[ There's no response to that text. Bruno doesn't want to use the network more than he has to; the stream-of-consciousness is annoying at best, as they've both covered quite thoroughly, and even if the things he's blurting aren't particularly shameful, he doesn't like having all his thoughts spread out for everyone to see, especially the members of his gang. On top of that, it's fairly difficult to text right now. The sun's setting, and his change has already started, leaving him with unwieldy paws that make for poor typing.
It's also apparent that Bruno is not in his room, as it takes him a minute or two to appear - considering he's usually outside when he changes, it's easy to guess where he was. He pushes Abbacchio's door open without fanfare, hunching down to stick his furry head through while he holds the doorknob gently between his thumb and forefinger. Notable: he is wearing a scarf. Must be cold outside - or he wants to look nice if he's going to appear in public, maybe. ]
[ He freezes as the door opens, caught in the annoying process of fastening a somewhat clean shirt below his wings. ]
Oh. Right. Yeah, it's not.
[ Well that's his error. In his defence, it's really easy to lose track of time when you're trying not to get lost in thoughts, don't have a singular clock in your room and have no source of natural light. Maybe he should have thought this through just a little better; come to think of it he's fairly certain his wings might also hinder his own navigation of the bar he'd had in mind.
The scarf gives him pause, he can't tell if it's related to the weather (all that fur must help, no?) or if it's solely for appearances, either he makes a note to make himself look vaguely presentable in kind; which mostly means he's holding up a hand to gesture that he'll be right back before shuffling into his bathroom to actually bother with putting makeup on and fixing his hair. There's not a lot he can do about the cold now that most of his clothes are next to unwearable. From inside he calls out to Bucciarati. ]
I'm sure there are other bars, though.
[ Ones that are more accessible to monsters, perhaps. Or if that doesn't work out, there's probably plenty of places they can buy alcohol to drink elsewhere, he can't imagine anyone having the nerve to tell them to move somewhere else when one of them is a giant bear. (Granted, he thinks Bucciarati is probably polite enough to do so anyway.) ]
[ he watches Abbacchio scuttle off half-dressed into the bathroom without much of a reaction - they've both seen each other in worse states, and Bucciarati honestly assumes Abbacchio wears makeup anytime he goes out in public at all. (He's vaguely aware that he's probably the only person that can get away with barging into Abbacchio's space like this; it's a privilege he nonchalantly abuses.)
Him not accounting for the bear form is a bit more of a problem. Bruno's thoughtful hum is a low rumble in his giant state. ]
No, it makes more sense to buy our own. We can find a more accommodating place to drink. [ he folds his arms. it looks exceptionally silly when done by a bear. ] Frankly speaking, I'd prefer to be outdoors. Will you be cold?
[ he's hit his head on a lot of doorframes like this... but he doesn't want Abbacchio to suffer on account of his Largeness. ]
[ (It most definitely is a privilege, one that Abbacchio will continue to allow because Bucciarati is just like that and it doesn't really bother him. If it did, he'd say so, and he's sure Bucciarati would take notice, he merely sees no reason to.)
Abbacchio has found himself going out with significantly less makeup on, not through his own choice, mind. That doesn't mean he's not at least trying to make the barest of effort. Tying his hair up out of his face — it's getting to be longer than he's used to — he hums in thought. There's a small lilt of humour in his voice when he responds. ]
What, you wanna find some vacant lot and sit drinking like a couple of teen delinquents?
[ When he emerges from the bathroom it's with his eyebrows neatly filled in and a dark shade of purple across his lips. ]
I'll be fine. I can always take my own scarf. 'Sides, it'll probably be cheaper buying from a corner store instead of sitting in some stuffy bar that overcharges.
[ he tilts his head just slightly, as if he's seriously pondering the idea of drinking cheap booze in a parking lot, and looks undeniably very bearlike in the process, at least until he talks again. ]
If it's with you, I might enjoy it.
[ rather than teasing, he just sounds frank. Not that Bucciarati would ever consider himself too good to hang out and get drunk in a deserted lot - his beginnings are too humble for that - but he'd probably have a good time drinking with Abbacchio just about anywhere. When the company is good, the setting doesn't matter as much.
