Alberto "oh no" Scorfano (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
prontissimo) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
avalononline2021-11-30 09:34 pm
prontissimo) wrote in avalononline2021-11-30 09:34 pm
text; un: signorvespa
i hate this
the sky has been leaking for DAYs... WEEKS??
it's so cold my eyes are frozen!
i hate this weird white water
i want to go outside...
[ A photo of a colored pencil drawing is attached... depicting Alberto "(in a blanket)" beside his familiar Carlo and his pet compsognathus Sofia, trapped inside his home "(forever?)," labeled "cold, alone... and fed up!" beneath falling snow — AKA "weird white water??? (every day...!!!)" — outside the window... All of them clearly "very unhappy" — the sheer image of misery itself. ]
SO!
let's trade!!!
anyone who can help me find or make something like this, i'll cook you food or something, whatever, we'll talk......
but as soon as possible,
i need one of THESE:
[ Another image is attached of Alberto wearing what... seems to be a diver's suit? Or something??? Holding a "giant umbrella" in one hand and Sofia on a leash in a harness in the other, Carlo floating above, all "dry, safe, warm, and NOT at home..." There's still plenty ofsnow white water around them, "but not on Alberto!" Most importantly, though, in this drawing, they're all happy! — as... baffling as it is to anyone else, surely... No thanks, no niceties, just complaints and demands, urgent, desperate, and maybe a little, um, bizarre? Un po. The kid's gone mad with cabin fever, possibly? This is... well... th-this is something. Definitely something. Ahem. ]
the sky has been leaking for DAYs... WEEKS??
it's so cold my eyes are frozen!
i hate this weird white water
i want to go outside...
[ A photo of a colored pencil drawing is attached... depicting Alberto "(in a blanket)" beside his familiar Carlo and his pet compsognathus Sofia, trapped inside his home "(forever?)," labeled "cold, alone... and fed up!" beneath falling snow — AKA "weird white water??? (every day...!!!)" — outside the window... All of them clearly "very unhappy" — the sheer image of misery itself. ]
SO!
let's trade!!!
anyone who can help me find or make something like this, i'll cook you food or something, whatever, we'll talk......
but as soon as possible,
i need one of THESE:
[ Another image is attached of Alberto wearing what... seems to be a diver's suit? Or something??? Holding a "giant umbrella" in one hand and Sofia on a leash in a harness in the other, Carlo floating above, all "dry, safe, warm, and NOT at home..." There's still plenty of
text;
[ she feels she's getting somewhere! Maybe she can pull him out!
... but when he mentions his pet, that does give her pause for thought ]
uh well lesse when it comes to cold-blooded things if they don't hibernate I think she'll be fine! do you know if magic lizard monsters need to hibernate????
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i dont know
i dont know what hibernate means
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i think she is
she naps a lot
soooo i should probably stay inside with her huh
to make sure she's ok
haha maybe after sofia is done hinerbating THEN we can go play in the snow, signora!
[ gruihwsjkdnm crap crap crap
not the most convincing "out" he's crafted, but... well... it's an out. sort of.
not really]no subject
don't you worry i won't let you miss out on all the winter fun!!!
so I say we find one of those animal mages or someone who knows more about magic lizards and ask their opinion!!!!!!
[ she genuinely thinks she's helping and will do ALL IN HER POWER to make sure alberto has the fun he deserves! ]
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no no no thats ok im sure she's fine!!! i have a book about compinagsathisuses i'll finish reading it and see what it says abut snow and winter and hbnertating!!!
i'll let you know when i'm done reading it!
but im a REEEEALLY SLOW readerreally really bad at reading
[ Alberto
This is your worst lie yet.
He owns no books. Except some comic books Izuku gave him. The adoption agent at the compsognathus pen gave him a pamphlet when he first got Sofia... which he has long since lost. He's a great dinosaur-dad.
He's seriously at a loss for excuses here, but Sofia is presently leaping as high as she can into the air (which is surprisingly high) to nip at Alberto's winged cat familiar floating up and down above her taunting her. She's not in the slightest feeling sluggish. ]
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there's no problem we can't solve together!
