prismatica | Sermon #2

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Sermon #2 | video

[Oh look, for once Pucci's putting his face to a post on the network! ...As username: viadolorosa still, but that's how it is sometimes. There's a few seconds of him trying to get a good angle on bracelet cam, before he smiles warmly and offers everyone a little wave.]

Hello. If we haven't met, I'm Father Pucci, and...I think that I can be of use to at least some of you. I've been under the impression that, even after some months here, adaptation to our need for chroma generation and the methods the moons drive us to use can still make people feel...Uncomfortable, I suppose. Amongst other things. And generally being in a new place with such differing morality can be hard.

So, what I'm offering is simple! We all have our social networks for the tough times, and services to assist with that besides. But if you just want to talk to someone, perhaps I can help you come to terms with this new place. Or simply listen if you have anything on your mind. I'm experienced with listening to people, as well as practicing confidentiality, for what that might be worth.

I'm sure you'll catch me around, if you're not willing to try and organise some sort of meeting at the moment. I hope that we can talk soon!

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[ It startled him enough that he flicked on the video for just a second before immediately shutting it down and reverting back to text. Even in that split second he looks horribly red, blush reaching all the way to the top of his ears. Don't stop now, Germany, at least get some of it out.

He does, however, send the address before continuing. ]

I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean anything by it! I'm not sure I can properly explain how much I enjoy our time together, but somehow I hope that you do enjoy it on the same level.

Even if I were busy, I'm not sure I could actually refuse you; my door is open to you just as yours has been open to me. All I need is a little time to make sure that things are clean enough for company.

[OH DOUBLE FUCKEN VICTORY, BABEY. There's clear relish in Pucci's expression as he reads the address and hastily writes it down, but once he's dealt with that...

He winks at the screen and, going by the way the feed's wobbling with him, gets up out of his comfy chair.]

It's alright. That you say that much conveys at least a good chunk of your feelings to me...And I'm really happy. Give me twenty minutes to find something that looks simple enough that it won't be a burden on your time and buy ingredients, and I'll be along shortly! I'll stick to the sweets section, I promise.

[And then the feed shuts off. NO CHANCE FOR BACK TALK HERE HE FUCKING COMES.]

[And then, of course, there's a knock at the door. And the sound of grocery bags. Somebody's been Busy, apparently! Hopefully everything's clean ohoho.]

...Hello? Germany? ...Italy? I really hope this is right, I didn't get the number of eggs mixed up or something did I...?

[ It wasn't as if making sure the apartment had been clean was particularly difficult, most of that short time had been spent pulling himself together. Properly explain how much he enjoyed their time together? What the hell had that been?

Still, it was a small blessing that Italy was out; cooking was one thing but baking was something he still wasn't ready to put out in the open. That was his own hobby, though now it was shared, wasn't it? For the time being, anyway.

He thought he was going to jump out of his skin when he heard the knock on the door, taking in a deep breath before calling out as he made his way to the door. ]

I-it's just me...!

[ UGH. Why was he like this. Baking. This was about baking and spending quality time with a valued friend, nothing more than that. Finally he opened the door, offering a half-hearted wave before stepping back and gesturing for Pucci to come inside. He'd never been particularly good at hospitality, but he was doing his best as he reached out to take the bags from him. ]

The number of eggs? I'm sure anything you brought with you is fine, I have plenty here to make up the difference if anything is...off...

[ Breathe, you stupid ass. ]

I should hooooope soooo!

[Pucci returns that little wave with a smile, eyes twinkling as he sweeps in like a navy and gold hurricane. Germany can take the shopping bags, but-- not the cookbook. That gets clutched even tighter to his chest in response, okay.] Not that I wouldn't welcome Italy's company either, of course; I just meant more that I'm glad I read your address correctly and got the right place.

...Are you alright, though? Maybe I should've made this for another day and given you more time to prepare, I'm sorry. [Because that's not the look of a man who's dying to be in his presence, is it? Sounds like a man about to pass out, really. And we cannot have that right now, no sir.] I was just-- Well. I was worried more that you thought I didn't enjoy your company so much as tolerated it, and I wanted to prove the opposite, but I might've been selfish in that and put you out instead...