Once Abbacchio reemerges, he carefully ducks back down and out of the doorway so that he's not blocking it anymore, although he's still got his head lowered enough to peek through the entrance while he speaks to him. ]
Fair enough. I'll admit that I'm missing my bank account. [ he used to not worry about these things!! he was a successful mobster!! ] I was imagining something more pleasant. A park, maybe.
[ a pause as he considers something. ]
I don't know what the public drinking laws are here. Then again, I'd like to see them try to arrest me.
[ Enjoy it...? Bucciarati is aware that Abbacchio wants him here to make sure he doesn't go overboard, to ensure that he doesn't pass out in a ditch somewhere, right? He knows exactly what Abbacchio is like when that line of being pleasantly inebriated is crossed, and all the worst parts of him float up to the surface, and all that's left of him is the bitter, angry, and miserable. What is there to enjoy about that?
In the end, he lets the comment go, unable to parse the words exactly. ]
You and me both, though I do have a little money stashed away now. Suppose that means I'm buying then? [ Seeing that he was the one who invited Bucciarati, he'd already intended to cover the cost. It only seems fair. ] There are a few parks, which, I'm going to be completely honest, is definitely more of what I had in mind than some dingy vacant lot.
[ At Bucciarati's remark, he can't help but roll his eyes and there's that little flick of his tail that's becoming all too common when something presses at his buttons. ]
I wouldn't worry about that. It seems we're once again in a position to flout the law. As far as I can tell, the local police here don't bother with anyone who isn't human.
[ Turning a blind eye for their own safety. He gets it, he really does. And what's more, he hates that he can't even find it in himself to find fault in their reasoning. ]
You better not think I was actually worried, Abbacchio. I meant what I said.
[ He'd like to see them try! Frankly, he doesn't give a rat's ass what the police try to do. When he was a kid - when it all started - he saw them as an ineffective nuisance, and growing up inside Passione has only made his opinion deteriorate further; he maintains an attitude of casual, rebellious disdain towards them, even now. One of the reasons Abbacchio stood out to him originally was that Bucciarati had been surprised to see a good man get spit out by the system intact - albeit barely - rather than ground into cynical self-serving dust in its gears. ]
In any case, there's no need for you to buy. I'm not so helpless. [ he watches Abbacchio's tail do that little flick and wonders if it's on purpose (probably not) before turning his big furry head back out the door and beginning to move carefully down the hallway. ] You're stressed, aren't you? I can treat you. At the very least, let's split the cost.
[ a pause as he considers something; distantly amused: ]
I'll warn you that I haven't tested how much I can drink like this, so think carefully before agreeing to that.
[ Even as Bucciarati speaks, he's pocketing his wallet along with a tube of lipstick, following him out into the hall and shutting the door behind him. ]
Be fair, who isn't stressed right now? [ gesturing to his head. ] The network thing is driving me crazy, it's like being stuck in the loudest crowd and having nothing to tune it out with.
[ Treat him? Another comment he lets go without much fuss, spending too much time to think about it right now would more than likely lead to more nonsense being spewed onto the network for everyone to see and hear. He does wonder what Bucciarati's limit will be in this form, before his thoughts move onto whether or not he should be drinking as a bear. Can bears drink, or would it be bad for them? Not that Bucciarati is a regular bear, so he supposes it doesn't really matter in the long run. ]
That sort of sounds like a challenge.
[ He is not about to agree to any attempts of outdrinking a bear more than twice his size, he's not that stupid. ]
[ meanwhile, Bucciarati's more concerned about Abbacchio taking his comment as a challenge. He looks over at him from the corner of his eye, puffing some air through his nose. ]
Don't make me haul your ass to the hospital.
[ spoken lightly enough, but he's also definitely going to be keeping an eye on Abbacchio anyway... that's probably half the reason Abbacchio invited him, and they both know it. Neither of them want to linger on sordid history, either, so he doesn't. ]
Neither of us will fit in a car like this. We'll have to walk.
