digiorno | ic inbox ( ǣfenglōm )

[Coming up on this meeting, Giorno can't help but feel unbalanced. There has never once in his life been a situation where he had to introduce one person he cared about to another person he cared about. There simply haven't been enough people in the world to take up both hands' worth of fingers, let alone people who didn't already know each other. This is an entirely new experience for him, and not one he expected to be as nerve-wracking as it is.]

[Beyond that, he's painfully aware of how his own nerves are being transmitted to Zelda over the Bond; how every spark of anxiety in the hours leading up to their post-sunset meetup in the park roughly between their houses. How those sparks have been flickering up since the first, since he broached the subject with Zelda in the first place. And now—]

[She can probably track his actions as she approaches the park; his feelings are that clear. Anxiety, irritation (a clear side-effect of the anxiety), a few stabs of genuine fear, and, once he's finally sat and got Fugo sitting — fussiness.]

You should have worn something heavier. It's cold.

[The reason for meeting out here is . . . complicated. They can go to a coffee shop or something later, he'd actually like to, but this whole thing is so unpredictable. Not one of them, he knows, wants to make a scene.]

[Fugo's jaw aches. This is because he has been clenching since he woke up this afternoon, to a sky on the verge of darkening, because tonight is the night Giorno is going to introduce him to his Bonded: a woman named Zelda, who has his trust and his respect. Which is obvious, given the circumstances of the Bond, but still worth remarking on.

Giorno trusts her. Giorno respects her. Even more than that-- Giorno likes her. His warm friendship with Zelda is what made the Bond possible to begin with. She is obviously an important ally of his in this city; someone with whom he has trusted his very heart. He has been on edge about introducing them, for what Fugo can only guess are the usual reasons.]

If I wore any more layers, I wouldn't be able to button this coat. [His words, so factual in his head, come out sour and cross in the open air between them. Fugo really has tried his best to dress appropriately for this meeting; no patterns, no loud colors, nothing even remotely outrageous. Even though he added a non-offensive, Giorno-approved before they left, he still hasn't managed to get it right.] But I'll keep it in mind for next time.

[Fugo sits, still as a statue, from where Giorno left him to pace back and forth in front of the bench where Zelda agreed to meet them. He has his hands tucked into his pockets to keep from fidgeting... and because it really is cold. Or maybe it's just him. His hands were cold long before they left the house; it's no surprise that his gloves haven't done much to keep them warm.]

[He's anxious. This she knows as well as the rising and setting of the sun. It's an ever-present itch on the edges of her consciousness, a twitching nerve she just can't settle no matter how she tries to massage it down with calming thoughts and redirected focus. It's also at least partly her fault for not slamming down on her own homesickness sooner, for giving him cause to think she might reject this friend of his out of hand, and so she can hardly feel frustrated about it.

She's outnumbered. She's the outsider. She's the one intruding upon a history she cannot possibly know. And yet despite these thoughts nagging at the back of her mind, she forces herself to breathe and quiet them, because if Giorno gets caught up in a positive feedback loop of anxiety he might actually explode. And then where would any of them be?

So, a woman approaches their park bench, boots clicking against the cobblestone path. As the sun sets below the horizon, a little orb of golden light floating around her head illuminates her immediate surroundings as well as her features as she pulls down the hood of her cloak, revealing blonde hair, long, pointed ears, and a tiara perched upon her brow.]

... They will have to build a canal out here should you pace much longer.

[She comments to Giorno with a slight curve to her lips-- light, polite, and harmless. Because someone has to keep their wits about them and she supposes as ever it's going to be her. This being said, she glances between the two of them, an obvious curiosity in her gaze as it lingers on Fugo for a moment before returning to Giorno.]

I hope I did not keep you waiting.

[His lips thin into an irritated line, far more dangerous than his usual moue; as much as he might know that Fugo doesn't mean anything by it, he feels incredibly on edge, as prickly as if there were static running down his spine.]

[But there's no need to address it, not now. Because he feels Zelda approaching before he sees her, stills in his pacing, and when she comes into view — he can still brighten, as it turns out, both internally and externally. His smile is faint but far more relaxed than any expression he's shown so far this evening, his emotions sunbursting with relief, tiny little sparklers of joy at her presence.]