[ He'd noticed the way that the other man had held fast to the cookbook, not trying to take it again after he'd pulled it close. He didn't hesitate in taking the bags to the kitchen, pulling things out carefully and lining them up on the counter meticulously. ]

He said that he had some errands to run, I think he said that he was going to meet up with someone for lunch as well, so that should give us plenty of time to put something together...

[ Was it selfish for him to monopolise his time this way? He wasn't sure, but even if he'd wanted to it seemed far more selfish to send him on his way because Germany had a bad case of can't handle a crush. He shook his head rather quickly, quietly folding one of the bags in his hand before setting it down on the counter. His gaze shifted toward the floor, trying to catch his breath again. Stupid, god, so stupid.

He finally forced himself to look up again, a weak but still terribly kind smile on his face. ]

No, no, today is perfect, I'm fine! I really wouldn't have it any other way! I've just been a little...

[ How in the hell was he supposed to put it? ]

...a little preoccupied this morning, that's all. Having something to do and getting to have time with you gives me something worthwhile to focus on. Please stay, I insist.

[ Christ. ]

What did you have in mind? To make, I mean, obviously...!

[ God, what else would he be talking about? Why did he feel the need to clarify? He should have been more comfortable in his own apartment and he was, but trying to reconcile with whatever his feelings were right now was making it difficult. He just needed to stay calm, that's all.

Everything was fine.

Absolutely fine. ]

...I can see that you're preoccupied. But I suppose redirecting your energy was the entire purpose of this, after all...So I'll gladly stay.

And maybe I'm being a little selfish in staying, too. But anyway! Here, here, come see the recipe I picked. It's simple, hands-on, and we can branch out into the recipe I really want to learn once I actually manage to make an edible batch. [Time to blast on over and brandish the cookbook at Germany at last, eyes shining as he opens it to a lovingly dogeared page.

Gingerbread, of course.] Is...Is this alright? I know it's a little more labour-intensive than a first project should be, but I thought that we could have fun together if we did something that even children could manage. Maybe we could even decorate them together, if you're willing to put up with me until they cool. I want to make ones of you and Italy, of course, to thank you for being such good friends to me.

...If they're any good! If they're bad then they go in the bin no questions asked thank you, amen. [--Ah, the mask's slipped away. Somewhere in all of that, he lost the Sexy Priest aura and became the overenthusiastic, dweeby 16-year-old again, book covering most of his face as he taps his fingers on the gingerbread recipe.] Well?

[ Germany watched him in awe, the way that this was almost a completely different person talking to him. It was endearing, to say the least, in a good way that put him more at ease than he'd been in a long while. He was listening to every word, even if he was focused on that twinkle in Pucci's eyes; the folded corner of that page telling him that this was something he'd been considering for a while.

He really did want to answer earnestly, but as soon as he opened his mouth a laugh fell from his lips as he reached out to rest a hand on the other man's shoulder. ]

I like seeing this side of you, it's refreshing...

[ And sadly still attractive, not that he would actually voice that. ]

I'd be happy to do all of that with you; you should know by now that I enjoy your company no matter what, so please don't think that I wouldn't keep you here until we're done with the project. Decorating is part of it, I'm not likely to throw you out before we get the chance to make something meaningful together...

[ Germany, seriously, it's just gingerbread. ]

...I'm sure between the two of us they'll turn out perfectly.

[oh wow just fucking drag him why don't you, Germany??? There's just silence for a solid two seconds, before he snaps the cookbook closed and buries his face in the back. God. God save him. He's acting like this over gingerbread and it's refreshing and that's not how he should be seen! This isn't right!

Oh well. Deep breath. He can work with this. If Germany likes this side of him, then he'll fucking get it in spades, bitch. Gravity. Gravity gravity gravity.]

...As long as you're alright with it, then. [It's okay, feign proper embarrassment. A little look to the side, a little worry of the bottom lip, some heel-scuffing. Who's nearly 40? Not this bitch.] I bought some candies to use for decoration anyway, and food dye; I wanted to make the frosting by hand though, if that's not too much trouble either. I also remember reading somewhere that if you put the decorated gingerbread in the oven for a little, it might help harden it? But it seems like a specific temperature range to do that within [And that might just be honey jumble icing OOPS] so we might have to stick to air-drying.