[ but is it her imagination, or is he having a LOT of problems all in one day...? ]
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mamma mia you know what
i cant find the book
ive been looking
and i dont know where it went
MANNAGGIA......
[ The excuses never end, this is getting suspicious... ]
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hey uh
do you not want me over or something???
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you can come over
im just
nervous about the snow
yknow for sofia
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cause like i can't explain it but it feels like
we were cool and lately we're not
idk maybe it's just me
you sure it's okay?????
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wer'e cool
i promise
you can come over
i'll make us pasta
i live at the inn
[ He drops his room number. His heart is breaking. He's never felt worse about lying... And he's lied a lot in his short life. ]
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okay i'll come over
BUT
i'm also gunna bring a surprise :333
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Cuz that's something he would think to do!]ok?
ciao
[ And he's gonna go ahead and start preparing the pesto... oof. ]
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Albertooo~! I have a present for youuu~! And you're never gunna guess what it iiiis~!
[ because surely nothing mends bridges like FREE STUFF ]
a small novel
His room is wildly overcrowded and over-decorated with no lack of clutter. The visual impact is immense. He's made use of every inch of his small inn room. His bed is shoved in one corner, decorated with miscellaneous crap and way too many pillows, along with a canopy of colorful fairy lights, which are providing the most lighting in the room right now, along with a few candles created by the Candlebloom spell scattered about and an old kerosene lantern on his desk, the flame dancing inside being the only flame that's not open, but all of it contributing to some very nice, warm, ambient mood lighting, despite the grey, dismal weather outside. On the wall above the bed are also his Vespa poster, a taped together drawing of his own that's clearly important to him because it's directly above where he lies his head, plus several rows of twine boasting a vast collection of Polaroid photos strung up with clothespins, paperclips, even safety pins. On the floor at the foot of the bed, there's a nest of blankets and extra pillows (how many pillows does he need?!) and if Della is observant, she'll see a tiny lizard-like snout peeking out from under these blankets, Sofia curled up warm and asleep near an old space heater he found for cheap. Beside the bed, he's nailed some mangled old wire coathangers upside down to the wall, having twisted their hooks out to serve as weird coatracks to hang a brown flat cap and a pair of old-fashioned binoculars. The only window in the room is the main focal point, just beside the bed and coathangers; he's pinned up a ragged old sail as a curtain, plus a fishing net adorned with myriad trinkets. He's stuck a dead tree branch dripping crystals on the well-worn armoire next to it, the hanging gems refracting the colorful fairy lights and flames, faint rainbows dancing in the corner of one's eyes as they idly twirl and shift in the air. A delicate-looking antique alchemy set is perched precariously along the windowsill — one Della might vaguely recognize as one of the things Alberto was trying to steal when they first met, ahem — with colorful strings hanging beneath it with bells and feathers and balls of tinfoil tied to the ends: homemade cat toys. More are strung up on the doorknob of the bathroom door, left closed just for that reason. Ever resourceful, still the same clever boy she met at the traders' fair at the castle, after all this time.
