[That's so strange. There is so much about the nature of the mirrorbound that's confusing, but something about this sticks in his mind. There are cycles and balance to the bond of witch and monster, so then why are the mirrorbound witches and monsters out of sync like this?]
[He doesn't jump when she touches him, but he does start a little, shoulders going stiff and tight when her static leaches into his form. Startling but not painful. After the first instant of surprise, it feels good, like a shot of long-forgotten sunlight. He's tempted to forget about it, to just take it again if it comes, but that's not . . . responsible.]
[When she almost falls, his iron grip is around her arm before he thinks twice about it. Mortified, he loosens his grip and opens his mouth to apologize when Zelda gets ahead of him and does so herself.]
. . . You need an outlet.
[It comes out quietly, spoken soft and almost deferential — indicative more of his desire not to burn bridges than any true deference, because there's a part of him that believes she'll dart away and leave him behind if he says the wrong thing.]
I don't suppose there's anyone you trust enough for a Bond?
[She winces. Because of his grip, because of her headache, because the noose has finally tightened around her neck and is starting to pull. Some manic part of her does want to run the moment she hears that soft, nearly apologetic tone-- to deny the damnation it heralds until the moment she burns away into nothing like a fallen star. But she knows it to be a selfish wish, and she hasn't been the type to indulge in a very long time.
What you want does not matter. You have to do whatever it takes, in order to survive.
Still, even as she shivers, magic pulsing through her like a heartbeat and ringing in her skull, the words come out bitter, a frustrated joke at the expense of the very reason they enjoy each other's company.]
[It's an unkind thing to say. He recognizes this abstractly, but only abstractly. In practical terms, two words and inflection are enough to make him sigh softly, tired and sympathetic, but not enough to make him bend. To make him let go. It's no knife between his ribs. She'd need to sharpen her words a bit, and even then — nothing she could say about him could be crueler than what he's said to himself from time to time.]
[There is somewhere else he goes when cruelty digs its claws in, his own or other peoples'. He recognizes it lingering in the edges of his consciousness now, but doesn't feel the need for it after all. His own answer surprises him, the truth of it making his eyebrows lift before he even manages to get it out.]
Yes.
[Yes, he does have someone he trusts enough to know all of his ugly secrets. Does he want them known? Certainly not, but — if it must be . . .]
[He knows who he would pick. Absolutely. For once, he doesn't think twice about his answer.]
[Her head whips up to stare at him for a moment that feels like an eternity, blue eyes pained and searching. But no matter how hard she looks, no matter how long the silence stretches between them, she can sense no dishonesty from him, no insincerity.
He trusts her. And something in the hollow of her chest breaks as she realizes the reverse is also true.
She does not cry. She's not been broken down quite enough for that. But she does push her face somewhere into the vicinity of his shoulder, hiding it there as her breathing edges close to sobbing. She stays there for some time, wordlessly wrestling with her frustrating and her grief, mourning the loss of the vision of herself who could handle it all on her own.
All fires lose fuel eventually, however. Her breathing evens out, her muscles lose their tension, and though her voice is strained, she can still push enough force into it to ask:]
[To cry in front of another person . . . it would take a lot, for him. He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to do it. It's been years, certainly. Maybe a decade. Tears are secret weaknesses. That's what they've always had to be.]
[Still. Though they haven't made the Bond yet, it feels in this one way as though they have. He can feel her sorrow and despair heavy in his chest, clutching tight at his heart. His eyes sting wet against the night air, so that he wants to bow his head against the world and hide his expression until he can clear his vulnerability from view.]
[What he's proposing means he won't be able to do that. Zelda will always have access to what he's feeling. The prospect is terrifying. But it's also the only right option that he sees. The only way to keep both of them safe and under control without exposing them to some stranger's naivete or ill will.]
[So, frightened as he is, his fingers still slide from her arm down to her hand, tentative and cautious as he loosely laces their fingers together. While she grieves, and he supports her. Not because she needs it, but because she's asked for it, words or no words. His palm is cold, his fingers colder — but he's there, until or unless she pushes him away.]
