[ Alberto is completely gobsmacked, staring at her like she's some otherworldly monster he's never seen... despite the fact that, well, that's true. He'd never found her disgusting, though. Just weird. And while it has nothing to do with her feathers or her beak, he's finding her weirder and weirder by the moment tonight, completely flabbergasted and baffled by everything she's saying. He cannot follow her train of thought at all, and that's worrying him as to his own capabilities of comprehension, man. Like, he knows he's not the most educated kid in town, but— he doesn't fancy himself dumb...
And indeed, not dumb at all, after a good long moment of silent staring at her, groveling before him, as a bright flush of color rises to his cheeks... he does connect some dots. And that stunned, bemused expression slowly, softly, cautiously shifts into anger and indignation, locking eyes with her as soon as she'll meet his. ]
...Did—... Did you read my letters? Wha— [ He sputters, as realization takes hold, trying to compose himself, searching for the right reaction... but he fails to find it. Because he's fourteen. And abused and abandoned and traumatized. And emotionally stunted, at best. ]
Those were for Luca! I didn't say you could read those! You can read— obviously! They said "Caro Luca!" LUCA!
[ He slams the pasta spoon down on the counter, glowering at Della, and spins around to hide his face — hide his outrage. He's a child, he can't control his reactions, especially after two years in isolation... But— ...little does he know, they actually share this in common, which is largely why he's finding so much of her behavior so ridiculously confusing for an adult, but that's not come to light yet. Not even close. He grumbles to himself, wheeling around to glare at her, and— surprisingly enough...
...reaches for a glass pitcher of water and two glasses left on the counter, and shoves them at her. He'd already set out two forks, and points to those a lot more emphatically than is due, for forks, before waving his arms drastically back toward the desk all this misunderstanding — or, rather, this understanding — took place at. ]
Hrrr... J-Just! Go! Put these on the table! Okay?! The pasta is ready!
[ If she's not gonna act like an adult... he's not gonna treat her like one. Though, ostensibly, he's not kicking her out, either; this is a whole conversation that's been opened, and they need water, they need pasta, they need A Moment. He doesn't know what to make of this right now; his mind is reeling. On the one hand, good, the truth is out, he can just be frank. On the other hand... y5t8wufhieajkml;,bpso
It's a harsh conflict of interests, here. But not one they can't resolve. Just one that needs to simmer, like the pasta that had been boiling. This is an altercation best served al dente — not all give. With just a little bite back. And a lot of salt — y'know, for flavor. Nothing can be bland with these two, right? ]
no subject
[ Alberto is completely gobsmacked, staring at her like she's some otherworldly monster he's never seen... despite the fact that, well, that's true. He'd never found her disgusting, though. Just weird. And while it has nothing to do with her feathers or her beak, he's finding her weirder and weirder by the moment tonight, completely flabbergasted and baffled by everything she's saying. He cannot follow her train of thought at all, and that's worrying him as to his own capabilities of comprehension, man. Like, he knows he's not the most educated kid in town, but— he doesn't fancy himself dumb...
And indeed, not dumb at all, after a good long moment of silent staring at her, groveling before him, as a bright flush of color rises to his cheeks... he does connect some dots. And that stunned, bemused expression slowly, softly, cautiously shifts into anger and indignation, locking eyes with her as soon as she'll meet his. ]
...Did—... Did you read my letters? Wha— [ He sputters, as realization takes hold, trying to compose himself, searching for the right reaction... but he fails to find it. Because he's fourteen. And abused and abandoned and traumatized. And emotionally stunted, at best. ]
Those were for Luca! I didn't say you could read those! You can read— obviously! They said "Caro Luca!" LUCA!
[ He slams the pasta spoon down on the counter, glowering at Della, and spins around to hide his face — hide his outrage. He's a child, he can't control his reactions, especially after two years in isolation... But— ...little does he know, they actually share this in common, which is largely why he's finding so much of her behavior so ridiculously confusing for an adult, but that's not come to light yet. Not even close. He grumbles to himself, wheeling around to glare at her, and— surprisingly enough...
...reaches for a glass pitcher of water and two glasses left on the counter, and shoves them at her. He'd already set out two forks, and points to those a lot more emphatically than is due, for forks, before waving his arms drastically back toward the desk all this misunderstanding — or, rather, this understanding — took place at. ]
Hrrr... J-Just! Go! Put these on the table! Okay?! The pasta is ready!
[ If she's not gonna act like an adult... he's not gonna treat her like one. Though, ostensibly, he's not kicking her out, either; this is a whole conversation that's been opened, and they need water, they need pasta, they need A Moment. He doesn't know what to make of this right now; his mind is reeling. On the one hand, good, the truth is out, he can just be frank. On the other hand... y5t8wufhieajkml;,bpso
It's a harsh conflict of interests, here. But not one they can't resolve. Just one that needs to simmer, like the pasta that had been boiling. This is an altercation best served al dente — not all give. With just a little bite back. And a lot of salt — y'know, for flavor. Nothing can be bland with these two, right? ]