The room is drawn together with a circular rainbow woven rug in the center, as the "bedroom" corner bleeds into the "living room" corner. An old rusty bucket on the floor next to the armoire boasts not one, not two, nor three, but four different types of swords, having taken Della's suggestion to heart, though some are sharper or duller than others; at this point, they're still little more than toys to him. A chaise longue he dragged home from some passing flea market is shoved in the corner of the room, and a couple paces in front of it sits an open, hard-cover suitcase, equally old-fashioned and well-worn as all these other "found" items he may or may not have literally found in the trash; but the small suitcase is all but overflowing with an ungodly amount of colored pencils, markers, and crayons, every color imaginable, beneath a roll of brown butcher paper hanging from a curtain rod nailed to the wall. The Doodle Center, clearly, with disparate doodles already underway. A broken bicycle wheel is propped up against the wall with various drawings and notes and whatnot clipped to its spokes like some makeshift bulletin board. Hanging above this whole space are a fair few repurposed glass sauce jars done up with messy macrame, some full or half-full of beach glass, interesting pebbles, seashells, acorns, bottle caps, who knows what. Likewise, there are several repurposed glass olive oil bottles scattered throughout the room, most empty, some with dried reeds or wilted wildflowers stuck in them; one with an unusually wide neck, maybe an old liquor bottle he found, contains a collection of magic wands, though in all honesty he doesn't know what they are, like the alchemy set... He just thought they were some cool sticks. Della might recognize a couple of these from his box of
stolenfound "stuff" from their first meeting, too.Against the central wall is a simple wooden desk, one of its drawers open and overcrowded with hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers, spatulas???, an axe, pliers, who knows what else, and whatever doesn't fit in there, has been shoved into the slots of a rusty old toaster on the floor... The rest of his workspace is surprisingly clear and functional, though. Sure, there's a nice tall, vertical stack of comic books shoved to one corner, along with a shoebox (from the one pair of shoes Alberto owns now) brimming with folded sheets of notebook paper, envelopes, and more Polaroids, completely disorganized but at least collected together. But the kerosene lantern shines on a small collection of whittled wooden figurines: a couple Vespas, a little boat with oars, some spoons and forks, a cat, a dinosaur, a fish, some colored, most not, with a knife and curly wood shavings still fresh around a couple rougher-looking ones. There's the original copies of the drawings he posted to the network still on the desktop with some colored pencils strewn about, an abandoned half-empty cup of cold espresso beside the papers. His Polaroid camera is left open and put off to the side, a few peel-away film casings littered around it, a couple fallen on the floor with their final developed copies sitting out on the desktop. The desk chair is a simple wooden dining chair with a normal bed pillow tied to its back with a couple frayed pieces of rope, a ratty fleece blanket folded on the seat to serve as a cushion; his winged cat familiar, Carlo, is curled up in a loaf on the chair, his iridescent wings folded against himself, half-asleep. The desk space best shows Alberto's energy levels, ambitions, and attention span, really.
But the whole room shows Alberto's creativity and resourcefulness — and shaky, oddball self-sufficiency. The most functional, organized, mature space in the room is the kitchenette in the final corner, but the writer will spare the reader a detailed description, not pertinent at the moment...
for now.The only pertinent detail from the kitchen at the moment is the faint, fading smell of coffee that drifts through the air. Also drifting through the air is a melancholy Italian pop song that's only just begun, but will in fact repeat itself again on loop until Alberto eventually changes it, playing at full volume on his phone, the lyrics magically understood by the linguistic magic of Avalon, like the way a language falls on the ear of a polyglot, recognized as foreign and determinable, but still sensible — because can art be stripped of its original language, really? It sets this ambient scene quite well, surprisingly calm for how chaotic it absolutely is, a strangely suiting contrast for the young boy Della's become so fond of. It's a much more mature and functional space than the far more chaotic island hideout that Alberto used to call home, but in effect has lost very little of the overall aesthetic charm. If there's one place to be holed up for weeks, trapped inside by snowy weather... this isn't the worst, by far.He opens the door loosely wrapped in a green blanket, wearing a faded red T-shirt, worn blue jeans slightly too big for him, held up by another ragged piece of rope as usual, cuffs rolled up a ways past his ankles, revealing a cowrie shell anklet that's a new accessory since the last time Della saw him. He's also wearing a weak but warm smile, happy to see Della as always but... this time severely apprehensive, contrasting Della's apparent cheer and earnest eagerness. A lower energy Alberto than she's ever met. That's also new. ]
Ciao, Signora~ C'min.
lmao my tags gunna feel extra small now
She does notice the stolen items from their first encounter, and it does make her a tad concerned that some of the unfamiliar stuff may be equally nabbed - but then again, a good portion of this looks like it was found dumpster diving. Now that she has no issue with - being a McDuck, Della knows that "one man's trash is another man's treasure" is entirely accurate. Still, she's not here to give him a lecture - she's the fun parent! - and as she stands in the doorway, clearly hiding something behind her back, she offers the boy the biggest smile she can give before... ]
Ta-da! I got you an ice sled!