[ Bucciarati doesn't mind; he knows that Abbacchio's new feet have been giving him trouble here and there, though, so he leaves the statement open as he pushes through the front door. Being outside is an immediate relief - mostly for his back, since he can stand up straighter now. ]
[ Point taken, all the same. Feeling a touch berated, he continues following Bucciarati through the hill until they're finally outside — and if it's a relief for Bucciarati, it's much the same for Abbacchio. The awareness he has of his surroundings when he's underground is… Uncomfortable at best, and leave him downright miserable at worst, he should address it at some point, he's just unsure how. ]
Walking is fine. [ He recognises why it's being brought up. ] It's not as bad now. Can't promise you won't still be hauling my ass to the hospital because I broke a leg or something, though.
[ Mostly a joke. Of all the changes to take place this month, the feet were initially the most distressing. As it turned out, they were the least of his problems, aside from still being a bit wobbly here and there, he hasn't found himself needing to catch himself on anything so he doesn't fall flat on his face in… Well, at least a few days. ]
[ well then, he'll go ahead and start walking. The Booze Trek begins. And he can tell Abbacchio is mostly joking, but he also knows it's very much like Abbacchio to couch his problems in self-denigrating humor. ]
Is it that bad?
[ his feet are really weird. This problem, somehow, is easier for him to understand than Abbacchio's inability to use his wings correctly - probably because Bucciarati can see the problem very obviously in front of him. He's a practical sort. ]
Mm, it's better than it was, but it's still fucking weird.
[ As they walk, he strides ahead of Bucciarati a few paces and pauses. Holding a clawed foot above the ground midstep and allowing it to curl in on itself slightly, as though attempting to hold on to something. After he's finished with what is possibly the world's oddest demonstration, he stretches it back out and plants it firmly on the damp ground with a grimace. ]
And I miss shoes.
[ Abbacchio is trying really hard not to complain about every single tiny thing, making an effort at reminding himself that the alternative to this is... Not a thing he should be thinking about right now, probably. Hence the Booze Trek. ]
[ yeah, confirmed weird. Bucciarati pauses, too, and stares at Abbacchio's (not so) little chicken foot, impassive expression even harder to read than normal, thanks to being a fucking bear. The shoes thing is definitely a problem, he must agree, and he nods; the gears are turning in his brain, but he's failing to think of any possible way to put a boot on that thing, even if he got one tailor-made. It'd be more like getting really hardy gloves... ]
Mm. [ a non-committal noise of general agreement. He's also forced to go barefoot most of the time, since his feet got bigger and bearier like his hands, but at least they're made for walking distances on. Abbacchio's clearly supposed to be up in the trees. ] The sooner you learn how to fly, the better.
[ it's starting to sound like he's harping on it, which he is aware of and which was not his intention. Maybe it's because flying still sounds exciting to him. Not all of his boyish wonder got extinguished, apparently. Nonetheless, he starts walking forward again. ]
You could always ride on my shoulders if they get sore.
[ in that inscrutable tone that Bucciarati sometimes adopts - half-joking, half-not... ]
[ If Bucciarati can figure out lizard-shoes, then Abbacchio better be the first one to know. ]
I know… [ a somewhat amused huff, if Bucciarati is worried he's being insistent, Abbacchio doesn't seem to mind. ] Keep it up and I'll get the impression you're the one who really wants to fly.
[ Peering over at Bucciarati, his brows draw together as he frowns. ]
I'd at least offer to haul you up into the air at least once if I knew how, but… I think you might be too heavy.
[ It would be fine if they weren't locked into these nocturnal schedules — Abbacchio might not have found himself turning to stone fully yet but the partial transitions have been a nuisance, and Bucciarati doesn't have to worry about that in the sunlight. The other side of that, though, is when he's safe from the light, Bucciarati is a massive bear with more mass than he thinks he'd be capable of carrying, additional strength granted by the changes the Fog brought notwithstanding. ]
I can probably manage, it's really not that bad — or not painful, anyway.
[ at that, he seems - surprised, perhaps, round ears stiffening in something akin to alarm. Again, it's hard to read his expression. His next words suggest that it's closer to "caught doing something embarrassing" than actual surprise. ]
... I can't deny that it has a certain appeal.
