doreimi | IC Inbox | prismatica

[It's hard not to just run the whole way to Abbacchio's residence. She's tempted to; it feels as though she ought to be able to, because in all honesty she doesn't feel that much physically different here than she ever did at home when she was dead. It's not as though she notices her heartbeat now when she didn't before. It's not as though she's warmer or colder; she was solid then, in her alley, so it's not as though she was always intangible.

But she knows full well that if she were to run, she'd wear herself out, both from exerting herself too much and from the strange way she seems to be burning through more Chroma than usual. So she only hurries, as quick as she can manage while still being prudent, and when she reaches his door she knocks before cracking it open and peering inside.]

Abbacchio? It's me. I'm here, I'm coming in, okay?

[Immediately after their conversation ended, Abbacchio thought about just going back to what he was doing. But he isn't that much of a bastard to want to disappoint her, so he stays curled up on the couch, looking hazily at the bottles he's emptied. He really can't remember how many glasses he's had, but he felt too overwhelmed with everything.

Some days are worse than others. Today was bad, and then he felt guilty for not appreciating the people in his newfound life as much as he should. Then it just got bad again, he really didn't need to dump all of his shit onto Reimi.

But she's here, so. Nothing to be done about it now.

The inside of the flat looks a bit like Hot Topic vomited all over it, only with a lot of moon-based decor because that's just how this place is. So it's a lot of dark colors, some of it tacky, some of it tasteful in some sort of weird harmony that works for him.

He smells like wine. The apartment probably does, too.]

...Yeah. Okay. Come in.

[She can smell the wine even before she's taken a step into the apartment; it's heavy in the air, and draws her attention right to the collection of bottles lined up like soldiers waiting to be knocked down. Almost instinctively, she reaches down and rests her hand behind Arnold's ears, seeking the comfort of having him close by as she lets herself in and gently closes the door behind her.]

Hi...

[She doesn't realize it, because it's her own scent, but she's bringing with her an aroma of her own — citrus and spice, clean and sweetly fragrant. Thanks, Cordis.]

I came as fast as I could.

[Under the stench of alcohol, there is Abbacchio's true scent: something like chamomile and Earl Gray, almost comforting for a chilly day. It's weird, but he can smell her and it's... nice. Something different.

He lifts his head, then winces because everything is dizzy and he's fucked himself up.]

I know.

[She'd put her all into everything, wouldn't she?]

Sorry. [And he does honestly feel bad.]

[Looking at him, slumped and curled in on himself like an animal seeking refuge against an impending winter, she's suddenly reminded of the frigid desert and its dropping temperatures, and how he'd appeared from out of nowhere just to offer the warmth of his coat to a complete stranger, just because he didn't want to see her freeze.

He thinks of himself as worthless and miserable, and yet he's still a guy who'd do something like that, huh.]

It'll be okay. I promise.

[She knows better than to tell him that it's okay now. One look at him is more than enough to betray just how not-okay he is.]

Just a second. I'm going to get you some water.

[She says, and after a hesitant moment picks up his used wine glass, because it's the nearest obvious liquid-holding container that she can utilize.]

[Reluctantly, he sets his head back down more comfortably, watching her take his wine glass with various lipstick marks lining up the rim of it. Honestly, he's just glad that didn't go completely all out on make up today or there'd be more stark evidence of his mixed emotions of crying but wanting to tell people how much they're worth. Because he's a useless guy but nobody else has to feel that way.

His eyes glance over to Arnold, and hesitantly Abbacchio holds up his hand for the dog to sniff if he wants. It's not like he's going to force Arnold either way.

It's enough that Reimi even bothered to come see him.]

Sure. Not like I'm going anywhere.

[Arnold is a good boy, and fifteen years of being perpetually at Reimi's side (to say nothing of the time they spent together when they were both alive, from the day she'd picked him out from the rest of the litter as a wriggly fat puppy to the day Kira Yoshikage cut his throat) means that they've long since developed enough of a rapport that he knows what she wants from him, sometimes without even a word from her in indication.

This happens to be one of those times; she takes the glass and goes off to fill it with cool water, and while she does Arnold trots over near where Abbacchio is lying and nuzzles at the offered hand. His nose is cool but dry, soft like velvet, and after a bit of nudging and sniffing, he gives Abbacchio's hand a tiny, almost sympathetic lick.]

[Even just the sniffing would be enough, but the tiny lick to his hand makes Abbacchio huff out some air softly. Turning his hand, he lightly runs his fingers under Arnold's muzzle.]

Good boy.

[He's soft and good. Of course he is. He's been Reimi's best friend for years now, hasn't he? It's lucky, but he's also glad for Reimi. She deserves good companionship.]

You take good care of each other, don't you?

He picked me, you know. When I got him.

[The water turns on, beginning to flow into the wineglass. After a moment, she frowns at the lipstick stains and finds a bit of towel to wipe the rim on, working methodically to get the glass clean.]

It really all started because I wanted a dog, I guess. I don't know why. I just remember wanting one so much, to play with and take care of and everything. And at first my parents said no? But eventually my dad talked himself into it, he said it wasn't a bad thing to have a guard dog around the house, but they made me promise up and down that I'd do all the taking care of him, no matter what. So it was about responsibility, if I wanted a dog I had to be willing to take care of him, they weren't going to do it for me.

So, my dad had some work connections and he knew someone who'd had a litter of puppies, and we went to see about it. And there was another one my dad liked a lot, but I remember...

[She pauses. The towel rustles. The glass starts to fill again.]

I kept moving around? Trying to look at them all. And Arnold kept following me around. He never tried to get my attention or anything, never bossed the other puppies. He just went wherever I went. And I don't know, you know how sometimes you just look at an animal and just...know? I guess I just kind of knew. And I guess maybe he felt the same about me.