[ She whips it right in front of her - she's super glad she kept it when she was sledding with Aang - and what kid doesn't love sledding? Surely this will be the cure to Alberto's snow reluctance! ]
It's made out of ice! So... technically you can't keep it inside, cause it'll melt, you gotta leave it outside... But, hey! When you get sick of it, it'll melt in the sun when spring rolls around! And we're gunna find the biggest, tallest, most awesome hill to sled on, you and me! It's so exhilarating! It's almost like flying!
[ She is SUPER bummed she never got to take her triplets sledding for the first time, but she is DEFINITELY NOT TRYING TO RELIVE SUCH THINGS THROUGH ALBERTO.
NOOOOO. Don't be silly. That'd be the act of a crazy person. She's totally sane. ]
omg no, i just can't resist setting the scene in his bedroom ahahah no pressure to match me!!
He ushers her in gently and closes the door behind her. You know, rather than jumping into his coat and shoes and running outside to go play!!! Which should be the appropriate reaction! And the one he wants to have, in his heart of hearts! But... he can't. So deliberate, obviously fake excitement is all she's met with as this truly wonderful surprise invitation he'd really love to jump for joy over, pretty much apparently... bombs. ]
Oooooh~...! Thank you, Signora! That sounds fun...! Let's, uh—
[ He glances around nervously, searching for a solution here to not be as rude as he really knows he's being. Which also breaks his heart, cuz Della is being so nice and totally is the cool mom-bird and he's certain he's coming off as a jerk. And, really, under the cover of darkness, maybe he can save it and take it out with his monster best friends Asriel and Chara, and they three kids can have fun with it... He doesn't want it to melt, so he's wildly searching for a way to keep it without... going outside with her himself.
His worried eyes lock on the window and he hurriedly shuffles over to it in just a couple strides, long gangly legs working in his favor for once, and as he lets the blanket fall from his shoulders, he starts frantically shoving that stolen fragile alchemy kit off the sill, piece by piece, setting it all unceremoniously on the floor below. The sudden noise rouses Carlo on the chair, who lets out a loud, grumpy, rumbling meow of disturbance. Alberto tries to talk over this with more stilted energy in his voice, pretending like this is all normal and okay and makes total sense. ]
Let's put it outside my window! So no one steals it! Heh, yeah! It'll be hidden and easy access, bam, right there, ready to go! A-And it won't melt! Y'know, I bet my best friend Asriel would love this! D'you know him, Signora?! Or Chara? They're siblings! They're my age! They're great! I wanna show 'em, wow, the, uh— what'd you call it? Sled! I bet they looove sleds! Hah!
[ If he just keeps talking as he deconstructs his little set-up, frantically trying to pull up his elaborate curtain of trinkets to open the window, struggling even to get the pane to budge, then maybe he can divert her attention and make this all... okay... But... he can't. He can't even get the curtains to stay pulled to the side, getting hit in the head with little tinkling bells stuck in the fishing net as he fumbles with both the window and his words all in a flurry of undeniably bizarre energy... Even for Alberto. ]
oh hell no i'm just gunna EMOTION-DUMP
She messed up. Again. She hurt someone. Again. She didn't know what she'd done. Again.
Maybe if this was a fellow adult, it'd slide off her shoulders and she can playfully slug him, asking him what's up, but knowing she let down a child, AGAIN - Oof. Why does she keep doing this? Why can't she ever learn from her mistakes - or, well, just stop making mistakes in the first place?!
She swallows dryly, rubbing one arm, trying to think of what she can say - while now terrified of making things worse, somehow. Because that's all she ever seems to do. ]
I, uh... yeah, I know 'em... Nice kids, glad you're making friends...
[ She'd always seen herself as one of the kids, though. Someone all the children would love to hang out with. But to her, Alberto is making things clear, at least about one thing -
"I'd love to play with this - just not with YOU." ]
... L-Look, Alberto, if... I mean, that is... I know I'm not the smartest gal around, but... clearly, we're still not cool. And I don't know why, and I'm sorry, but - but can you please just tell me what I did wrong? Because whatever it was, you have to know I didn't mean it! The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you!