[ he'd said it to Giorno back when he was changing: if he grew wings, he'd at least feel like he got something out of all of this. As it is, the only thing he's gained is more height and a few hundred pounds, both of which mostly serve to inconvenience him. Case in point: they're out here walking during a dark and rather cold night with no promise of a nice warm bar waiting for them. If he had wings, he imagines he could just fly to the store and pick up something for them... ]
On top of that, it would be incredibly convenient. You wouldn't have to worry about transportation.
[ no more trying to "find a ride," whatever their definition of that may be that day. ]
[ Abbacchio may not be able to take to the skies for the sole purpose of convenience in buying some cheap liquor, but it's not as though he's ever been able to do that in the past anyway. Walking — as awkward as it may be right now — is more than familiar to him, even if the scenery isn't entirely familiar.
It takes a short while, but they eventually reach Bavan proper. He's not expecting Bucciarati to duck into the nearest store in his current state, once they find a place that looks halfway decent at least — Abbacchio's bar may be low but it's not that low, especially not when he's in the company of Bucciarati. He comes to a stop near a corner, glancing up at Bucciarati. ]
Any preferences, or just whatever?
[ With 'whatever' most likely being the cheapest bottle of white wine he can tolerate. ]
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no subject
It's also apparent that Bruno is not in his room, as it takes him a minute or two to appear - considering he's usually outside when he changes, it's easy to guess where he was. He pushes Abbacchio's door open without fanfare, hunching down to stick his furry head through while he holds the doorknob gently between his thumb and forefinger. Notable: he is wearing a scarf. Must be cold outside - or he wants to look nice if he's going to appear in public, maybe. ]
I hope the bar you're thinking of is spacious.
no subject
Oh. Right. Yeah, it's not.
[ Well that's his error. In his defence, it's really easy to lose track of time when you're trying not to get lost in thoughts, don't have a singular clock in your room and have no source of natural light. Maybe he should have thought this through just a little better; come to think of it he's fairly certain his wings might also hinder his own navigation of the bar he'd had in mind.
The scarf gives him pause, he can't tell if it's related to the weather (all that fur must help, no?) or if it's solely for appearances, either he makes a note to make himself look vaguely presentable in kind; which mostly means he's holding up a hand to gesture that he'll be right back before shuffling into his bathroom to actually bother with putting makeup on and fixing his hair. There's not a lot he can do about the cold now that most of his clothes are next to unwearable. From inside he calls out to Bucciarati. ]
I'm sure there are other bars, though.
[ Ones that are more accessible to monsters, perhaps. Or if that doesn't work out, there's probably plenty of places they can buy alcohol to drink elsewhere, he can't imagine anyone having the nerve to tell them to move somewhere else when one of them is a giant bear. (Granted, he thinks Bucciarati is probably polite enough to do so anyway.) ]
no subject
Him not accounting for the bear form is a bit more of a problem. Bruno's thoughtful hum is a low rumble in his giant state. ]
No, it makes more sense to buy our own. We can find a more accommodating place to drink. [ he folds his arms. it looks exceptionally silly when done by a bear. ] Frankly speaking, I'd prefer to be outdoors. Will you be cold?
[ he's hit his head on a lot of doorframes like this... but he doesn't want Abbacchio to suffer on account of his Largeness. ]
no subject
Abbacchio has found himself going out with significantly less makeup on, not through his own choice, mind. That doesn't mean he's not at least trying to make the barest of effort. Tying his hair up out of his face — it's getting to be longer than he's used to — he hums in thought. There's a small lilt of humour in his voice when he responds. ]
What, you wanna find some vacant lot and sit drinking like a couple of teen delinquents?
[ When he emerges from the bathroom it's with his eyebrows neatly filled in and a dark shade of purple across his lips. ]
I'll be fine. I can always take my own scarf. 'Sides, it'll probably be cheaper buying from a corner store instead of sitting in some stuffy bar that overcharges.
no subject
If it's with you, I might enjoy it.