Shall we get started? I think we have to mix the dry ingredients together first, if we go by the recipe...But if you have a particular way of doing it, then I'm all ears.

I'm all right with anything that you'd like to do...

[ Truthfully, he liked all the sides that he'd seen so far, but this was far more endearing than he could have ever thought. A gentle squeeze of Pucci's shoulder, letting his hand linger there for just one more moment before pulling his hand back. He looked genuinely happy, a smile on his face and cheeks coloured with a very delicate pink. ]

If we go by the book we'll have a better chance of success, though I don't see how we can fail when you've planned everything out so carefully.

[ This was something that he had never shared with anyone else and somehow that made it different. Or special? Special seemed like it was going a little too far, the look on his face once again just a little too telling. He pulled himself out of his mind, though, shaking his head just a little as he moved to the cupboard to pull out mixing bowls. Focus, that's what he needed, thankful for a moment that he had his back toward the other. ]

Does it say how many bowls we'll need? I know one for dry ingredients...

[ He trailed off, mumbling a little to himself as he pushed things around in the cabinet. It was more organised than it seemed, he just needed to center himself. ]

[Ah, cute...He wants to snap him in half. Or maybe dote on him! Either or, really. But first, gingerbread. Already, he's starting to crave it; even some trashy storebought stuff would be good, but hopefully handmade will be twice as good...Right?]

What, all this expertise and you won't have some better way of doing things than a cookbook that might be as old as I am? Perish the thought. But your supervision and gentle guidance will be plenty...Hopefully. But-- bowls, yes. Let me read here...

[The cookbook gets cracked open again as he skimreads for the word 'bowl', genuinely intense once more, before--] Three! One for dry, one for wet, and one for the frosting. Or we could just wash up while the cookies cool, and save getting out three bowls...Should we get the trays out, too? And preheat the oven? Where's that part again...?

[Another skimread, and he darts back in closer to Germany with a little hum.] I'll let you handle the oven, since it's yours. But we need it on...350 degrees! Fahrenheit. Do you want help to get the bowls out? I'd be happy to help more.

[ If you snap him in half you lose someone to mess with, be a good friend, Pucci. Germany couldn't help that absolutely pleasant smile, as he pulled out far more bowl than they needed. He could always put them back and he would in just a moment. ]

Like I said, going by the book gets you perfect results, it doesn't matter how old the recipe is; though I feel that it begs to be said that you're still rather young, don't sell yourself short.

[ His cue to put bowls back had come, keeping two out. Washing one did seem like a sound idea and it was a conclusion that he would have come to himself. Points for you, Pucci! This was warm, perhaps a little too comfortable but he didn't mind at the end.

And the enthusiasm of the other man was certainly something else, something so intriguing to watch that he still couldn't help but watch him closely as he flitted between the book and offering assistance. ]

It's fine, really, I've got them. The trays are over there, if you could...?

[ He pointed with his foot, Pucci would find them easy to locate in the cabinet. It didn't matter whether Italy made a mess in the kitchen, Germany would always be the one to restore order and really what was the point of storing things if you didn't have the foggiest of where to look? There was a slight flush as the other had come in closer, but at least it was easy enough to bat away for now. Just enjoy the time you have, Germany, don't think of anything else.

Oven on, now he would get a better look at the recipe and the book itself. ]

...this means a lot to you, doesn't it? The book I mean, not being here with me.

[ He could see that it was indeed an older book, but still well taken care of aside from the lovingly dogeared pages. ]

Of course! Hold on--

[And he's wheeling away to go find those damn trays, delicate as a palaeontologist in a dig site. Trays out, all good-- oh! Right, yes, the book. Still clutched to his chest after juggling the trays and setting them down, but he opens it back up and hums thoughtfully.]

...Not really. I just bought this a week ago at a second-hand bookstore, if I'm honest...But I was definitely drawn to it because of the obvious love put into it. I feel like that proves it's full of good recipes, if someone marked out their favourites.

But I do try to care for books as a whole. And, for what it's worth? It means a lot to me to be here with you as well. I know you're a busy man.

