digiorno | ic inbox ( ǣfenglōm )

I wonder what these things even taste like, if they are in such high demand...

[Zelda says as she consults a sheet of written directions, a wicker basket hung over her elbow. Tonight, they're killing two birds with one stone with their traditional walkabout; if they're exploring the outer city anyway, they might as well make a few quick (and legal) cunes while they're at it. The air is still warm and rather humid with the promise of early summer, but it's a bit fresher amidst the fields of farmland than within the more crowded streets of Aefenglom proper. A little orb of golden light floating about her head lights their way.]

We should be close... Keep an eye out for a tangled web of bushes somewhere around here.

We have the opportunity to find out, you know.

[Yes, it would make more sense to put all of the berries in the basket in order to make the most money possible during this errand. Yes, Giorno loves money. However, if he has the option to get both money and a sweet snack that's also slightly stolen? That's the option he's going to take.]

[He walks shoulder to shoulder with her, hands in his pockets, posture easier than it is at any other time of day. This is a good tradition, one that soothes him. Berries improve it, but only marginally. He reaches up to graze his fingertips against the golden orb.]

Whatever they taste like, I think the demand is mostly because the supply is so limited. People exaggerate the quality in their mind because they can only get it so rarely. [Giorno are you even looking.]

[What a bad influence he is. Zelda glances up from her paper to his reaching hand, eyebrow quirked, and allows it to bob just slightly out of reach, not unlike laser pointer being directed away from a playful cat. They both carry so much stress and anxiety with them; it's nice to feel its absence - however brief - in his heart, and thus that same lack reflected in her own.]

I suppose that is a possible explanation, if a rather cynical one. [Admittedly, economics are not her strong suit, but it still runs counter to her quietly repressed hope--] ... I was thinking of asking for a discount on a tart as part of the exchange for this favor. Would you want one as well?

[let her indulge in sweets and be mostly legal about it]

[Ah. His hand lags slightly behind the orb as he turns to look at her more carefully, a pulse of faint guilt followed by fondness drifting through the Bond. That wasn't the answer she wanted, was it? He purses his lips, unsure how to back out of it. Perhaps there isn't a way, not verbally. Perhaps the best way to deal with the problem is to just steal a berry for her.]

[Yeah, he'll do that. Having decided on a course of action, he smiles and faces forward again, pawing vaguely at the orb.]

Of course. If you don't mind. That is — if you're only able to negotiate one, you should have it. But if two are possible, yes, I'd like one.

[Is this chivalry?]

I didn't know you liked sweets so much. If I'd known, you'd be getting weekly deliveries. [Maybe that's why you weren't told, Giorno . . .]

I would not say I like them "so much." [She says with a slight pout, cutting her eyes away in embarrassment. Yes, there is a reason you weren't told, Gio.] They are just a luxury I have not had much opportunity to enjoy before I came to this place.

[She was living the rustic camping life for seven years before Aefenglom grabbed her, okay - anything that uses an oven is just the height of decadence to her. But, defensive though she might be--]

If I can only have one, we can share it. It would be only fair. [Half the work, half the pastry.]

[The embarrassment doesn't entirely make sense to him. In fact, when he feels it, he offers her an openly baffled pout in response. Why is it embarrassing to like good things? To him, it's . . . when there are few joys in life, why not focus on the brief taste of something sweet? And when things improve, why not view those brief tastes as a luxury well-earned?]

[If he stopped to think about that for a second, he'd understand why Zelda doesn't feel that way. They're not the same person. But he doesn't. He's busy thinking about pastry.]

If you're sure it's all right. [A beat.] What other kinds of sweets do you like? [getting the SWEETS DEETS this month on everybody.]

[Repression is a hell of a drug. Speaking of, she busies herself with going over her written instructions instead of acknowledging the obvious confusion that she feels radiating from him. ... But she'll answer his question.]

... I enjoy the ones that incorporate fruit most, I think. The kinds that are mostly just sugar are often almost too sweet for me. Like that "fairy floss" that shows up at festivals sometimes. [it's just sugar fluff she doesn't understand--]

[A ripple of amusement blows through the Bond, bright and irrepressible. Under other circumstances, he wouldn't share it, but she'd get upset and think he was laughing at her. It's best to explain.]

[That's the reason. That's probably the reason. (They must be very close to those berries indeed.)]

That's exactly what Fugo would say. Fruit desserts without extra sweetener. Nothing very artificial-tasting. You really have very similar tastes.

[Which is funny. The fact that he himself is at least in part the butt of this joke doesn't occur to him. Instead of thinking, he hums pensively.]

Fruit tarts? Fruit ice cream? Cake with fresh fruit? Or is that too sweet . . . [He's making a list.]

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