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I was talkin about you, dumbass.

[The first mini-bite seems like it's settling okay so he tries another, a little bigger as his body starts to think maybe it might just be kind of hungry.]

But I didn't think about whether you were just trying to be tough. Forgot that was a thing, I guess. You should try losing all your dignity some time; it's not all bad, once it's gone. Kind of freeing, you know?

[Oh. Firo glances away, thinking that this is what he gets for trying to be nice--now he's just tipped his own hand. Like an idiot.]

After seeing your example, I'm gonna say no thanks to that.

[Hank's a puzzle. For a bum, he's surprisingly self-aware and frank about his bumness. Firo's never heard dignity talked about like it's optional; a normal person would never, and the people who don't have it never seem to realize it.]

When did you decide to go do that, huh?

[Hank snorts, watching his hands toy with the pizza.]

What, you think I just woke up one day with my mind made up? Nah, about the second or third time you wake up in your own puke you kind of realize dignity packed up and snuck out while you weren't lookin. So. this is too 'weak' for you, how are you planning on dealing with all this shit? Go back to your room and yell into a pillow, or is that 'weakness' too? Are mobsters even allowed to emote?

[Firo sighs and shrugs. He doesn't really think about how to cope with things, so Hank's question is one he doesn't know how to begin to answer.

Except denial.]

There's nothing to deal with. We already got through the worst of the sickness. ...This stuff is probably gonna wear off soon.

["This stuff" being their shared inability to pick things up without looking like they're two thirds of the Three Stooges.

He's not basing his assumption in any medical knowledge, just blind hope.]

[Hank gives a slow nod, looking at him.]

Guess that's a no. A hundred years didn't change a lot for you guys, did it.

[Then he leans forward and - finally - takes an actual bite of the pizza. He pauses to make sure it's fine, taking a deep breath. It is fine, he's pretty sure, but he hasn't stopped feeling funky yet.]

What's that supposed to mean?

[It's a genuine question, since he wouldn't think that what he sees as his very grown-up perspective is that worth commenting on--or exclusive to gangsters (not that he socializes much outside of his circle). He can't help but be curious about the state of gangsterdom in the future. The current picciotto are... honestly a bit disappointing, not that Firo wants to admit that.

Come on, Hank. Give him hope that the future generation will embrace toxic masculinity and bury their feelings too.]

It means you guys act like honest human emotion is some kinda... Huh.

[He thinks about it, taking a couple more bites in quick succession, then another that he chews while he answers.]

Some kinda contagious disease, like you got to kill it off before it spreads. You act like you show any signs of it, someone's gonna off you right then and there. Kinda true, I guess.

[He casts a yearning look toward the sink. Now that he's eating in earnest he's kind of thirsty, but. Getting up. When he feels like doing that's something he can do he'll do it, for now spit will have to do.]

As far as the other guys who got stuck in the life with you go, I mean. I'm not up to giving the whole psychological report, but uh- Guys think they can't let their shit go, it fucks em up, they fuck other people up, fun shit all around. Hope breakin the law's more fun in your day cause in mine it's kind of a merry-go-round of suck.

[That kind of emotion would get him stabbed in the back (in Firo's mind), and as Hank speaks he tenses, ready to burst in and say so. He relaxes only slightly at Hank's admission that it may be true.

As for a "merry-go-round of suck"... It's not quite Don Molsa's example of an eternal descent down a staircase, but Firo supposes it might be similar enough.

But it's worth it. He frowns.]

Everybody who gets into this kinda life knows what he's doing. If you make the choice, you gotta be prepared for what comes with it. If not, you're just an idiot.

Really? If you got a pamphlet and a manual when you signed up those really musta been the good old days.

[He polishes off his piece of pizza and frowns at the rest of it, over there where he'll have to stand up to get it.]

A lot of people who get into it start out as kids, too. I'm not gonna write a kid off as an idiot just cause they've gotta jump out of the frying pan into the fire before they even really get that's what's going on.

[Fuck, a cooking metaphor. He is so fucking hungry. He looks down to make sure his hand's on the table for balance as he gets up.]

But whatever, I'm not here to argue with you. I'm just here to eat. Long as you're not gonna unstop your emotional pipes by takin it out on someone else, your shit's none of my business.

[Firo's frown deepens just slightly. He believes in mercy for kids as much as anyone, but he's seen the other side of that coin, where almost any option is better than what you've got.

For his part, he was 13, so he wasn't a baby or anything. And he'd been on the street long enough that he knew a thing or two, so he wasn't flying blind.

He keeps those thoughts locked away and instead focuses on what's simplest to argue and gripe at.]

I never said I had an emotional issue in the first place! You're the one who started making that stuff up.

Even if I did, it's not exactly your business as long as I'm not bothering you. Or one of your friends. [He'll concede that Hank may even have some of those.]