[Okay. This is all going fine so far. Okay.]

It would be a statement piece. For the park. . . . You didn't. We were early.

[Because of the anxiety. And there it is again, a light prickle instead of the arcing static of before, but still: how does he do this? How does he do this without looking like he's never done this before?]

[After a moment, he drifts back to Fugo's side, rests a hand on his shoulder, and . . . fumbles.]

Well, I — I've told both of you about the other, so — Fugo, this is Zelda. My Bonded. And this is Fugo, my [what word did he use? oh yeah] friend. [Nailed it.]

[Nothing else is said about his clothes. But nothing else needs to be said. Fugo, who always watches the people he chooses to follow so closely, can tell by the way Giorno’s mouth tightens that he’s slipped up. That he’s said something unnecessary and frustrating, crossed the murky, uneven line of their relationship. Giorno calls Fugo his friend-- but Fugo is also his follower and his subordinate.

It’s only chance that Girono turns away from him, forgetting his frustration with Fugo in favor of pleasure at the arrival of his Bonded. Fugo can’t break free from the moment as cleanly. He can’t break from it at all. He sits on the edge of the bench, limbs pulled close and tight to his sides, while the two of them share a joke. He feels caught out of time, almost, as the meeting has suddenly begun before he’s ready for it.]

[Zelda will find Fugo a difficult read, beyond that he is tense and wary; he doesn’t relax, even when Giorno comes to rest a hand on his shoulder. His expression is, if anything, detached from the moment. He isn’t scowling, but he isn’t smiling either.]

It’s good to put a face to the name. [The words, at least, come easy. He has nothing he wants to thank his parents for, but between them and his years with Buccellati his brain has plenty of niceties to pick from. Fugo briefly bows his head in greeting, before offering:] Giorno speaks very highly of you.

[It is not the first time she has felt this odd bubble of joy that can only be attributed to her presence, but it remains strange to her all the same, especially now, with tensions high and everyone involved at least a little off balance. She doesn't take the time to properly contemplate it, however, because she senses his awkwardness too. Every single one of them is wearing some form of mask, and putting so much effort into not allowing them to slip.

Speaking of--]

With no small amount of embellishment, I imagine.

[She answers Fugo's comment with modest humor. Fugo, who appears as guarded and distrusting as Giorno himself did several months ago. As he still does sometimes, though she sees it less now when she's physically in his presence. Neither of them have spoken much about their pasts, but she cannot help trying to work out the commonalities between them, now that she has two points to draw together in her mind's eye. It's not a kind picture of their world that her theories paint. But she does not pry.]

Does this venue suit you? I have tea at my own residence if it does not, or we could explore the city a bit before it becomes too cold?

[She... has no idea what she's doing either, but she can pretend and be accommodating...!]

That's the second time you've said that.

[Somewhere between exasperation and good humor, he shifts to lean his weight on the back of the bench, too uncertain about Fugo's tension to keep hands on him at the moment.]

You should know by now, if I've got something negative to say about someone I'll say it plainly.

[So, he's mean. Not right now, but generally. The point, anyway, is that if he'd had anything negative to say about Zelda, she probably wouldn't have qualified for meeting Fugo in the first place, and vice versa. Neither of them will probably believe how much he talked the other up, but that's fine. He more or less expected that.]

[As to the question — hm. His instinct is to go for the first option, because Fugo finds tea calming, but something tells him that making that choice on his own is a bad idea. He glances down to Fugo again.]

I'm fine with either. Fugo, do you have a preference?

[Please have a preference, because otherwise nobody is going anywhere.]

[Well, this is-- awkward.]

[Zelda has made a joke. It directly pokes fun at what should be the safe subject of Giorno's flair for the dramatic. But because it also has the backhand implication that Zelda isn't exactly as wonderful as Giorno has described her, Giorno won't play along. The joke... flops. Should he say something? What about the tea, or the-- ... all that's left is the invitation, which is suddenly on his shoulders.]