Ah, I wouldn't say that I'm all that busy, though even if I were I would still make time for someone that's become a dear friend to me.

[ He'd been trying desperately not to make eye contact with him up until this point but that was far too endearing and he felt like his heart might burst. He needed a moment, turning his back away and leaning against the counter as he tried to gather his thoughts. ]

There's certainly something to be said about the way that you picked it out, so if I'm ever able to get some of my books from home I'll be happy to lend you some. I have a great deal of respect for people that have a desire for knowledge. It shouldn't be too hard to get some of them brought here, other things have arrived from home before so it's not outside of the realm of possibility.

[AHHH, CUTER STILL...Germany, uuuuuu...Well at least that confirms the theory of eye contact being a trigger, right? Does that mean he's going to stop trying to make it though? FUCK NO. It's Pucci here, even if he's less-more Pucci than normal.

For example, the way that he practically lights up at the thought of being lent books! Without thinking, he rocks back on his heels and makes a pleased little noise, thumb running over the cookbook's pages and ruffling them happily.] You're really too good to me, you know...I can't imagine the books you must have. So much I'd never get the chance to read-- Oh, that reminds me! I got the bird box thing, so I can listen to music from home. I should've brought it, so we could play some Handel or whatever you'd like while we cook! Next time, I promise.

But I'm getting distracted, I'm sorry. Cooking, cooking. Trays are out, bowls are out, oven's preheating, right? So...[Back to the recipe!] Dry ingredients. Three cups of plain flour, half a teaspoon of salt, three-quarters a teaspoon baking soda, two teaspoons ground ginger-- Ground! Wonderful! --one teaspoon ground cinnamon, and a quarter teaspoon of nutmeg and ground cloves respectively. I know I brought ginger and flour! ...Maybe not the others though, I'm sorry.

[ What was that? What was that little rock and a hum? The more that he watched him like this, the harder it was not to feel that strange little flutter in his stomach.

Had this been a mistake to have him over like this? To be in this small kitchen, doing something that he'd always done alone up until this point; it might have just been baking but there was truly some kind of strange intimacy to it. ]

I did say that you've become a dear friend, didn't I? If there's anything in particular you'd like for me to bring here, just let me know and I'll find a way to get it. My library is rather extensive, so I've got everything from historical documentation to romance nove--

[ Ah, wait, maybe that wasn't something that needed to be said. It was a little late now, though, Germany busying himself with pulling out the missing items from the list that Pucci had rattled off. ]

I do have a birdbox of my own, I'd be more than happy to bring it out and you can put on anything that you'd like. In fact, I can just get it now and then it will be here for whenever you decide you want to use it! I'll be right back...!

[ Was this a way to get out of the kitchen for a moment and breathe? To try and collect himself? Certainly not! Except yes it was. Off he went, making his way to the bedroom to bring it out. A few deep breaths as he tried to clear his mind just a little; gone for just a few moments before returning to the kitchen with the birdbox. ]

[HAHA THERE'S NO HIDING FROM YOUR GAY THOUGHTS, GERMANY. Especially not when Pucci obviously reacts to the romance novel flub; there's amusement there, certainly, but something also sparks in the back of his eyes, clear excitement at the thought. Pucci is, at the end of the day, a hopeless romantic. Kind of hoping that things will work out like fairytales said, so it's only natural that he enjoys a little self-indulgent escapism.

But, um. Before he can comment or even tease Germany, the man himself is off like a shot! MAN...This is clearly doing a number on him, huh? Pucci's not even really trying here, just being genuinely invested, and it's still whacking the boner switch apparently...

Kind of fascinating, should he dare to think on it. But nah, better to focus on the birdbox and going straight to the hallelujah chorus with glee!!!] ...Thank you! Now this should get us inspired, don't you think?

[Although it'll likely freak Germany out more, Pucci can't help himself; Handel's transcendent work always takes hold of him, and he sways, arms outstretched and cookbook momentarily forgotten as anything more than a conductor's baton. Just...give him a second--

THERE, okay. Back on Prismatica, even if he's still swaying a little.] Are you alright, by the way? Is this really alright with you, having me here?

