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
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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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Eh. Fine. Carlo, dai!
[ He claps his hands above the cat lounging on his desk chair, who raises his head in irritation at being disturbed, letting out a grumbly mreow in question. Alberto shushes him and starts shooing him under his breath, pushing on the cat's butt to get him to move. Carlo gets up begrudgingly, slowly, clumsily, and as Alberto gently pushes him off the chair, he leaps off— but does not land, instead spreading his fairy-like wings and floating, letting out another low rumble of a meow in objection before flying off slowly toward the bed. The cat resumes his loaf position there once he lands, folding his wings against himself once more as he gets comfortable to try and sleep again.
Alberto straightens up the folded blanket he uses as a cushion on the seat of the wooden desk chair, the chair's back already having a spare bed pillow tied onto it with some rope... a creative solution for comfort, at least? Alberto pulls the seat out for her a little, a little gentleman in rare moments, angling it for easy access, and gestures at the rest of the desktop as he pulls his blanket back to himself with his other hand. ]
Sit here, Signora. I'll be quick. You can check out my stuff while you wait, if you want—? Like, uh, that's my Polaroid camera, and my little things I made, some comic books my friend bought me... It'll be like five minutes, ten tops, all right?
[ And with that, he makes his exit into the unseen kitchenette to finish up, tossing the potatoes and green beans he'd already prepared in a pot, the sounds of him putzing around not enough to drown out the loud music in his pocket still. He's honestly maybe even a little relieved for a moment to compose himself, reorient himself, find some words to make this less awkward... Maybe a little break is just the palate cleanser this weird night needs. Sometimes silence helps, as much as he's loath to admit it.
Left to wait at his desk, Della can find quite a few fun things lined up against the wall toward the back of his desktop: a short vertical stack of comic books, all Avalonian in nature just by a quick glance at the covers and titles, lots of knights and wizards and dragons and fae and all that happy horseshit they've come to consider normal daily stuff here; a small collection of wooden miniature figurines Alberto's whittled himself, some colored with markers or paint, some left raw, a few clearly not even finished yet — things like a couple tiny Vespas, a little rowboat complete with oars and a winch, a tiny fork and tiny spoon, a couple cats, a couple fish, a turtle, one still half-done that's supposed to be Sofia the dinosaur maybe... In the center sits an antique-looking Polaroid camera, left unfolded and out of its case, sitting beside some loose photographs, some of Sofia, Carlo, the snow outside the window, his room, an elaborate shot of a cutting board and herbs and a mezzaluna in his kitchen... There's even a silly one Alberto took of himself on a timer, flexing and kissing his muscles, which is the very first photo sitting on top of the shoebox labeled ᑕᗩᖇට ᒪᑌᑕᗩ, the disparate pile of photos naturally drawing the eye toward this box, though this was not amongst the things he'd listed out loud. In fact, funnily enough, Alberto's never mentioned Luca to Della...! So how could she know this box is something personal, potentially, having never even heard his best friend's name?
Most of the letters and photos and doodles in the box are stored horizontally, so it's easy to page through them, rather than a big messy pile... But it's still a mess, because there's no organization, he just shoves them in there, no rhyme or reason or timeline to the makeshift filing box. And really, it's a rich collection of photographs and letters, most papers folded up to fit. Some are short and sweet, drawings and photos attached with a paperclip, some are short and sad, some are long and open, such as the most apparently recent one, as Della will notice that the tops of each page are marked with "Day 80," "Day 84," "Day 90," "Day 92," "Day 117," and so on — obviously counting the days since his arrival, she'll easily deduce after peeking at a few. But regardless of subject matter or length, all of them likely reveal more about Alberto than he'd readily reveal himself, perhaps... which might entice curiosity. But even if she gets the gist that these are letters to someone ostensibly back home, or else they'd have been sent by now surely, it's easy to scan them even just paging through, easy to accidentally read key words that jump off the page. The way the papers are folded, with the writing on the outside, as Della flips through, she very well may notice her own name written — not once, but twice, even! The first letter is endearing, if she stops to read it. But the second, more recent one... far more elucidating, if she allows her curiosity to spur her on to read what else he has to say about her, after such a shining first "review."
Alberto's away for closer to ten minutes as he finishes up with the pasta and pesto and collecting dishes and whatnot. So if she chooses to be nosy... she has time enough to be as nosy as she wants, however many she chooses to speed read, be it zero or more. It's a unique opportunity, though, to learn more about this bizarre and lawless child. ]
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So. Lots to catch up on.
She gives a little smile to the cat creature - cuter than she'd thought Alberto would want in a pet, but hey, nothing wrong with that! - before taking a seat. ]
Take your time, buddy. I've got no other plans today... and my roomies know I keep odd hours.
[ Her sleep schedule being 100% screwed up from, again, living on the moon where sunsets/sunrises/THE ABILITY TO PROPERLY TELL TIME wasn't really a thing and she usually just slept when she... passed out. So, adjusting to having a regular sleep routine has not been easy - but this isn't the focus. What is the focus? Free reign to go through something's things! Neat! Time to let her curiosity take over!
Besides, this is something you'd like someone you like do, right? If you hated them, you wouldn't want them to touch your stuff! Yaaaay!
So with a happy hum, Della begins touching absolutely everything and anything she can get her grubby little hands on. Not everything is surprising, since he's a kid, a little boy, and just Luca in general - the Vespa doodle makes her chuckle again - oh, he's a really creative artistic type, isn't he? More ideas for future gifts bubble in her brain. Maybe he'd like a whole sketchbook, with markers and color pencils and paints...