[ But you keep doing it anyway, a part of her says. Yeah, she never means to hurt the people she cares about - but she always winds up doing it anyway. Over and over and over again and never realizing it until it was too late.
Who allowed her to have kids? Who allowed her near kids? What right did she have to think of herself as any kind of parent?
She thinks of her little boys, her babies, her triplets, who she abandoned for that joy ride, and for a split second she's not seeing Alberto, she's seeing the one who's been the most reluctant to accept her, with very good reasons - she sees Louie. And a part of her breaks - literally, her voice cracks. ]
I-I-I just... I'm trying my best! I promise I am! I swear I am!
omg i'm living for this
He manages to tug the window open just as Della starts fumbling for her words, a gust of cold air entering the room when he does. He'd go about fulfilling his half-baked window plan with the sled, but then she asks him to tell her what she did wrong...? And it freezes him. He lets his gaze fall to the floor at the pile of crap he just shoved gracelessly by his bare feet, unable to look at her, and his expression darkens as he listens to her, frozen mid-action. Being told the last thing she'd want to do is hurt him...? No adult's ever said anything like that to him. He imagines no adult's ever even thought that about him. Maybe not even Massimo.
But what no adult has ever, ever told him... is that they're trying their best. And struggling. That they did wrong. Adults don't say stuff like that. Hell, if anything, that's usually Alberto's line. But hearing her plead that she swears she's trying her best, it tears his gaze away from the nothings at his feet on the floor that his eyes had been vacantly stuck on, and he looks to Della with the most complex, bewildered, pained, stunned expression he's worn since he found himself in this world, probably. He's not even sure what she's talking about, exactly — trying her best to be his friend...? So emotional — over him...? But it doesn't matter in a way, because... adults don't say things like that to him. He's never encountered such nuance and parity and vulnerability, never considered this kind of role reversal before — not with his dad, not with Massimo. And it's chilling his blood there by the open window, as he lifts the sail and fishing net curtains away from himself, to stand and stare at her more clearly, frozen in shock anew. ]
Wha—...?
[ He has no idea how to process this. He's never had to comfort an adult. Likewise, though— he's not about to fess up with the truth at the core of all this, either. He's certain of that much. Conflict knots his brow as he stares at her, mouth opening to find words he immediately fails to find, tries again in a false start, then straightens up and turns to face her head-on, arms hanging limply at his sides. He slowly leans his back casually against the open window, cold biting at his under-dressed shoulders and spine beneath his T-shirt, legs resting against the now-empty windowsill not so much for comfort, but almost unconsciously to support himself, as he finally manages at least one simple truth. A truth that maybe he doesn't have to explain — that can just be... taken as truth. ]
Signora Della... ...I just don't want to get wet in the snow.
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But of course if she knew his thought process - that adults never apologized or admitted they did things wrong - she'd be both horrified and laughing her feathers off, ready to give him a laundry list of wrongs from all of the adults she's ever known, and that it's actually healthy to admit when you've messed up, especially as an adult! But. She doesn't have special mind-reading powers (which, let's be real, is for the best) and so she doesn't know these things.
She just thinks he doesn't like her.
DO NOT CRY, DELLA DUCK, YOU ARE IN YOUR MID-THIRTIES, THIS IS A LITTLE BOY
She takes a few deep breaths, trying - TRYING - to control her emotions, and doing a really bad job at it. ]
Yeah, no, I get that, but, uh, ha! You... you wouldn't mind getting wet with Asriel and his bro, that's. That's fine! Obviously. Of course. Kids your age. Your friends. That's normal. I'm the one being weird and hung-up about this.
[ Just. Force that smile up, Della. You can do it. Put it right back up there. This is the 'thisisfine'.gif just looping in her brain. Stop being weird. You're the adult here.
The moisture in your eyes is just because it's cold in here now, what with the window being open, YOU ARE NOT ABOUT TO START CRYING ]
Yeah, this is tooootally on me! Whatever... awful thing I did, I just gotta. Gotta. Figure it out on my own! Somehow. Hahahahahaaaa.