[ He certainly hadn't expected Pucci to jump right into something so intense, he'd mentioned his musical proclivities but to see him so lost in the moment...

Was it unnerving? He wasn't quite sure what to make of it, it wasn't as if he didn't have an appreciation for music and he'd seen people far more enthusiastic. He certainly was trying to explain it away as nothing more than intense enthusiasm, holding his breath even as he watched and reaching up to pull at the collar of his shirt.

He was having a lot of feelings, none of which he knew exactly how to describe. It took him just a moment to come back to reality as well, first a thoughtful little sound as he closed his eyes. ]

Hmm...?

[ Sort through it, Germany, it's fine. ]

Ah, it's more...you're the first guest I've had over in a long time and I've never been particularly good at the whole hospitality thing...so I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to how I should be conducting myself sometimes.

[ That was as good an excuse as any, eyes opening again as he let out a soft laugh. ]

All the same, I'm enjoying myself, even if it seems like I'm nervous.

[ He wanted to be honest, but how in the hell was he supposed to say that he was having feelings that he was struggling with? ]

Oh, well...I'm sorry. Perhaps I'm making myself a little too at home, too...If you're having a good time, though? Then I can't say I regret how I'm acting.

[He moves in closer, eyes just glowing, snapping and firing off mini galaxies, and continues swaying. There's a moment of silence bar Handel's composition, before Pucci puts the cookbook carefully down on the nearest counter and holds out a hand.] After all, this is about having fun without having to think about anything that this entire planet needs of us. And we're not in a rush, are we?

[Over his shoulder, towards the bird box:] Frühlingsstimmen! [And lo, Voices of Spring starts playing. Pucci just keeps on holding his hands out, eyebrows waggling and mouth quirked in a goofy sort of smile, just waiting for a reaction.]

One turn. Please?

[ Eye contact was perhaps not such a good idea, but he couldn't help himself; not with the intensity that he could see behind them sometimes. Strange, wasn't it? Though perhaps all the times he'd noticed it he'd just been seeing things, a trick of the light?

A moment of hesitation as he took in a breath, shaking his head just a little as another breath of laughter came out. ]

No, we're not in a rush, are we? There's no reason to be.

[ Finally with that he reached out and took his hand, giving it a shaky sort of squeeze. A waltz, now? That was quite a change, the blond flushing all the more. ]

Fair warning, I'm not much of a dancer...

[ And even the he still didn't let go of his hand. This was fine, everything was fine. ]

How about...I teach you a basic box-step in exchange for your teaching me to bake? It impresses people more than you'd think it would, for how easy it is. One turn, then we get to baking. While they're cooking in the oven, another turn about. [Haha, he's totally won this round. There's that casual, confident ease back again as he places Germany's hands correctly (and not even too low or anything, this is good honest waltz practice thank you) and shimmies in until they're almost chest to chest.]

Think of it as drawing a box with your feet, basically. You're the leader, so you have to mark the tighter inside box...But it's easier than it looks. Step backwards with your outside foot-- this side, here. [And he gently squeezes Germany's right shoulder, beaming away.] Back one, and your inside foot will sweep after it. Not quite dragging on the floor, not a proper lift. We'll start from there, alright?

[ It was easy enough for the other man to move his hands, Germany closing his eyes and listening to the instructions carefully. It was easier with his eyes closed, though still enough to continue that fluster. ]

Right, of course, that sounds easy enough...

[ Even as he took his step back it was shaky, but still carefully measured. They might have had plenty of time, but space was limited and just a little too far back would have landed him against the counter. ]

...do you...dance often, then?

[ Is that how you made things less awkward? Probably not but Germany's whole life is built around awkward circumstances, why stop now? ]

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Sermon #2 | video

i dare you; germany is sticking to text, thanks;

cowardice, as expected from a S e r v i c e T o p. 1/2 also B]

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we legit bout to rp bake a recipe from joyofbaking.com i stan

i can't believe you're making me rp bake something found on a foodporn site

JOYOFBAKING.COM IS GOOD, DON'T FAKE

YOU CAN'T STOP ME

maybe I CAN stop you but i just don't want to.

okay that tracks

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bitch i'm back