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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 16, 2011 21:50:00 GMT -5
((GET IT? GET IT? INSTEAD OF IRON CHEF? HA. /shot))
Alfred opened the door to his room and rubbed his eyes, having to adjust to the brighter light in the hall, groaning in unison with his stomach.
He hadn’t fully realized it was going to happen, say, five hours ago, obviously, but he ended up locking himself in his room the second he got back from school, busying himself with his games. This was normal for Alfred. Usually not for the majority of a day, however. On this occasion, for whatever reason, he felt justified in doing this. He’d had a busier than usual week of procrastination, and nothing helped him unwind like a little quality time with his favorite plumber. After all, there was no one around to bother. Matt, if he remembered right, had some sort of club to attend today, and Arthur, he figured, was off doing whatever it was British people did on Fridays. That left a lot of space in his not exactly occupied schedule.
Regardless, he had been in his room, without food, shockingly, for far too long. This being the case, the American was now meandering down the hallway, setting out on his second adventure of the day. This time, not to save Princess Peach from the Koopa King, but to fill his poor, empty tummy.
“Aww, man.” He moaned, now rounding the corner and starting down the stairs, clutching his stomach all the while.
I could eat a horse.. or.. actually, that’s kinda’ gross. Dude, why do people even say that? A hundred burgers, then. Or three billion pizzas. I’m kinda’ more in the mood for pizza. Mm, pizza. I can practically smell it cooking. All round and pizza-like..
About half way to the bottom, he was disappointingly deciding he’d have to settle for some instant noodles or something along those lines when he halted, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. He could actually smell pizza. His imagination was always pretty graphic, but not so graphic that he could actually smell what he was imagining. That meant someone had to actually be making pizza.
It was no surprise when his stomach growled again, much louder this time.
His hunger spurring him on, Alfred continued on his way downstairs, picking up the pace, his nose leading him straight to the kitchen. Upon reaching it, he poked his head in.
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Post by angryitalian on Mar 17, 2011 20:01:50 GMT -5
((PFFT. I GET IT. *loves bad puns* ))
Ah pizza...
It was one of the few things Lovino didn't complain about (as long as he was the one who made it). It was a simple recipe, yet delicious. Plus Lovino could take all his anger out on the dough when he kneaded it. Was there not a bad thing about making pizza?
Considering that cooking was Lovino's way of ridding himself of stress, it wasn't a surprise to hear the normally angry young man humming to himself as he beat some sense into the delicious smelling mixture of yeast, flour, water, salt, and sugar.
Lovino could feel the dough become less sticky and more elastic. Now he had to think of what type of pizza he was going to make himself... There was always a simple one with cheese, or he could skip the sauce and turn it into a pizza margherita. Or he could always try pizza romana, though he didn't know if he could find good enough prosciutto in the kitchen here... Pizza margherita it was, then. After all, when it comes to cooking, simple is usually the best.
After rolling out the dough and covering the pizza in cheese, olive oil, and basil, Lovino popped the pizza into the oven. His stomach was growling, it seemed to be just in time.
That was when he finally noticed the person staring into the kitchen. Surprised and feeling rather embarrassed, Lovino scowled and gave the person a glare.
"Who the hell are you?"
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 21, 2011 17:28:59 GMT -5
Once he was done ogling over what he now knew for certain was pizza in the making, Alfred looked to the shorter student making said pizza, only able to blink in response.
He looked him up and down, taking note of the rather indignant frown that appeared on his features the second he caught sight of him. The brunette was shorter than him, for sure, which wasn’t much of a shocker, since Alfred himself was pretty tall, but regardless, he still looked around the same age. He was likely in his year, from what he could figure, and also had an accent the American couldn’t quite put his finger on from the few words he spoke. Maybe if he talked a bit more..
“Turn that frown upside down, little dude!” He chirped, grinning ear to ear. “Alfred F. Jones, part time secret agent, full time hero, at your service! How ‘bout you?”
Alfred, all the while, couldn’t shake how much his expression, oddly enough, reminded him of Arthur’s almost constant scowl.
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Post by angryitalian on Mar 22, 2011 22:06:55 GMT -5
"Little dude?! I'm not short, you're just a giant! Fottiti!"
Lovino huffed and glared. He was not short! He refused to admit it. Here he was, trying to make pizza because some idiot had pissed him off earlier and now another idiot had been attracted by the pizza. Fuck Lovino's life.
He sighed and reminded himself that he had to give his name, since the other boy had at least introduced himself.
"... Lovino Vargas," he managed to grumble out before turning away to stare at the fascinating oven where the pizza was cooking (slowly). Lovino decided that such a thing was better than looking at the newcomer's (Alfred's) 'stupid-looking' face.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Mar 26, 2011 15:59:08 GMT -5
Alfred smiled excitably at the student who had just introduced himself as Lovino, regardless of the insult and cuss from a few moments previous. Fottiti, he mused as he turned away. That certainly would’ve given it away if listening to the accent more attentively a second time didn't.
