"Messere, look! I-I finally got on top of a roof!"
(That night, Giovanni falls off of the villa for the first time, and Ezio feels as if the back of his eyes were inverting at the outrageous scene—but the brat merely cocks his head to the right and grins for all the world to see: past the stitches and the burn of wine on his wound, abating his anger at the other's recklessness. The candle in his room burns to nothing as the night carries on with his student's ceaseless chatter of amazement.)
"So, does that mean—oh! Er … so I was not supposed to kill him?"
(Lord, have mercy; he wonders if a teaching license was required for this endeavor—else, how else was he supposed to explain this situation?)
"Buongiorno! I bet you have not expected this as a surpr—wh-wh-wh-whoa! Aiuto! I am going to fall!"
(He ends up falling anyway, and as Ezio cleans the gash on his forehead in indignant silence, the tension becomes the most suitable form of the stormy lecture he had prepared. Still, the anger is short-lived right after that pleading grin of forgiveness; perhaps, he was growing too old for his own good.)
"All right, I am sure I can do this: Just watch me, Gran Maestro!"
(Si, if he meant that he wanted Ezio to watch him fall thirty feet downwards from a Borgia tower by a guard's kick, then he was right—a heart attack, the latter realized as he rushed to his student's aid in expert stealth, was an understatement at the sound of a painful groan and a broken leg. And before he perceived what he was doing, he was already reciting a litany of gratitude towards a deity he had refused to acknowledge for a large mass of dead sentries to cushion Giovanni's fall. He was going to retire very soon—he could feel it.)
"Do you have children? You do not? Why? I wanted my little Carmen to have a playmate—che? Why are you giving me that look?"
(A kid having another kid was something he could not kid, Ezio found.)
"I am fine! Just a scratch!"
(A scratch: a fractured arm and four oozing gashes across a back scarred from multiple falls. Yet, the duckling continued to smile as if the entire world was the sun itself, the exuberance never fading, even at Ezio's growl of promised retribution at the endless curiosity. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the latter knew that the key element of perseverance was to be taught by the scrawny nineteen-year-old cobbler—not by a man with a gape fixed onto his face ever since he met the former. Giovanni says otherwise, but, as always, Ezio cannot beat that happiness into solemnity to save his life.)
"Okay, I have a legitimate reason. What? I do! I was following him, like you told me to, but then, my boot kind of got stuck on this ledge-thingy … and … you know, bam! My nose is bigger than Borgia's ass."
(They spent a good three days learning how to properly lace footwear—somehow, the scoundrel enjoyed the elementary torture, and turned it into a childish game. He blamed himself for actually playing along and falling deeper into such senseless deviance.)
"Hey, this is fun!"
(Cesare Borgia right behind you was not fun.)