#thamk wooooooooooo.....................

[telltalebatman]

an adoring kiss because the other is rambling for sorcione!

YESSSSSS

There weren't many topics Frankie was truly passionate about - but even despite the list being relatively short, Mac considered it near and dear to him. There was the lore of Sonic the Hedgehog series. Bauhaus (both the band and the art school). The genre of horror. History of Gotham City (which, apparently, after numerous reboots and retcons was as contrived and self-negating, as it was vague and full of holes). Japanese RPGs (that fixation they very much shared). Demonology (somehow, she had Lemegeton memorized).

And, apparently, a new topic had entered the list: pigeons.

Just... Pigeons. In general. As a whole.

Since they both were New Yorkers, pigeons were a very familiar sight to them; round and monochrome and weirdly loud and admittedly not very clever. He was mostly impartial to them; they were there, so to speak. He didn't mind them - provided they stayed away from his car and from his food. He didn't mind them; he didn't care much for them, his eyes and mind simply glossing over them.

Frankie, on the other hand, seemed to be absolutely, wholly obsessed with them.

Honestly, he couldn't see why.

"The word pigeon is as imprecise as a descriptor as the word vegetable," she said angrily and breathlessly; Mac raised his eyebrows and looked at her silently from over his book. It was a lovely afternoon; and clearly, even despite Persona 3 happening on screen, Frankie was in a very peculiar mood. "It doesn't mean anything. A tomato is a fruit. A mushroom is a fungus. And a pigeon - what the fuck does it mean?"

"I dunno, it seems pretty... Precise to me," he said cautiously, as he could see her grip on the PlayStation 2 controller seemed dangerously tight. "A pigeon is a pigeon, I'd say."

"That's like saying meat is meat," she replied, angrily mashing the buttons in a doomed fight against Death. Just... Death. The Grim Reaper. "Beef is not chicken, is not pork, is not veal. We brought them here," she continued breathlessly as he put his book down and simply watched her in silence. "And we couldn't even be bothered to classify them scientifically before abandoning them."

Ah.

Come to think of it, perhaps there was a reason why Frankie felt so strongly about the plight of a common pigeon.

"Did you know bread could kill a pigeon?" she continued; he remained silent, as very clearly she was not expecting his active participation. "But we just... Feed it to them. Over and over again, even though it can kill them. Almost as if... Almost as if we're trying to get rid of them - again."

Hm.

On one hand, her tone was getting high-pitched and her hands were getting shaky; that was not good, not good in the slightest. On the other hand though, it felt good to see her passionate about something; back during their rocky beginnings, many times did she express that she's not sure who she is outside of her mother's bakery, her brother's abuse, her father's dismissal. So it felt nice to see and hear her invested in something - even if said something was pigeons and all the ways she could relate to what it's like being one.

All in all, he was torn. On one hand, he liked seeing her in a state of passion; but he hated seeing her sad. God, did he hate seeing her sad.

"People constantly call them vermin - and for what?" she asked with a sigh; she lost her fight against Death and had to reload an earlier save. "They don't carry anything contagious, and they don't even destroy anything. They're just... There. Existing. In a state that we bred them into - docile and harmless." she finished sadly; and Mac nodded silently before putting his book down and getting up from the couch.

"You know, there are pro-pigeon charities," he said, sitting down next to her on the floor. "Some of them are even legit. As in... They're not just Maggia money-laundering schemes. Maybe you should volunteer at one."

"Maybe I should," she agreed as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "You know, the current view on pigeons can be traced back to 1963, when some nutjobs blamed them for spreading disease. But even before that, in the thirties and in the fourties..."

She continued talking - almost non-stop - for the next thirty minutes - truth be told, it was quite educational. He wasn't sure how much of what he learned was of any use, but he did learn quite a few things from her impromptu lecture. Eventually though - after a brief rundown of the symbolism of pigeons in Chinese culture - she grew thirsty; so she put down the controller, and tried to get up - but Mac didn't let her.

"Hey," he said hesitantly. "I'm gonna be cheesy for a moment. Alright?"

"It's not like me saying no would ever stop you from throwing a cheesefest," she replied with a sigh; and he smiled, seeing the first tints of a blush creeping out on her cheeks. "Alright. Hit me with that Monterey Jack, big guy."

"I love it when you are passionate about something," he said in a serious tone of voice; finally, her cheeks turned a darker shade. "Even if I have no idea what are you talking about. Even if it's... Pigeons."

In response, she only let out a muffled chuckle; which quickly turned into frantic protests as he kissed her temple, and her forehead, and her shoulder. She laughed, and waved her hands at him; and he just kept kissing her, once again overtaken by relief over the fact she was comfortable enough around him to be passionate.

If only it didn't take so long. If only she could love me sooner. If only I could openly love her sooner.

So much wasted time. Let me make up for it with another kiss, and another, and another... And never stop telling me about pigeons.

I didn't care about them before. Now they are my favorite bird.