[By the time Reimi arrives, Abbacchio has managed to clean himself up a bit. His face is missing most of the makeup, except his lipstick. Really, that's his own fault for not asking Mista to bring anything, but then again he didn't really give a shit at the time. Abbacchio isn't sure he cares much right now either.
He opens the door, wordlessly stepping forward and pulling Reimi into a hug, closing his eyes. Moody Blues did his best, but he's genuinely glad to have the real deal right now.]
[He's warm, and tall, and just the right height for her to rest her head against his chest and listen to his heart beating. And he really does look like he's been through yet another hell he doesn't deserve — he has that deflated, sort of wrung-out look to him that always comes with someone who's been crying and crying.
She's a teenage girl. She's an expert in what it looks like, when your heart breaks and all the tears come pouring out until there's nothing left inside you.
Tail wagging, Arnold sidles up to Abbacchio's leg and nudges against it, pressing his furry side against the backs of his knees as he walks a slow circle around them, reminding them both of his presence as well.]
[She doesn't pull away entirely, though, even if she does sort of shift so that she's standing next to Abbacchio instead of hugging him, still with one arm around his waist as she does.]
Have you been eating? I know sometimes when I'm really upset, I don't feel like it or I just plain forget. But we could make something, maybe. Together?
I haven't really, no. Cooking seems way easier when you've got more than your own mouth to feed.
[He leans his head onto the top of hers, closing his eyes, letting out an uneasy breath. No amount of preparation for himself meant anything; he still feels like an utter disaster. And he thinks back briefly to the day Narancia disappeared, and how he went to Avdol, drunk and weeping and begging him to live.
No. He has to think about something else. Right. The two of them, eating.]
[She thinks a minute, turning over notions of comfort food in her head, measuring them against the benchmark of things that a pair could do together, to stay preoccupied and have some fun.]
Let's make a pizza! I've actually never made one, but you can teach me, right?
Sure I can. At least better than Chef Tony. [He says that wryly. As if a kid couldn't make a better pizza out of a bagel, tomato sauce, and cheese.] Margherita pizza it is. ...That's assuming Mista has any ingredients. I actually have no idea if he even cooks for himself.
And since the oven is going to be hot anyway, we can make cookies, too! That'll be fun, we can make them really gooey and hot and eat them while they're still warm.
[Does it help that she knows pizza is his favorite? Of course, but no one ever said that having the inside track was against the rules.]
But you're right, I guess it'll depend on what Mista's got.
The one thing I doubt he has is yeast, but hey, maybe he'll surprise me. Time to raid his kitchen.
[He rubs his cheek against her forehead once before slipping away into the kitchen. Time to raid.
A bit of a rundown and there isn't a hell of a lot going on as far as ingredients go. There are some basic essentials but definitely no yeast. A chocolate bar they can probably cut up to use as chocolate chips for the cookies at least.
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He opens the door, wordlessly stepping forward and pulling Reimi into a hug, closing his eyes. Moody Blues did his best, but he's genuinely glad to have the real deal right now.]
Hey.
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[He's warm, and tall, and just the right height for her to rest her head against his chest and listen to his heart beating. And he really does look like he's been through yet another hell he doesn't deserve — he has that deflated, sort of wrung-out look to him that always comes with someone who's been crying and crying.
She's a teenage girl. She's an expert in what it looks like, when your heart breaks and all the tears come pouring out until there's nothing left inside you.
Tail wagging, Arnold sidles up to Abbacchio's leg and nudges against it, pressing his furry side against the backs of his knees as he walks a slow circle around them, reminding them both of his presence as well.]
You look like crap, you know.
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[Upon feeling Arnold's affection, Abbacchio spares a hand to reach down and pet his head, scratching behind the ears.]
Hi to you too, Arnold.
C'mon. Let's both go inside.
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[She doesn't pull away entirely, though, even if she does sort of shift so that she's standing next to Abbacchio instead of hugging him, still with one arm around his waist as she does.]
Have you been eating? I know sometimes when I'm really upset, I don't feel like it or I just plain forget. But we could make something, maybe. Together?
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[He leans his head onto the top of hers, closing his eyes, letting out an uneasy breath. No amount of preparation for himself meant anything; he still feels like an utter disaster. And he thinks back briefly to the day Narancia disappeared, and how he went to Avdol, drunk and weeping and begging him to live.
No. He has to think about something else. Right. The two of them, eating.]
What do you want?
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[She thinks a minute, turning over notions of comfort food in her head, measuring them against the benchmark of things that a pair could do together, to stay preoccupied and have some fun.]
Let's make a pizza! I've actually never made one, but you can teach me, right?
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Guess we can check, though.
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[Does it help that she knows pizza is his favorite? Of course, but no one ever said that having the inside track was against the rules.]
But you're right, I guess it'll depend on what Mista's got.
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[He rubs his cheek against her forehead once before slipping away into the kitchen. Time to raid.
A bit of a rundown and there isn't a hell of a lot going on as far as ingredients go. There are some basic essentials but definitely no yeast. A chocolate bar they can probably cut up to use as chocolate chips for the cookies at least.
Still. It's a conundrum.]
I don't have high hopes for a yeastless pizza.
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[MISTA YOU LET US DOWN BUD WE WERE COUNTING ON YOU]
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Pizza can wait another day.
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Hmmm, pasta and cheese is pretty much a meal in itself. Yeah, I think we'll be okay!
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[He snorts a little bit.]
Sure, okay. God, I wish he had something else other than salami in the fridge.