[ 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
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. ]