[He's not actually all that good a baker, but Holly has taught him a few things-- and living in a mansion full of mostly men means that food, no matter what the quality, is usually eaten up no matter what. So after all the mess of false memories and his sister, after breaking down in front of Giorno and Jotaro and then sitting up with Jotaro night after night--
Polnareff bakes. Shoddily, admittedly, and sloppily, but the end product is usually pretty good. Sometimes it's cookies, but today-- Father's day, actually-- is cake. And he uses the holiday as an excuse-- he doesn't need to, but he does, because it's easier to say I'm baking for the holiday than I'm baking to keep busy and not think.
He's not particularly quiet, but for once it's not the middle of the night. No, it's two in the afternoon, and there's cocoa powder on the counter and on his face, but at least whatever's being stirred smells pretty good.]
[He smells the cake before he sees it. The smell of pastry is not terribly unusual in this house, but first thing in the morning is sort of strange, considering. Then again, it's been more common since Suzie moved in, so he decides not to be surprised.]
[He's reading after lunch when he decides one lunch was Not Enough and comes downstairs for a snack. And then . . . there's Polnareff. With cocoa powder on his nose.]
[His hands are clean, so he just sticks his finger in to scrape off the side — and then pauses with his hand halfway to his mouth, a quizzical expression on his face.]
[He scoops a particularly big bit of batter onto his finger.]
There's cards, and presents . . . but mostly it's just about appreciating what you've got. And telling them that you love them, while they're still there to appreciate it.
[A beat-- and then he smiles and reaches over, smearing batter on Giorno's nose.]
If you help me with the rest of this cake, though, I'll count this as a gift.
[He's listening attentively right up until Polnareff puts batter on his nose. Batter on his nose, on his nose, and he yelps and swats at his hand instinctively.]
[He huffs. But to have a cake with bad frosting is like having no cake at all, and so, with many a sigh and pointed look, he goes searching for the powdered sugar.]
How do I know you didn't just make up Father's Day to get me to help you bake?
Because I wouldn't make up a holiday, I'd just ask you.
[What a good son. In the meantime, whatever's left of the batter is ready to be put into the oven. Polnareff's got a pretty steady hand in pouring from bowl to pan, but of course, he's been doing this for a fair bit.]
Did you know how to make icing from before, or did Holly teach you?
Yeah. May. Although I bet we could do something anyway, it's not like she's gonna be upset about it. Most people don't get upset when they get presents outta nowhere.
I think it's less moms and more personal. Flowers or chocolate is usually the way to go-- we could get her a bunch of flowers, I know Jotaro made her a vase, that might work. That, some chocolates-- we could ask Jotaro what kind of food she likes, make her supper one night.
So let's do it. You're good at flowers--- they've got meanings, right? We could do a bunch for like . . . love and gratitude or whatever. And make her a cake and whatever her favorite supper is. I mean, between all of us, we've got half of Europe and Asia covered, I'm pretty sure whatever she likes we can figure out.
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action; backdated to father's day, 6/19
Polnareff bakes. Shoddily, admittedly, and sloppily, but the end product is usually pretty good. Sometimes it's cookies, but today-- Father's day, actually-- is cake. And he uses the holiday as an excuse-- he doesn't need to, but he does, because it's easier to say I'm baking for the holiday than I'm baking to keep busy and not think.
He's not particularly quiet, but for once it's not the middle of the night. No, it's two in the afternoon, and there's cocoa powder on the counter and on his face, but at least whatever's being stirred smells pretty good.]
forgive my late, late ass i love u
[He's reading after lunch when he decides one lunch was Not Enough and comes downstairs for a snack. And then . . . there's Polnareff. With cocoa powder on his nose.]
[Um.]
Papa . . . ? What are you . . .
IIIII will alllllwaaaays wait for youuuu
[He turns with a grin (and observant Giorno will be able to see how it's strained at the edges, but he's trying).]
C'mere. Wanna try some? It's pretty good so far!
[Obviously, he's been sampling his work. Batter's the best part, obviously.]
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[But he steps forward anyway, nodding a little. Because batter? Duh?]
What're you making?
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'S a chocolate cake. I was gonna do something, and then I figured, well, it's Father's day, might as well have a cake to celebrate it.
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"Father's day"?
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[A beat, and then:]
What, you don't have that in Italy? It's-- I mean, it's what it sounds like, a day to celebrate fathers.
[Not your father, and he choses that wording deliberately.]
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[Thoughtfully, he sucks the batter off his finger, staring at nothing.]
There's a whole day for that?
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[He swipes another bit of batter onto his finger and glances over at Giorno.]
Haven't celebrated it in years, but I guess you always remember certain dates.
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So what do you do? On Father's Day. What are you supposed to do?
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[He scoops a particularly big bit of batter onto his finger.]
There's cards, and presents . . . but mostly it's just about appreciating what you've got. And telling them that you love them, while they're still there to appreciate it.
[A beat-- and then he smiles and reaches over, smearing batter on Giorno's nose.]
If you help me with the rest of this cake, though, I'll count this as a gift.
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Knock it off, Papa! I won't help if you bully me!
[Except for how he absolutely will.]
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Oh, poor thing-- it's bullying with love, Giorno, that comes with being a papa! Anyway, you have to help me, I can't do frosting for anything.
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How do I know you didn't just make up Father's Day to get me to help you bake?
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[What a good son. In the meantime, whatever's left of the batter is ready to be put into the oven. Polnareff's got a pretty steady hand in pouring from bowl to pan, but of course, he's been doing this for a fair bit.]
Did you know how to make icing from before, or did Holly teach you?
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[He hums and starts filtering the powdered sugar into a bowl, glancing over his shoulder at Polnareff with a grin.]
Holly taught me! I didn't know how to make complicated desserts before. Just cookies mostly. But Holly knows everything.
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[Cheerfully agreed. Isn't she great?]
She's the only reason I can bake anything. She taught me for-- actually, for your birthday. And then I asked her to teach me more, so here we are.
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[Moms are so mysterious.]
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I dunno if it's a Mom thing or a Holly thing, but either way, she deserves more credit then she gets.
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[He missed it. Crap. He stirs in the cocoa powder viciously.]
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. . . What do moms like? [HELP]
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[#purist]
We could do all of those things instead of just one.
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