[ rather than teasing, he just sounds frank. Not that Bucciarati would ever consider himself too good to hang out and get drunk in a deserted lot - his beginnings are too humble for that - but he'd probably have a good time drinking with Abbacchio just about anywhere. When the company is good, the setting doesn't matter as much.
Once Abbacchio reemerges, he carefully ducks back down and out of the doorway so that he's not blocking it anymore, although he's still got his head lowered enough to peek through the entrance while he speaks to him. ]
Fair enough. I'll admit that I'm missing my bank account. [ he used to not worry about these things!! he was a successful mobster!! ] I was imagining something more pleasant. A park, maybe.
[ a pause as he considers something. ]
I don't know what the public drinking laws are here. Then again, I'd like to see them try to arrest me.
[ he's a Fucking Bear ]
no subject
In the end, he lets the comment go, unable to parse the words exactly. ]
You and me both, though I do have a little money stashed away now. Suppose that means I'm buying then? [ Seeing that he was the one who invited Bucciarati, he'd already intended to cover the cost. It only seems fair. ] There are a few parks, which, I'm going to be completely honest, is definitely more of what I had in mind than some dingy vacant lot.
[ At Bucciarati's remark, he can't help but roll his eyes and there's that little flick of his tail that's becoming all too common when something presses at his buttons. ]
I wouldn't worry about that. It seems we're once again in a position to flout the law. As far as I can tell, the local police here don't bother with anyone who isn't human.
[ Turning a blind eye for their own safety. He gets it, he really does. And what's more, he hates that he can't even find it in himself to find fault in their reasoning. ]
no subject
[ He'd like to see them try! Frankly, he doesn't give a rat's ass what the police try to do. When he was a kid - when it all started - he saw them as an ineffective nuisance, and growing up inside Passione has only made his opinion deteriorate further; he maintains an attitude of casual, rebellious disdain towards them, even now. One of the reasons Abbacchio stood out to him originally was that Bucciarati had been surprised to see a good man get spit out by the system intact - albeit barely - rather than ground into cynical self-serving dust in its gears. ]
In any case, there's no need for you to buy. I'm not so helpless. [ he watches Abbacchio's tail do that little flick and wonders if it's on purpose (probably not) before turning his big furry head back out the door and beginning to move carefully down the hallway. ] You're stressed, aren't you? I can treat you. At the very least, let's split the cost.
[ a pause as he considers something; distantly amused: ]
I'll warn you that I haven't tested how much I can drink like this, so think carefully before agreeing to that.
no subject
Of course I wasn't.
[ Even as Bucciarati speaks, he's pocketing his wallet along with a tube of lipstick, following him out into the hall and shutting the door behind him. ]
Be fair, who isn't stressed right now? [ gesturing to his head. ] The network thing is driving me crazy, it's like being stuck in the loudest crowd and having nothing to tune it out with.
[ Treat him? Another comment he lets go without much fuss, spending too much time to think about it right now would more than likely lead to more nonsense being spewed onto the network for everyone to see and hear. He does wonder what Bucciarati's limit will be in this form, before his thoughts move onto whether or not he should be drinking as a bear. Can bears drink, or would it be bad for them? Not that Bucciarati is a regular bear, so he supposes it doesn't really matter in the long run. ]
That sort of sounds like a challenge.
[ He is not about to agree to any attempts of outdrinking a bear more than twice his size, he's not that stupid. ]
no subject
Don't make me haul your ass to the hospital.
[ spoken lightly enough, but he's also definitely going to be keeping an eye on Abbacchio anyway... that's probably half the reason Abbacchio invited him, and they both know it. Neither of them want to linger on sordid history, either, so he doesn't. ]
Neither of us will fit in a car like this. We'll have to walk.
[ Bucciarati doesn't mind; he knows that Abbacchio's new feet have been giving him trouble here and there, though, so he leaves the statement open as he pushes through the front door. Being outside is an immediate relief - mostly for his back, since he can stand up straighter now. ]
no subject
[ Point taken, all the same. Feeling a touch berated, he continues following Bucciarati through the hill until they're finally outside — and if it's a relief for Bucciarati, it's much the same for Abbacchio. The awareness he has of his surroundings when he's underground is… Uncomfortable at best, and leave him downright miserable at worst, he should address it at some point, he's just unsure how. ]
Walking is fine. [ He recognises why it's being brought up. ] It's not as bad now. Can't promise you won't still be hauling my ass to the hospital because I broke a leg or something, though.