The American was urged on by his ever persistent, once again groaning stomach.
Suddenly thinking his one year of goofing off during Italian in middle school and looking up swears and other inappropriate terms in his dictionary instead of the actual vocabulary wasn’t as much of a waste, he snickered and strode on over, confident and whimsical as always. When he reached him, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rested his chin atop his head.
“Ooh, you speak Italian, huh? I only know some of it myself, so that’s pretty cool!” Alfred complimented, absentmindedly rocking back and forth on his heels. “Anyway, whatcha’ making there, Lovi?” He went on to ask, for once, minding his manners, all in attempt to be coy.
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Post by angryitalian on Mar 29, 2011 23:00:01 GMT -5
Lovino could hear the other's stomach growl, and Lovino came to the realization that he would have more than enough pizza to feed the both of them with (unless the guy had a bottomless pit for a stomach)... damn it.
"Of course I speak Italian! I'm from Italy, dumbass." Romano scowled and huffed at Alfred. "And since you don't seem to be able to notice things, I'm making a pizza, figlio di puttana."
Lovino went back to glaring at the oven. "My name is Lovino, not Lovi." he added with an annoyed grumble. Stupid pizza, why wasn't it cooking faster?! If the pizza would just cook... Lovino would be able to ditch Alfred.
Though Lovino hadn't shared a meal with someone in a long time, and he could use a friend... No! He wasn't going to be weak like that. He continued to glare at the oven with intense feelings of annoyance and vexation.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Apr 8, 2011 19:58:59 GMT -5
“Wow, you got a potty mouth there!” Alfred mentioned, no malice whatsoever in his excitable tone. “That’s cool, though. I don’t really mind. Actually, I think I can kinda’ admire you for that, Lovi. Whenever I swore back home, dad would say he was gonna’ pour soap in my mouth.” He babbled on, apparently having not noticed how much distaste the huffing Italian expressed for the nickname he’d already too closely associated with him. “He never really did, but y’ know.”
Once again hearing his stomach groan, this time due to the ridiculously captivating smell from the oven that seemed to be wafting up more and more prominently, he pursed his lips, his rocking coming to a stop. The American didn’t so much as bother to ponder the thought as he took a small step back, allowing Lovino some space.
“You got enough cooking in there for two?” He inquired, his smile returning at full force. Alfred never was one to beat around the bush.
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Post by angryitalian on Apr 18, 2011 16:28:50 GMT -5
(( Ah! I'm so sorry for taking so long to reply. orz ))
Lovino snorted, "My parents never gave a fuck. And stop calling me Lovi damn it! My name is Lovino! Lo-vi-no!" He sounded out each syllable of his name to make his point clear to the other boy, whose IQ was about the level of an inanimate object (in Lovino's opinion). He also wondered if Alfred ever stopped talking, it had only been a few minutes and the cheerful American had already managed to talk the angry Italian's ear off.
Even when Alfred wasn't talking, he was annoyingly loud, in Lovino's opinion. He glared at Alfred some more before grumbling angrily to himself about not being able to make pizza without having idiots run in to bother him. Though, a very very small part of Lovino appreciated the company. After all, he was new and had few, if any friends. Lovino took care to quickly squash that part of him.
Of course Alfred wanted food, Lovino wasn't oblivious enough to not realize that that's what the other was there for. Unfortunately, Lovino didn't think he could hide the fact that the pizza could feed the both of them and then some. He let out an annoyed sigh and hesitantly nodded. "Yeah there's enough... bastard."
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on Apr 21, 2011 7:10:27 GMT -5
((No worries, dude! I always take a long time to reply. ;u; But seriously, take your time and what not. I'm not in any rush or expecting to get it the very day I reply, or even the day after that. <3))
Alfred, despite the swearing and insulting beforehand, couldn’t keep the wide grin that formed on his features when the other actually agreed. He could tell his stomach was just as happy as he was.
“Awesome! You rock, Lovi!” He cheered excitedly, once again not fully registering the fact that the other wasn’t taking much of a liking to the nickname. Nicknames, in the blond’s eyes, were affectionate and welcoming, a sort of display that let someone know you were reaching out to them. Cheesiness aside, he didn’t stop to think that Lovino wouldn’t receive that.
Discarding that, as he went to lean against the counter beside him in wait of the round pie of cheese, sauce and awesomeness, a bit of a skip in his step, Alfred had to wonder why he was so irate. He knew that some people were just like that, and also that some people sometimes had reason to be like that. He knew that very well, but even so, it wouldn’t kill him or anyone else to walk around with a smile on their face every so often. It wasn’t like everything in the world could make anyone scowl constantly.