[When she speaks, he realizes that she's asking for something else: that he lead the way, at least to start. Which should feel natural but doesn't, not when it comes to something like this.]
We'll . . . need to go to the Coven, won't we? For the ceremony.
[His fingers are cold, but her grip on them becomes tight as he slips them between her own, holding it with a desperate strength that almost seems at odds with her slight frame as magical energy courses through the point of contact, unbidden. She cannot run from this, nor can she hide, and in the absence of those two familiar options, the lonely part of her that has resented living in a world where she must constantly look over her shoulder is... grateful, for this quiet support. Even if many other parts of her hate the fact that it's necessary.
She doesn't want to go to the Coven, she thinks for once as she lifts her head, a wave of exhaustion washing over her as her grief quiets into something more resigned. But there's no other choice.]
... Do you want to walk? I can warp us there, if we would prefer to do this quickly.
[The whole reason she's in this situation is because she was trying to observe Aefenglom's customs and not use magic during a holiday, but... fuck it. Just, fuck it.]
[The pulse of magic through their point of bare skin contact feels so strange. Not bad strange, but strange all the same, as though she's pushing the magic straight through his skin and into his soul. It feels warm and safe and comforting, but alien.]
[Will that become more normal? Easier, as he gets used to the Bond? Or will it always feel odd? Is this getting ahead of himself? Should he — listen to what Zelda's saying, maybe—]
It — might be a good idea to warp there, honestly.
[Not because he wants to get it over with, particularly, but for the simple fact that Zelda doesn't feel well, and he'd like to reduce the amount of time she has to not feel well. Customs can get fucked. Zelda's comfort is at the absolute top of his priority list.]
If you're willing to take us, then I trust you. [Again. Just as true as it was a few moments ago.] Do what you need to do.
[A hum of assent as she remembers, faintly, that they've talked about this before-- teleporting, and the terrifying side effects overuse of that kind of magic can produce. It's important, that he's trusting her with this, she recognizes just as faintly, but she just feels so miserable that it goes without comment or further contemplation.
She pulls his hand close, fingers still laced together, and bows her head. She hums a brief, bright little melody, and in the next moment, they are weightless, floating in some blank white void that swallows their vision for just a second or two. And in the moment after that, they're at the footsteps of the Coven, surprisingly quiet with much of the students and faculty out on the town for the holiday. Zelda sways again, that tiny bit of released pressure enough to be dizzying, and grips Giorno's arm once more to steady herself.]
The, ah... The chamber is downstairs, I believe. [...] They'll... want us each to say something...
[A warning, sort of. She can't be sure of how well acquainted Giorno is with the whole... process. But she's also fishing for his opinion, terrified as she is. How important are they going to consider these "vows" to be? Eloquence is probably not her strong suit at the moment...]
[His hand goes painfully tight around hers as the light goes white. He doesn’t pull away, because he’s no fool; because no matter what instinct wants to tell him, he knows that there is nowhere safer right now than at Zelda’s side. Even if by her side is, in this case, for this moment, floating in this horrible void.]
[The moment passes more quickly than he expects it to, and he shivers out a sigh before remembering to loosen his grip on her hand. He doesn’t let go, though. At this point, he won’t until he’s asked to. He rests his other hand over hers as she reaches to steady herself on his arm.]
To say something . . . ?
[He remembers, yes. But it’s not the sort of thing he ever put any active thought into. What would he have done that for? Who would he have thought up practice vows for? Just her. Except he never did, because they were both in denial.]
About what our Bond will mean, and what we mean to each other, if I remember right. Mm. [After a moment’s thought, he quirks a faint smile at her, more confident than he feels.] I think we can do that. It doesn’t have to be long, does it? It’s not anyone’s business but ours.
[At this point, she wonders if she would even be able to stand on her own if she were to allow his hand to slip through her fingers. It certainly doesn't feel like it. Her legs feel too heavy as she forces each one forward towards the ceremony chamber.