Tea-- would be fine. [Fugo stands; the movement is just a bit off, in that it's too stiff to be anything but nervous. As much as he wants to stay still, he finds himself anxiously smoothing down the front of his jacket. At least if they go inside, Giorno will stop nagging about his clothes.] Since it's only going to get colder.

[N... ailed it.]

[The corner of her lip twitches, the only visible sign that betrays the tension she feels. Well, Giorno will know regardless, a charged buzzing sending the Bond vibrating like a tightly strung wire, but it's the thought for appearances that she hopes counts.]

All right, come this way then. It is not too terribly far.

[She gestures the way she came, leading the boys back down the path in the direction of her house. A moment of silence passes as she fidgets with the the tips of her gloves before she decides to try again with a different tactic.]

... I am told you have shown an aptitude for magic since arriving in this city. Have you given any thought as to which schools you may wish to study, if any?

[She's really hoping this is a safe topic because she is quickly running out of ideas on how to make this feel natural.]

[He does feel the staticky tension from Zelda, which is both a good and a bad thing. Bad because it ramps up his own tension; good because it reminds him to keep it hidden, to tamp his own down to make it easier for the other two. He is the common thread here, which means it's his responsibility that this goes well.]

[Ghosting his way to Fugo's left side, leaving Zelda on the right, he slides his hand in the crook of Fugo's elbow. This time, his grip is light and easy to slip out of. He isn't sure if it's the right thing to do, but something tells him that not doing it would be worse, now that it's an established pattern.]

[To Zelda, he does his best to send calm. To share through the Bond that he thinks she's doing well, that it will be all right. He doesn't know if it sends or not, or if it feels like anything but vague good intent. Either way, he doesn't want to answer for Fugo, so for now he'll stay quiet.]

[As they begin the walk to Zelda's home, Giorno moves between them and loosely hooks their arms together. It's-- Fugo isn't sure if comforting is the right word to describe it. Grounding, maybe. It keeps him centered on the here and now. Even if he fucked up earlier, Giorno is still here with him. Still thinks it's worth introducing him to someone who has become central to his life in Aefenglom.]

Abjuration, I suppose. Alchemy. Evocation, if we're stuck here long enough. I have some knowledge and experience with medicine, first aid, and sickness, so it makes sense to build off of that.

[Is that the right choice? Giorno has never mentioned trying to create a spell that could recreate Purple Haze's virus. Not for the first time when thinking of his Stand, Fugo finds himself feeling almost lonely. He never liked Purple Haze, but being separated from it feels wrong.]

[Despite how nervous they all are about all of this, Zelda's expression lightens with Fugo's answer, helped by Giorno's silent reassurance.]

Your friend has sense! [She approves happily, leaning to address Giorno before returning her attention to Fugo.] We recently had a discussion about how it seems very few of our number are interested in devoting their time to such fields, despite their practicality. Admittedly, if there were more hours in a day, I would prefer to specialize in Divination myself, but Abjuration has proved to be useful more often than not in our time here.

[Her tension begins to melt away as she speaks of her studies, comfortable in the more abstract topics of magic and learning. And... utterly oblivious to the concept of Stands, and how it might be weird to wield power outside of that context. They have a point of commonality! That's good, right?]

[Despite himself, Giorno finds himself smiling down at the ground as they walk. He can't help it. The simple pleasure Zelda feels at having someone with appropriate priorities around is exactly what he was hoping for, and expecting. It feels good.]

I told you he did.

[Practically glowing. Horrible. It strikes him, now that he sees them talking, how badly he wanted this exact outcome — because he wants them both to have another friend here.]

He's very good at first aid, [he adds, quiet and subtle, or as subtle as he gets. For this part of the conversation, he really does want to fade into the background.]

[Oddly enough, the one-two combo of Zelda sudden enthusiasm followed up by Giorno's compliment half-startles Fugo's nerves out into the open. What. What? He's not sure he believes Giorno, given that Giorno was witness to the whole... stapler and duct tape situation. With Mista's bullet wounds. He bites the inside of his cheek and resists the urge to blurt something stupid, like admitting he's never been certified or formally trained.]