Yeah. [He shrugs, making it the vast distance from the table to the pizza, ripping off a ragged, unevenly shaped piece of it, and folding it up to finish it off more quickly.] Point. This is really good, you know that? Then again, don't know how long it's been since I ate, probably cardboard would taste really good right about now.

[Firo's surprised that Hank actually concedes the last point, but he's quick to cover it up with a confident nod. Yeah. Of course Hank agreed with him because he's totally right.

If not for the immediate comparison to cardboard, Hank's praise might have almost made him smile a bit. He snorts instead.]

That's some way to thank a guy.

[He did sort of force Hank into this, though, so how much gratitude can he really expect?]

I guess I didn't wind up teaching you much at all... But once you finish that, I can go get that booze.

Oh yeah?

[Hank perks up, straightening and looking interested, and then doubtful as he looks back down and picks at the edges of the rest of the pizza.]

What were you gonna teach me?

How to make your own food with all this. Teach a man to fish, you know.

[Waving his hand to indicate the kitchen about which Hank has thoroughly voiced his opinion.It probably would've helped if Firo'd actually tried to get and keep his attention, but at the time it had seemed like such a pain... Besides, it's not his fault if Hank starves.]

It's crazy to go hungry when there's still food here.

Shit, don't teach me to fish either.

[Fuck it. If eating like he wants to after however long of not doing it's going to fuck him up, it'll fuck him up. Whatever. He rips off a small piece for Firo, walking close enough to throw- no, bad idea, probably - to set it on his plate, rolling up the rest for himself.]

Don't tell me you like, hunt and gather all your own food too, with the fishing and shit.

It's just a saying.

[Firo pauses when Hank forks over some of the pizza, but he did make it, didn't he? And with the food in front of him, he's hungrier than he thought. He nods his thanks and takes a bite.]

No way. I wouldn't know where to begin with all of that stuff.

You sure? Makin a pizza from scratch can't be that far off.

[He takes a bite and chews and looks at Firo thoughtfully. He doesn't sit; now that he can stand okay, he wants to. After this past week, it's novel.]

Why'd you do that, anyway? All this. You could of just kicked me out.

[It's the million dollar question, the one Firo's been asking himself through this conversation.

He doesn't have an answer, so he shoves another bite of pizza in his mouth, as if that'll save him.]

You--you still owe me that favor. It wouldn't be good for business if I just kicked you out.

Yeah?

[Hank didn't miss that stammer, and he spends a moment debating with himself while he chews more pizza. It might or might not be starting to settle weirdly and he sets down what's left, frowning at it, still debating. Should he go for a different answer? On one hand he could piss off the one guy who can give him something other than stupid wine to drink. On the other hand-

On the other hand, fuck it.]

I woulda owed you that favor no matter what. An agreement doesn't go away just cause you pissed me off, unless you made your agreement with a real asshole.

[Hank's got him there. But Firo's Evasion Senses (TM) spot a potential avenue for him to wriggle out of answering again, and he goes right for it.]

Are you trying to tell me you're not a real asshole?

No, I’m a fake asshole, I pucker up with plastic and velcro.

[So what if that doesn’t make sense? He’s being literal about the asshole thing. He’s being gross. It’s fine.]

You really think I’m gonna try to weasel out of owing you vague favors that we already said I could veto if I didn’t like em? I might be a real asshole but I’m not a stupid one.

[Firo doesn't even entirely understand what Hank's talking about, and he's still disgusted. He exhales in a long breath that's almost a growl.]

How should I know? All I know about you is that you like to drink and you're a cop.

[Then why'd you go making a deal with him, Firo?]

[He looks down at his pizza, rips off a little bit and stuffs it in his mouth, then moves the rest over to Firo's plate, answering around the mouthful of food.]

Then you're either a shitty mobster or you really like bustin kneecaps. That how you make deals when money's involved too?

[Firo barely registers the pizza being shifted to him; his eyes are locked on Hanks, his voice tense.]

I know how to do my job.

[Some of that tension dissipates as he continues, but his focus does not.]

I'm not on the bootlegging side of things anyway. I manage our casino.

[He doesn't so much intend "casino" as the takeaway as "manage." If there's one thing he's good at, it's crime.]

Yeah?

[They say people spend one third of their lives sleeping. Hank, by this point, has probably spent one third of his life in an interview room. The part of him that spent all that time there likes the tense note to the guy's voice after Hank said he was bad at the whole crime thing, because anger like that's one hell of a lever. The part of Hank that's tired, though, and feels like shit, the part of him that would give pretty much anything to be having a hangover right now, rather than whatever the hell it is he's feeling, that part of him tells the cop part of him to shut the fuck up, he's not here to lever anything out of the guy except something to drink, and pissing him off's going to do the opposite of that.

Hank flops back into his chair, slumping forward over his arms and curling up a little.]

Good for you. Is that why that first batch of hooch you made tastes so funky?

[Okay, so he doesn't feel good enough to try that hard to not piss him off. If Firo really wanted someone who was polite all the time he wouldn't be here. It's probably fine.]

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