His words offer her some comfort, however, and it shows in the slight slackening of her shoulders. Perhaps she would recognize the front he's putting up if she hadn't waited until the last second to go through with this, but at the moment that facade of confidence in his reassurance is like a balm to her frayed nerves. She doesn't match his smile - that's another thing she feels like she can't do at the moment - but her lips waver in a way that suggests she might've, if the situation were different.]
I would... appreciate that. If it isn't long. I fear I do not know how eloquent I can be at the moment; I... did not want you to hold it against me if I cannot come up with some masterful prose at the last second.
[Of course, the standards she holds herself to are miles higher than just about anyone else would consider reasonable, and Giorno likely doesn't necessarily need the insight offered by the Bond to see that, but, you know. There are only so many boundaries one can push against in a single night.]
[His smile doesn’t fade, exactly. Goes more thoughtful, perhaps, more complicated. But it does stay as he considers her words, as he supports her on their way to the basement. There is only so long Zelda can stay upright, he knows, so it’s important to keep moving — but just as important, maybe, to comfort her in the way that she needs. In the way that she’s so carefully asking for.]
[After a few pensive moments, he shakes his head.]
I won’t hold it against you, of course. But more than that, I don’t think either of us need . . . masterful prose. Do we? Not when we know.
[Know . . . Oh, there’s so much. He hums quietly, eyes on the movements of their feet, and makes sure his hip is aligned with Zelda’s, his shoulder with hers; that she can fall on him easily if she needs to.]
That you’re willing to do this with me at all . . . that says all that needs to be said. No speech can articulate that more clearly than we already know.
[Hm, he thinks. He's never seen her blush before. It's cute. With a slightly amused wrinkle of the corners of his eyes that might imply a smile, he nods.]
I can understand the need to acquiesce to someone with a strong personality. [Without a trace of irony.] It suits you, though. Understated and bold both suit you.
[You're biased. The phrase sits upon the tip of her tongue, put there by impulse as instinctual as breathing. But in the moment between thinking it and giving it voice, she recalls the last time she accused him of being such, and how he didn't very much appreciate it.
The corners of her lips twitch a bit, betraying her struggle - she does still think he's biased, but she manages to say instead:]
Thank you.
[And then:]
I do not know. Do you mind having your feet stepped upon?
[His laugh gets a little laugh out of her in turn, like for a moment they're not all the things weighing down upon them and instead are just two kids having a fun night out.]
I suppose I cannot very well object if that is the case. [Package deals and all that. She takes the offered hand.] Just... do not spin me out too far, else someone else receives the honor of the Princess of Hyrule stepping upon their toes.
[It is a privilege reserved solely for him, if that's what he's going to make it sound like.]
[Her hand is warm in his. His is cold, but his heart is warm across the Bond, sweet and soft as fresh-baked pastry. When he pulls her to him, deliberately a little faster than she probably counted on, he looks entirely unrepentant.]
Whoops. [Wow!] You're right. I'd prefer to enjoy your company uninterrupted. I'll spin you in a very small radius.
[Although they have to actually get out to the dance floor first. Resting one hand on her waist, he turns them in a half-circle and gets to the business of leading.]
[It's certainly unusual, this fuzziness she feels in the back of her mind, but she supposes it's an effect of the party, the wine she's seen him sneak from the bar, and the fact that they haven't had many reasons to feel safe and happy in Aefenglom. She doesn't get much time to contemplate it anyway, as she finds herself nearly tripping as he pulls her close, wearing a face like a cat that's just knocked something vaguely important off a counter.
She yelps a little, hand landing heavily upon his shoulder to catch herself, and then just... narrows her eyes, put out in a way that has absolutely no bite behind it.]
You have me simply bursting with confidence and security.
[Even so, the hand at her waist sends a tiny shiver up her spine, little electric flutters that she chalks up to still getting used to this whole physical contact thing. She glances down at her very sparkly shoes, and watches to make sure she doesn't trip either of them up as Giorno begins.]