Results. [Wait, no, that's-- that belongs in the middle of the sentence.] Abjuration-- ... the goal of healing, medical or magical, is to restore or protect the body's status quo. It's not very visible in most circumstances. It requires a lot of knowledge of the body and how it works-- doctors never really stop studying. When it comes to developing a skill, most people would rather approach something that yields results that are easier to measure or show off.

[He pauses, still unsure, before offering this final thought:]

And given the state of conflict, after losing their own abilities, I imagine most people would rather study magic they could use to fight or protect themselves.

[Giorno is satisfied. Perhaps a little too satisfied, really, but it's enough to give her another little boost to her confidence that she's doing well. Fugo clearly isn't soothed in the same way, but there's no need to point that out, right?]

I admit that you do have a point. [Though this is accompanied by a dismissive wave of her hand, so she doesn't think it's that solid of an argument.] It just seems frustratingly short-sighted to me. It is not as though one can wield a sword very well if one is left bleeding out on the ground. Not that I expect every witch to become a medical scholar, but to refuse to even consider learning on the basis of it not being "exciting" enough feels terribly irresponsible.

[AND DON'T EVEN GET HER STARTED ON SHOW OFFS. She shakes her head to clear it before she can get going on that particular rant.]

That is to say... I would be happy to assist you with the basics, should that interest you.

Edited (remember to choose an icon, self) 2019-11-22 20:04 (UTC)

[Look, in fairness to Fugo there, he did ask if Mista would go to the hospital. One can only be as smart as the stupidest wheel allows. Under the circumstances, the duct tape and staple solution was a clever one. According to Giorno, who is biased.]

Not everyone is responsible, unfortunately.

[Quiet and amused.]

And not everyone here has lived through the sorts of dangers we might be used to. The average person might take their own physical safety for granted . . . at least until they'd been here a while.

[During Zelda's rant, the arm that Giorno claimed goes tight and tense with nerves; it slowly relaxes as it becomes clear that Zelda's frustration is directed at the group at large. Honestly, he agrees with her. It is short-sighted to ignore easily accessible medical knowledge, especially given the overall uncertainty of their current environment.]

Even so, you'd think coming here would be a rude awakening. [But that's-- almost neither here nor there, because now there's an offer on the table. Of lessons? Or at least advice.] Anything you have to pass along would be helpful. I'm not-- [He sighs, sounding a little frustrated.] Our world doesn't have magic. I know I can adapt, but the mindset is completely foreign to me.

[Case in point: how can Giorno become a fruit bat. Where does his mass go. Where does his brain go. Don't worry about it, is what Giorno has said, but he can't help but worry about it. Magic doesn't make sense and, oh, he hates it.]

Oh? I thought--

[She glances to Giorno then, seemingly surprised to hear that their world isn't one with magic. He... said he could heal, back home? Is that something he doesn't tell people usually? There's a clear moment of something not clicking right in her mind, but she decides she's probably better off biting her tongue, just in case.

... But now there are two Giorno-adjacent people mildly preoccupied with things that don't make sense.]

It... does take some acclimation, even for those who have wielded magic before. But fortunately this world's systems are... flexible, to an extent. There are many approaches to creating any kind of effect; it will just be a matter of finding the one that comes most naturally to you. I know there is at least one group that crafts illusions through music, for example.

[Oh. She made an assumption, then? A frisson of surprise and then understanding. After some thought, he gives a one-shouldered shrug.]

No magic, no. Other things. I can tell you more later if you'd like. [Although he glances at Fugo. Not about Purple Haze, obviously, but — how much does he hate this idea?]

[He lets out an interested sound, though, at that idea.] That must be so fiddly. Writing a whole, what are they — etude? — for a single illusion. A beautiful idea, though.

[Fugo's ears turn red, embarrassed to be caught in something that's not quite a lie-- but isn't really the truth either. Stands aren't magic. They often defy explanation, but there's nothing magical about them. When did Giorno tell Zelda about them? How much does she know? He bites his cheek and, rather than blurting out any more stupid comments about Stands, forces his thoughts to the other subject of their conversation.]

... you could probably do it the other way around. Create an illusion based on a piece of music that has already been composed. Either way, I suppose that's-- reassuring.

ic inbox ( ǣfenglōm )

10/5ish, backdated

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