[ Alberto's left fuming in the kitchen, and there's a loud series of clangs and bangs as he shoves a stack of pots and pans off the wooden stool he uses as storage space in the corner of the kitchenette, piling them gracelessly on the floor, and shleps the stool over to the desk. As he places it down, he turns to Della, looking like he wants to say something, but... chooses not to, clearly, and with another little grumble under his breath, heads back to the kitchen. This isn't as bad as it seems. He's just mad... Mad and confused. He doesn't know how to process emotions — he just feels them.
However, it's clear that not only is she not kicked out, but that dinner's still on, and Alberto's even going to sit beside her at the same table... so even for all his grumping as he brings out dinner, conversation is surely on its way, too. And hopefully with it, resolution. But that, uh, will take a moment for him to figure out how...
He returns with the plates of pasta in each hand, wearing a softer scowl than before as he at least tries to compose himself. The shuffled music continues playing in his pocket, now blasting an eerily mellow but cheery pop song, which just draws even more attention and weight to this awkward silence as he says nothing upon his return. He sets the pasta in front of them a bit noisily, and glances up at Della awkwardly once he takes his seat. He quickly tears his eyes away, though, closing them and sighing... before a dramatic idea comes to mind, and that conflicting epiphany lights his face up again, though his brow stays knitted. He reaches over, pours Della's glass of water and his own from the pitcher, sliding each glass into place. But instead of setting the pitcher of water down and leaving it alone once he's done...
...he makes intense eye contact with her, staring her down silently, as he plunges his hand into the half-empty pitcher. And when he does, the most amazing, unexpected, yet clarifying thing happens: his hand transforms... It loses a finger and gains webbing instead, claws instead of fingernails, turning purple and scaly. He holds it up demonstratively, his scowl staying put but turning slightly more worried as he holds deliberate eye contact still. Then, hand still dripping wet, for good measure, he takes it and drags it down one side of his face, even along his ear and a bit of his hair. And that, too, transforms, purple and scaly, ear turning to a fin, gills opening along his neck behind it, whites of that eye turning yellow, part of his hair turning to frills... He keeps his webbed hand held up as he stares her down, half-transformed, without saying a word. After a short, silent moment like this, he takes his other, humanlike hand, and wipes himself down rapidly, wiping his webbed hand on his pant leg beneath the table; and just like that, just as quickly as he'd turned fishy, as soon as he's dry again... he looks human once more. He waves his now-dry hand dismissively, like "see...?" Indeed, it's a dramatic solution, but a solution nonetheless.
And he figures, this blatant demonstration shows all that needs to be said, without a word. Why he's "trapped" inside, why he's hating the snow, why he won't go sledding with her but will go sledding with Asriel, why he won't get wet, why he's "allergic to hose water," his apparent proclivity toward oceanic things like dressing as a shark ghost of all things for Halloween, his strange slip-ups talking about "humans" when they first met as if that didn't include him, everything... But most important of all, it explains why he kept his distance after she told him she found sea creatures and merpeople "disgusting." This is him. Disgusting or not. He wasn't mad that she felt that way, just disappointed, but... he is still kinda mad that she read his letters, but they'll touch on that later. They've gotta get this cat out of the bag first. ]
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However, it's clear that not only is she not kicked out, but that dinner's still on, and Alberto's even going to sit beside her at the same table... so even for all his grumping as he brings out dinner, conversation is surely on its way, too. And hopefully with it, resolution. But that, uh, will take a moment for him to figure out how...
He returns with the plates of pasta in each hand, wearing a softer scowl than before as he at least tries to compose himself. The shuffled music continues playing in his pocket, now blasting an eerily mellow but cheery pop song, which just draws even more attention and weight to this awkward silence as he says nothing upon his return. He sets the pasta in front of them a bit noisily, and glances up at Della awkwardly once he takes his seat. He quickly tears his eyes away, though, closing them and sighing... before a dramatic idea comes to mind, and that conflicting epiphany lights his face up again, though his brow stays knitted. He reaches over, pours Della's glass of water and his own from the pitcher, sliding each glass into place. But instead of setting the pitcher of water down and leaving it alone once he's done...
...he makes intense eye contact with her, staring her down silently, as he plunges his hand into the half-empty pitcher. And when he does, the most amazing, unexpected, yet clarifying thing happens: his hand transforms... It loses a finger and gains webbing instead, claws instead of fingernails, turning purple and scaly. He holds it up demonstratively, his scowl staying put but turning slightly more worried as he holds deliberate eye contact still. Then, hand still dripping wet, for good measure, he takes it and drags it down one side of his face, even along his ear and a bit of his hair. And that, too, transforms, purple and scaly, ear turning to a fin, gills opening along his neck behind it, whites of that eye turning yellow, part of his hair turning to frills... He keeps his webbed hand held up as he stares her down, half-transformed, without saying a word. After a short, silent moment like this, he takes his other, humanlike hand, and wipes himself down rapidly, wiping his webbed hand on his pant leg beneath the table; and just like that, just as quickly as he'd turned fishy, as soon as he's dry again... he looks human once more. He waves his now-dry hand dismissively, like "see...?" Indeed, it's a dramatic solution, but a solution nonetheless.
And he figures, this blatant demonstration shows all that needs to be said, without a word. Why he's "trapped" inside, why he's hating the snow, why he won't go sledding with her but will go sledding with Asriel, why he won't get wet, why he's "allergic to hose water," his apparent proclivity toward oceanic things like dressing as a shark ghost of all things for Halloween, his strange slip-ups talking about "humans" when they first met as if that didn't include him, everything... But most important of all, it explains why he kept his distance after she told him she found sea creatures and merpeople "disgusting." This is him. Disgusting or not. He wasn't mad that she felt that way, just disappointed, but... he is still kinda mad that she read his letters, but they'll touch on that later. They've gotta get this cat out of the bag first. ]