[He thinks about it, what a little Reimi and puppy Arnold must have been like together. Adorable, he decides; the two must have been such a pair. They still are, together through thick and thin.

Abbacchio scratches Arnold behind the ears.]

My grandma had this shitty old cat when I was a kid. Big gray and angriest thing, but he'd let me pick him up.

Never had a pet of my own, though.

[Mostly because he figures if he can't even take care of himself, how the hell can he take care of one for himself? Besides, there are actual teenagers he's trying to keep alive, so that's way worse.]

You two picked each other, huh. It's a good match.

Yeah. He stayed with me all that time. I'm sure he could've moved on without me, but he wouldn't leave me behind.

[She walks back quietly, sinking down onto the floor near the side of the couch before taking Abbacchio's hand and gently wrapping it around the water glass.]

Your grandma's cat sounds like a real handful. What was his name? Were you his favorite?

[The glass is taken, and very slowly he starts to drink some of the water. Most of his lipstick has rubbed off by now, but he still leaves little marks on the rim.]

He was. Nasty thing.

Mm. Grandma named him Fisichella. After Salvatore Fisichella. He only liked Grandma and me.

[Abbacchio puts the glass down, if only to slowly work his way into sitting up. It's a tough task without much he's had to drink, but he eventually manages to lean against the armrest of his sofa.]

Is he like a painter or something? I can tell that's an Italian name, but I don't know if I know him besides that.

[She hides it well, but she's watching him like a hawk as he tries to get up, both gauging his ability to do it and readying herself to catch him if he looks like he needs it.]

What was your grandma like? Did you visit her a lot?

Opera singer. She couldn't get enough of him.

[He takes a moment before he reaches for the glass of water again. He'll nurse it slowly.]

Tough old lady. Nobody else looked after me much when I was a kid, so she basically raised me.

Ohhh, it's opera. Is she the reason why you like to listen to it, too?

[She remembers his hobbies. It's not quite underwater basket weaving, but it's close.]

He's not the same one you mentioned, though. The one you said was, ummm. Monty-verdy?

Yeah. She'd put it on, that and classical music.

[He smiles tiredly, mumbling against his glass:] Monteverdi. I'd play some for you if I had any of my CDs here.

CDs, huh. Is that the wave of the future, too?

[Of course it is, but she can't resist teasing him anyway, even as she carefully gets to her feet and shakes the wrinkles out of her skirt.]

Mm, is it okay if I go in your bedroom? I'm just gonna grab a blanket and come right back.

[He snorts softly.] MP3 players are too damned expensive. Don't know if you know what those are either.

[Abbacchio nods, feeling exhausted.] Yeah. Nothing weird in there, promise.

[Though once Reimi goes in, it's a fairly normal bedroom, just a lot of dark colors, mainly black and purple. No personal effects yet, outside of the little glass octopus on his nightstand she'll undoubtedly recognize.]

[Oh. He really does look at it every day, then, doesn't he? Huh.

Regardless, she doesn't linger long in his room; she simply retrieves a pillow and a blanket, and carefully closes the door behind her as she brings them back out to the couch where he's taken up vigil.]

Hey. Takotama seems pretty happy in his new home, huh?

[She says, as she carefully starts to drape the blanket over him.]

Here. It'll be a little warmer like this.

Only cuz you made him.

[But he does like it. He misses some of his personal effects, but there's nothing he can really do about that anytime soon. He isn't even sure if he can go back to Italy anyway.]

...Thanks.

Y'know, I didn't mean for it to end up like this. I was just thinking, at the time... that maybe I didn't do enough to make sure people knew how I felt about them.

But then, I've never been good at saying those kinds of things. Not when it really counted.

Awww.

[That's an awww reserved for Takotama, mostly, though a little bit of it is for Abbacchio's sweet frankness in his reply. Bit by bit, she snugs the blanket around his shoulders, smoothing the wrinkles out with the palms of her hands and making sure it lies flat without clumping up or leaving places exposed.]

...I think it says a lot, that you wanted to tell people at all. Even if you had to drink a lot before you'd do it.

[She pauses, lightly rubbing her hand against his blanketed shoulder.]

Maybe you aren't good at saying stuff like that with words. But you're good at saying it in other ways.

[After finishing his glass of water, he sets it down before letting himself relax where he's curled up.]

Like threatening some assholes at the Shitghetti Shack.

[Quietly, he adds:] M'gonna keep fucking up.

[He says it, like a warning.]

Just like that, yeah.

[Carefully, she moves the glass away to a safe horizontal surface, where it's not in danger of getting knocked into. Then it's back to pressing her hand to his shoulder, which she only realizes belatedly is such an impulse because there's a blossoming Chroma transfer beginning beneath it.]

It's okay to mess up. Just try to mess up a little less each time than you did the time before, huh?

[The touch is more comforting than he was expecting. Not just because of the Chroma, he thinks, but because it's Reimi. He likes her; she is strong, and he means every bit of that.

Snaking out from under the blanket, he places his hand over hers, just resting.]

No promises.

...But I'm tryin'.

[At least he hasn't gotten anyone else killed yet, so you know. That's a plus.]

Mmmm. Want to make a deal, then, instead of a promise?

[She regards him a moment, the way that his hand covers hers, the warmth it creates — and then climbs up onto the couch next to him, leaning her weight against him and trusting that she's light enough that it's only comfortable, as opposed to burdensome.]

I'll keep trying to live this life I've got now. And you keep trying not to get caught up in the stuff that happened in your last one. We can do it together, what do you think?

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