And here comes the photos and "letters". Ah, another thing they have in common - Della's been doing similar entries, mostly in video form since that's what she's used to, as a sort of "letter" to her boys, just as she did on the moon. At least this time she knows ahead of time these can't go out, which is a bummer, but it's still been cathartic. She organizes it just a bit as she goes through it - once a Senior Junior Woodchuck, always a Senior Junior Woodchuck - mostly just keeping similar sizes together and trying to put the dates in order...
She's just about to ask who Luca is when she spots her own name, and she clenches up momentarily... oh! This first entry is awesome! Yeah, she's so cool! She made quite the impression on him didn't she? She's practically beaming with pride, glad that she rubbed off on him on the best ways.
Then comes 92. Her cheerful smile begins to fade. Even though Della would never claim to be a genius, it really doesn't take much to put two and two together. In fact, it's like a cliché fanfic -
Oh.
Oh. ]
OH NOOOOOOOO!
[ Absolutely horrified by what her past self has done, she drops the photos, clutching her hair, and all that previous self-hatred not only comes back, but it's TRIPLED. ]
WHAT DID I DOOOOO?!
[ What a silly thing, she knows exactly what she did! She called this well-meaning, sweet, trusting, friendly little boy DISGUSTING
TO HIS FACE
SHE IS THE WORST PERSON ALIVE ]
ALBERTOOOOOO!
[ With that, she BOLTS out of her chair, intending to run right towards him and, if possible, give him the tightest hug her body can manage. He didn't need all his bones, right? ]
I'M SO SORRYYYYYYY! OH MY GOSH I'M SO SORRYYYYYYY!
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However, when she grabs him into a tight hug, it catches him entirely off-guard, and he kind of, uh, screams... ]
Aaaah?! E-Ehh, wha— what?! Signora, basta!
[ Wh-What is happening...?! Pasta spoon still in hand and held out carefully, with one arm he vaguely pats her on the back, but uses that free hand to pry himself away, looking quite distressed and confused. Did she have a, uh— a mood swing? Her Bruno started screaming at her, or what?! This night becomes more and more confusing by the second. ]
È okay, è okay! I-I'm not mad!
[ Is that what this is about...? Because he was short a moment ago? He feels sheepish suddenly for not being mindful of his own moods. Did she take his frustration with the music that reminded him of Luca personally, or just... in her feelings again, whatever those bemusing feelings are? He's never known an adult who wasn't a severe authoritative figure to one degree or the other. The way Della acts— well, she acts like Alberto... but she's a grownup. And he doesn't know what to make of that exactly, glancing awkwardly to the plates of pasta on the counter, ready for them. But they're clearly not ready for it, apparently. ]
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You should be mad at me! I'm the worst! Here I am, saying just whatever stupid thought pops into my beak without thinking! You should hate me! I wouldn't blame you! I need to make up for what I said to you!
[ Of course how to do so is... not coming to mind yet. Surely a simple apology and begging on her hands and knees won't do it. She's partially tempted to tell him to smack her head with the spoon as many times he wants, but then again, teaching him that violence is always the answer to soothed feelings is probably not the route to go down.
It doesn't occur to her yet that 1) he's been keeping the sea monster thing a complete secret and thus has no idea what she's babbling about and 2) he also doesn't know she now knows said secret. She's just too overwhelmed with agony to really make another series of connecting dots. ]
I don't hate you, I promise! I never could! Humans are gross to me too, but I get along with them just fine!
[ Surely this will convince Alberto that her intentions are good - by admitting he was already "ew" to her, in a sense! Sure, sea monsters are way more "ew", but humans are already gross and she's actually had a traumatizing experience with them, thanks to Gene the genie.]
I would never hurt anyone just because of what they were!
[ ... anymore! one-time only thing with the mermaids! she promises! ]
And I am so, so, so sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't be accepted! No one has the right to ever make you feel like that! I was so wrong to talk to you like that! And I promise, I'll do whatever it takes to make up for how badly I hurt you!
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[ 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? ]
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Uh, but, you said I could look through your stuff, and -
[ Actually, you know what? THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO DEFEND HERSELF. Sure, when it comes to stuff like "privacy" Della almost doesn't know the meaning of the word. To her, what's hers is everyone else's, so why wouldn't everyone else feel the same? But it's clear in this moment that this is not the hill to die on - it's not even a hill to step on. Just. Stop.
She physically mimes closing her own beak with her fingers, in other words, "shutting up right now." It's difficult for Della to not make any kind of noise but it seems every time she says things, things get worse, so maybe right now shutty the uppy.
It's a small relief when he thrusts the pitcher and glasses at her, since he's still not kicking her out - even though she's given him, like, at least six more than reasonable excuses to do so - and just scrambles to the table to put them down. Then she sits, hands on her lap, head down, not touching a thing. No sir. Just gunna sit here and be quiet and speak only when spoken to and stop messing things up.
At this moment, she really does look like the child in the situation, shrinking in on herself as much as possible. She's suddenly getting flashbacks to being a young duckling and being reprimanded for teaching her younger cousin swear words, even though that was hilarious... but oof, Uncle Scrooge had let her HAVE IT for a good long while.
So. Just gunna... sit there. And be quiet. Not making a peep. Not moving an inch. The struggle is real. ]
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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. ]
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