[ Has it been mentioned that time on the moon chipped away at her sanity? Because it probably should be mentioned at times like this.
So, slowly, robotically, she walks backwards, intending to leave and DEFINITELY NOT GO HOME AND GORGE IN AVALON'S VERSION OF ROCKY ROAD ICE CREAM FOR THREE HOURS WHILE SOBBING PROFUSELY ]
So... I'll just... head on out, then! And figure out what I did wrong! Because you, you, you're a good kid, and I'm not a great adult. You keep the sled! Have lots of fun Louie - ALBERTO. Alberto. You're Alberto. You sure are.
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[ Alberto's face is growing wildly more and more expressive, trying to wrap his head around what's eating at Della. He knows he's fucking everything up... and he's certain he's not handling this right... but he doesn't know how to handle it! He can't just— tell the truth!? But also... every time he doesn't, he always just ends up ruining everything, whether he thinks he's doing the right thing or not. And right now, he's sure he's not.
He's never seen a grownup act like this, almost cry, it looks like...?! He's making her cry?! He knew she liked him but— This much?! It's beyond his comprehension entirely; he's feeling all kinds of conflicted as she goes off on this self-hating, hard-to-follow limb, and it's painted all over his face, as he inwardly goes off on his own. As she starts walking backwards, though, he's quickly back on his feet and moving toward her in long strides. ]
What?! Wait— Where're yo— ...What about the pasta?!
[ He already made the pesto! He was waiting til she got there to put the noodles in and everything, so they'd be perfect and al dente and everything would be hot and he'd seem like a great cook to a grownup! And also... just get to hang out with his cool dack-lady friend, because he's been going stir crazy alone in his room for weeks?! He's almost... kind of mad, and he doesn't know why? No, not almost, actually, he is mad as she tries to make an exit like that, and he can't help raising his voice in outrage and desperation, gesticulating with his hands in the air. But it's probably reading all wrong. He's not all that aware of his own transparency, for as much of a polished actor he fancies himself — emotional regulation is a whole other matter. ]
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... You did?
[ Huh. Well. She takes a moment to sniff the air - there is a distinct smell of... okay she can't really even guarantee it's pasta, but SOMETHING is being cooked. Ten years of having NOTHING TO SMELL kinda highlighted everything when she came back to planet earth, so it's rather hard to ignore now that she's noticed it's there.
Processing. Debating. One can almost see the gears working together in her brain behind her eyes.
Okay. He made pasta. If he had only planned to make it for himself, surely he wouldn't have told her. And she is hungry.
Perhaps on some level, him telling her this - and the basic need for any living thing to eat - is smacking some sense back into her. But then, what had everything else been about? If he doesn't like her, why does he want to eat with her?
Is he just being overly polite and - HA. She's not even going to finish that thought. Listen she loves Alberto dearly but he's not exactly the most well polished apple. So, maybe, just maybe, it's not a case of him not liking her.
It doesn't quite answer any questions, but hey, he doesn't hate her! You don't eat pasta with people you hate! She'd never eat pasta with General Lunaris or Magica De Spell or whatever stupid new enemies Scrooge somehow made during her time away! That's sound logic! She's going to take this as a win! ]
... It does smell good. That'd be a waste if I didn't stick around to eat my share. I haven't had pasta in ages.
Although as she straightens herself out, smoothing down her pilot's jacket standing in the doorway and awkwardly clearing her throat, there is the little matter of... you know. Nearly breaking down into tearful hysterics in front of a small child. What do to about that? Why, do what the McDuck family does best!
SHOVE THAT NONSENSE DEEP DOWN AND PRETEND NOTHING HAPPENED. Sure, maybe it means she'll explode later at a different time, but that's future Della's problem! So! She claps her hands, FINALLY closing the door behind her - cold as the dickens in this place by now, what with the open door and open window - and taking this distraction and never letting go. ]
I'd love to have some. Thank you very much, Alberto.
