Turbinio

Thyme and Parsley

But what undoubtedly struck you most about this eccentric Italian, besides his exaggeratedly long hair, was his holster. His two steel balls swung in it as Gyro moved to pick up more sticks and throw them into the fire.

Johnny was a little different. You watched him while talking to the man. He's changed a lot since you first saw him, in the wheelchair. His skin still bore traces of the subtle dryness he had acquired in the Arizona desert. What used to look pale and delicate had turned light gold. Acquiring a tan on his face and neck and faded to pure white all over his body, with blue veins running through it at the temples. His eyes met yours and his mouth suddenly contorted.

''Gyro.'' You heard Johnny say and then looked back at the Italian. ''Why did you want to eat fish so badly?''

Gyro took a few seconds to answer, knelt and turned the fish on its stem.

''Fish, bread and wine.'' You hear him mumble. ''It was what I ate every morning in my homeland.''

''Wine for breakfast?'' Asked Johnny. ''It doesn't look very good.''

''That's because you've never tried Italian wine, Johnny.'' Retorted Gyro, looking offended at his friend's words. ''It's something you can drink every day!''

''I already had Italian wine.'' You said teasingly. ''Chilean wine would taste better to you, Johnny.''

''Whatever.'' Gyro interrupted you. ''These fish are nothing compared to acciughe, but they'll be a great source of energy.''

''Don't you think these fish need seasoning?'' You interjected, knowing full well your intentions. ''That's what's not missing in my wagon. I've some garlic, ah... orégano and parsley that would be good.''

Gyro looked at you thoughtfully and slightly satisfied for a few seconds.

''Not a bad idea, (Y/N).'' He said. ''Can I take a look?''

''Of course.'' You smiled. ''Mettiti comodo, caro!''

Gyro's hair shook slightly in blond strands. He stood up and looked at you with a smile as golden as his hair and as pretentious as himself. You stood up to guide him past the cluttered shelves and drawers of your wagon and prevent him from breaking anything. You wrapped Johnny's towel around your shoulders, your hair still dripping down your face.

''You know, Miss (Y/N)...'' Said Gyro, and you had a strange feeling when you heard him call you the same as Diego, but you relaxed a little, expecting a casual comment from the man. ''In Italy, we only call spouses caro, mia cara.''

He had spoken so soft that Johnny couldn't hear him, and got into your wagon without any ceremony. You blushed but tried to hide it. Sometimes you're warmer than people from the north are used to.

''Well...'' You tried to explain yourself. ''In the south, we have the habit of calling strangers dear too. Mi querido, meu amor, mi bien, chéri.''

Gyro let out a short laugh. You watch him inside the wagon, his body bent to keep his head from hitting the roof as if he were a giant entering a goblin's house. The sight made you smile, then you cross your arms.

''Do you have thyme?'' he asked.

''Yes, but I haven't finished drying it yet. It's under the counter.''

The man bent down, almost kneeling, to look for the herb, but you were surprised when you heard him let out a startled grunt and shake the whole wagon, falling in fright. You ran to see what was causing all the fuss and saw a bunch of cat hair flying around.

''Oddio!'' You saw Gyro lose his balance and knock something out of the wagon. ''Get your ass off those herbs!''

The cat's big eyes widened as Gyro pushed it away and it jumped onto the counter, curving and bristling its tail. You notice the cat spit out a pair of yellow wings and climb out of the wagon when it smelled fish, looking for more treats. You can't help but laugh at the situation.