Something suddenly flashed in the blond’s eyes.
.. Maybe he needs a friend, he deduced, the idea, in actuality, rather simpleminded, but smiles and happy attitudes were very much contagious.
“So, do you like cooking?” He asked, smiling curiously.
Yes, he’d been in this mainly for the sake of grabbing a bite, but that didn’t have to be the only accomplishment of this venture. Befriending an short tempered Italian wasn’t something he got to do every day, after all. Besides, Alfred figured that underneath the harsh exterior of cussing and anger, there had to be some amount of kindness. He did end up agreeing to share his pizza with him, after all. He certainly definitely didn’t have to.
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Post by angryitalian on May 1, 2011 22:41:44 GMT -5
"Are you completely incapable of listening?! I said my name is Lovino! Not Lovi! Stop calling me that, bastard!" Lovino grumbled angrily. Nicknames meant that Alfred was trying to get all buddy buddy with Lovino, and just for pizza. Once the pizza was gone, Alfred would leave too, and Lovino wondered why the other even bothered using a nickname.
And yet, Alfred continued to talk and try to befriend Lovino. Maybe the other wanted more free food. Lovino deduced that wanting Lovino to be his cook was the only possible reason (that he could come up with) to make Alfred try to befriend him. With that, Lovino's scowl deepened.
"Of course I like cooking? Why would I cook if I hated it? I wouldn't bother cooking and just get food from the cafeteria. Simple, dumbass." Lovino huffed angrily. He could afford to be nicer to the American, however, he was still worried that the other was only being nice because he had food. That was the way it went, right? People only tried to befriend Lovino if they wanted something from him, and he hated that.
Finally, the pizza was ready and Lovino took it out of the oven. The smell was crisp and delicious, though not quite as good as wood-fired pizza.... Alas, this was school, and his resources were limited. Now, the pizza had to cool before he could cut into it and try to shoo Alfred away.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on May 6, 2011 22:17:15 GMT -5
Alfred pouted faintly for a brief moment, but his resolve hadn’t faltered in the slightest.
“Huh? But I think it suits you!” He insisted, his lips, as always, curling up into another smile. He tilted back just slightly, making sure to look Lovino in the eye, even if it turned out that the other was preoccupied with scowling in another direction. “Does it seriously bug you that much? I love it when my friends give me nicknames, and what not. It’s sorta’ like a codename, or something cool like that!”
The blond continued to eye the Italian carefully as he spoke, watching for the slightest shift in his irritated demeanor. Not exactly to his surprise, he only seemed to be getting more and more frustrated. If anything, this only spurred Alfred on, so he simply shrugged in response to the other’s chiding. “Oh, well, I guess that’s true.”
A few moments later, the brunette had apparently deemed the pizza to be done—boy, did it smell done—and pulled it out from the oven, the smell even more alluring than before now that it was right in front of the American. Tearing his attention away from the pizza and directing it back to the one holding said pizza, his smile widened.
“How long have you been cooking, then?” He went on.
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Post by angryitalian on May 16, 2011 19:13:06 GMT -5
"I've been cooking since I was a brat. Mom was too damn crazy and the old man was arthritic," Lovino grumbled.
"Though with Mom, Feli was still around to help cook," he added softly, mostly talking to himself.
Lovino's attention returned to the pizza. He searched around for a knife before cutting the pizza into 12 slices. "Don't eat the whole pizza, fatass," he warned Alfred, joking in his odd grumpy way. Lovino reached up and grabbed two plates, one for himself and the other for Alfred. After putting two pieces on a plate, he handed it to Alfred. "If you're still hungry, you can have more, idiot."
Lovino then got his own pieces of pizza and began to eat. It wasn't his best, but it was still damn good pizza. Well, Lovino was a good cook after all, though it had taken quite a bit of practice and getting burned accidentally to get to this point.
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Post by Alfred F. Jones on May 21, 2011 23:13:19 GMT -5
“That right?” Alfred murmured in reply, his smile taking on a more sympathetic air. His thoughts involuntarily trailed to his brother, at that. “That sounds sorta’ hard, especially if you were just a little kid. The responsibility, and what not.”
Though his was putting all his effort into keeping himself focused on trying to keep the conversation going, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished over this newfound discovery. He was making progress.
“Who’s Feli?” The American inquired curiously, watching just as eager as he was curious as the other sliced the newly produced pizza.
Alfred couldn’t help but laugh at the Italian’s comment, then even more as the second completely contradicted the first. Lovino really was interesting. Not bothering to waste any time before taking the plate offered to him, he flashed a grateful grin. “Thanks, Lovi!” He exclaimed before reserving himself to some blowing. As delicious as it looked and as much as he wanted to swallow each piece in one or two bites at that very moment, he really didn’t want to burn his tongue before he could properly enjoy it. “Looks awesome!”
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