven't heard her play..."
A feeling of sadness crossed the giant, as if his inner warmth were dampened, though is quickly came back with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd be allowed to visit his daughter and listen to her play.

"Who is Larissa, Beau? Her name is beautiful." She placed the bow in her lap for a moment, finally taking the violin into her hands. She stroked her fingers across the smooth finish of the wood, letting out a soft, comfortable sigh. She fit it under her chin and took up the bow, but did not connect it with the instrument.

Instead she waited to hear Beau's reply. It would be rude not to.