"Can you doooo..." Danny tucks his chin into the bit of scarf peaking out from his peacoat, bracing against the cold wind as he contemplates his next request. The buttons on his coat are slightly strained due to the extra layers he's got on underneath and as he walks, he wriggles his pocketed hands in a futile attempt to get the clothes to sit more comfortably. It's only fitting, he guesses, that his spiritual unease manifest itself physically too. Right now he ought to be coming home from Mass, not shopping for a neck massager. Every stray gust of wind that threatens to knock him off his feet feels like a call to repent. Blows of judgment.
Not blows. Blows are what got him into this mess.
Dammit, why is he so light.
"I'll give you a hard one," he says, voice muffled until he lifts is head back up, running a tongue over his lips to stop them doing dry. "Brando. You do that?" He looks over at Hedwig, offering a prompt in the unfortunate event that he's just as clueless as Mindy. "The Godfather. Marlon Brando. People think that he's easy but he's not, you gotta, you don't just mumble. He's difficult to get right."