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At once, his own other senses come to, like hers had... But he loses his patience on the music that has been providing an utterly dramatic backdrop on loop this entire time... That was fine when he was cuddled up alone in bed and missing Luca and moping about how Luca would know how to handle this situation, or, better yet, had his best friend been here, maybe Alberto wouldn't even be in it at all... or if not, at least had a confidant who understood. Asriel looks like a monster all the time — and Chara's a human with... a looser grasp on their sense of compassion than Asriel and Alberto have. No, Alberto's just been sitting alone brooding about how his imaginary Luca would have all the answers magically, planning his next letter to write to him to add to the box of dozens and dozens and dozens of other letters he hasn't sent him... because he can't. He can't send them anywhere. They might as well be a diary by now. But whatever otherworldly Luca those letters have been addressed to, imaginary or not by this point after so long spirited away in this world, Luca would certainly be hearing about all this later tonight...! In a strongly worded letter!!! Probably with some illustrations. Yeah.
He accidentally slams the window shut as a gust of cold air blows just as he's shutting it after depositing the sled (though truth be told he probably did use too much force) just as he's suddenly tuning into this sad sappy song that's been on repeat, and groans fumingly at these sounds combined. He snatches his phone off the bed and the song abruptly stops as he hits next, turning off the "repeat one" setting, and shoves his phone in his pants pocket as he collects his blanket again, wrapping it around himself huffily as he starts walking back toward Della to lead her into the kitchenette. But in the time it takes him to do that, the opera singer gets about a minute into her lovely aria before those words strike a sore nerve, too, the dramatic Italian likewise effortlessly understandable to Della by virtue of Avalonian linguistic magic like before — but who knows why those words are striking a chord right now...? Doesn't seem relevant at all? So little said with this kid. But he's also tortured by silence, and that'd just make all of this even more awkward...! So he again bristles and growls at the music, stopping in his tracks in the center of the room to whip his phone out and change the song again, more forcefully this time, as if that'll will a better, non-upsetting song to come on shuffle and soothe his raw nerves.
And weirdly, well, it kinda does — at least it's high energy and happy-sounding, less overtly upsetting... He rolls his eyes at it, finding none of the enjoyment he once found in this same song when dancing around his kitchen cooking pasta for Asriel wildly twirling around a pasta spoon and making the other kid crack up. He probably could have had a moment like that with Della, too, but instead... this is happening. Whatever this is. He's so confused. But he doesn't want her to go. He knows that much. So he puts the phone back in his pocket much more softly this time, still at almost full volume, and just lets the music play from there, slightly muffled, huddling himself up in his blanket as he guides her past his desk to round the only corner in the room; he throws a vague glance at the overstuffed shoebox of folded papers and photographs sitting on the desktop, the words ᑕᗩᖇO ᒪᑌᑕᗩ scribbled on its side in Alberto's awful handwriting. He draws the blanket around himself a little more and presses forward, waving her along around the corner with the outline of his hand unseen underneath ]
C'mon. I already did the pesto and everything. I just need to put the stuff in the pot.
[ Alberto, too, is an expert at just swallowing everything and pretending like everything is fine and nothing horrible just happened. That's, like, his secret MO! Once he gets over his stunted hissy outbursts, which... are also his secret MO. Della gets to see a whole new side of him tonight, apparently. A lonely, ill-spoken kid with anger issues and a lot of fronts put up. Not quite the cocky, clever, carefree kid she's met every other time they've played around together... But, well, tit for tat — this is a whole new side of Della for him, too. ]
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Uh. Hm. Should she... nope. Nope. We're pretending things are fine, remember??? Asking about things that upset him would put them back in the not-fine zone!!! And we're fine now!!! DO NOT RUIN THINGS FURTHER, DELLA. So aside from an awkward clearing of her throat, she makes no comment on the music changes. Focus on the food.]
Go for it, kiddo. I'm... still not a great cook by any means. I've got a teacher giving me the basics, but we've mostly focused on stuff like cakes and cookies and sugary stuff. Anything else, I'm helpless. So I'm afraid aside from cheering you on, I can't help you out there.
[ There, see? Light and breezy conversation, just as it should be. Let's even toss in some playful finger guns for emphasis! Everything is fine. ]
So, have at it, Master Chef Alberto!
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