[ Mostly a joke. Of all the changes to take place this month, the feet were initially the most distressing. As it turned out, they were the least of his problems, aside from still being a bit wobbly here and there, he hasn't found himself needing to catch himself on anything so he doesn't fall flat on his face in… Well, at least a few days. ]
no subject
Is it that bad?
[ his feet are really weird. This problem, somehow, is easier for him to understand than Abbacchio's inability to use his wings correctly - probably because Bucciarati can see the problem very obviously in front of him. He's a practical sort. ]
no subject
[ As they walk, he strides ahead of Bucciarati a few paces and pauses. Holding a clawed foot above the ground midstep and allowing it to curl in on itself slightly, as though attempting to hold on to something. After he's finished with what is possibly the world's oddest demonstration, he stretches it back out and plants it firmly on the damp ground with a grimace. ]
And I miss shoes.
[ Abbacchio is trying really hard not to complain about every single tiny thing, making an effort at reminding himself that the alternative to this is... Not a thing he should be thinking about right now, probably. Hence the Booze Trek. ]
no subject
Mm. [ a non-committal noise of general agreement. He's also forced to go barefoot most of the time, since his feet got bigger and bearier like his hands, but at least they're made for walking distances on. Abbacchio's clearly supposed to be up in the trees. ] The sooner you learn how to fly, the better.
[ it's starting to sound like he's harping on it, which he is aware of and which was not his intention. Maybe it's because flying still sounds exciting to him. Not all of his boyish wonder got extinguished, apparently. Nonetheless, he starts walking forward again. ]
You could always ride on my shoulders if they get sore.
[ in that inscrutable tone that Bucciarati sometimes adopts - half-joking, half-not... ]
no subject
I know… [ a somewhat amused huff, if Bucciarati is worried he's being insistent, Abbacchio doesn't seem to mind. ] Keep it up and I'll get the impression you're the one who really wants to fly.
[ Peering over at Bucciarati, his brows draw together as he frowns. ]
I'd at least offer to haul you up into the air at least once if I knew how, but… I think you might be too heavy.
[ It would be fine if they weren't locked into these nocturnal schedules — Abbacchio might not have found himself turning to stone fully yet but the partial transitions have been a nuisance, and Bucciarati doesn't have to worry about that in the sunlight. The other side of that, though, is when he's safe from the light, Bucciarati is a massive bear with more mass than he thinks he'd be capable of carrying, additional strength granted by the changes the Fog brought notwithstanding. ]
I can probably manage, it's really not that bad — or not painful, anyway.
no subject
... I can't deny that it has a certain appeal.
[ he'd said it to Giorno back when he was changing: if he grew wings, he'd at least feel like he got something out of all of this. As it is, the only thing he's gained is more height and a few hundred pounds, both of which mostly serve to inconvenience him. Case in point: they're out here walking during a dark and rather cold night with no promise of a nice warm bar waiting for them. If he had wings, he imagines he could just fly to the store and pick up something for them... ]
On top of that, it would be incredibly convenient. You wouldn't have to worry about transportation.
[ no more trying to "find a ride," whatever their definition of that may be that day. ]
no subject
[ Abbacchio may not be able to take to the skies for the sole purpose of convenience in buying some cheap liquor, but it's not as though he's ever been able to do that in the past anyway. Walking — as awkward as it may be right now — is more than familiar to him, even if the scenery isn't entirely familiar.
It takes a short while, but they eventually reach Bavan proper. He's not expecting Bucciarati to duck into the nearest store in his current state, once they find a place that looks halfway decent at least — Abbacchio's bar may be low but it's not that low, especially not when he's in the company of Bucciarati. He comes to a stop near a corner, glancing up at Bucciarati. ]
Any preferences, or just whatever?
[ With 'whatever' most likely being the cheapest bottle of white wine he can tolerate. ]