[Zelda is funny in that way, how she will occasionally jab him with absolutely stingless venom. It puzzles him, sometimes, but . . . in this moment, he thinks he's actually beginning to make sense of it. She's playing. Isn't she? Because he would do the same thing. Does do the same thing, once he becomes comfortable enough to be anything but stoic and cold with someone — although in this case, he seems to be the one to tease, and Zelda is the one to pretend to be offended.]
[Have they really known each other long enough to have a way about them, a pattern? Objectively they have. Subjectively it feels as though they just met, or as though he's known her for decades. Which is how he feels about everyone he cares about, he supposes.]
[There's no conclusive evidence that he's registered her reaction to his touch. A moment of hyperfocus, perhaps, his eyes looking somewhere else for a little while as he makes note of this new thing coming through the Bond. And within the Bond itself, there's only . . . a hum, curious and acknowledging, but nothing more than that. When he goes to meet her eyes again, she's looking at her shoes.]
. . . I do aim to.
[Make her feel secure, and all that. He drums his fingers along her waist, to make her jump or to remind himself that she is really permitting him to be here. His lead is gentle, though, a careful tempo, never too quick for her to keep up.]
[Ironically, her mind is empty of such considerations, for once. Later, perhaps, when she is staring at the ceiling and trying to will her mind to succumb to sleep, she'll wonder why her nerves were so much lesser while dancing with Giorno over the other guests that have asked for her untrained hand. Or maybe she'll content herself with more excuses, lacking the courage to peer into the unknown depths that follow those thoughts.
For now, though, she's laser focused upon her feet, and not tripping over them. Her steps are half a beat off, which she notices, and the muscles of her back flex and twitch against his fidgeting fingers, which she doesn't.]
Oh? [Her eyes flick up then.] Because you also believe I do not take enough time to "relax," or for another reason?
[She's had enough people prod her about the former, at least.]
[He’s always been desperately attuned to body language, but something about vampirism makes it worse — or better, depending on one’s perspective. Something about the Bond, too. Or maybe it’s just Zelda. Either way, he feels hyperaware of her every response to his movements. Part of him painfully wishes to understand why. The rest of him patiently requests that part to shut up.]
[Her question makes him huff out a laugh, anyway. That’s what matters, he thinks, and drums a pattern closer to the beat.]
Because I’m happy to see you.
[Hm. Is that entirely honest? A turn to the swell of the orchestra, and he revises.]
I don’t know if you take enough time to relax. I just know I don’t get to do this sort of thing with you much. Just— [A one-shouldered shrug.] Fun. I’m glad to have the opportunity.
Really. That's a new one on me. I haven't actually spoken to anyone who has experience with chimera (chimerae?) in their worlds. Vampires yes, werewolves yes, chimeras no.
[Should he ask Caren and Kaede? That seems pretty personal. Hey, how many genetic codes do you have?]
Were all of those from transplants, or were there any cases of natural chimerism?
[Unfortunately, Giorno actually goes a little pensive at that particular split hair. He's on the verge of agreeing with it — it is important information to know — when his eating habits are unfairly critiqued.]
[His eyes narrow.]
Have you ever heard of a payara? [No one has heard of a payara, Giorno.]
... is this going to turn into a complex defense for what should be a minor issue? [ Just so he knows ahead of time, though his shoulders sink as he relents. ]
[Well, there are worse things to do when you're feeling sorry for yourself, he supposes. He's more startled by the honesty than anything, but then some people just say what they're feeling as they feel it. The rare breed. The end result is a free drink and he isn't mad about it.]
Well, thank you, then. [He considers a toast to self-pity, but that is too much of a dick move even for him, so he proceeds to sniff the drink to ascertain its alcohol-and-other-stuff level. These festivals are so unpredictable.]
[On the question, he glances up over the edge of the cup, eyes wide and innocent.]
Me? [Squatting down, he offers the cat his knuckles to sniff.] I don't remember. Is she yours? Kisse-katt?
[The sounds are both clumsy and sort of familiar in an I-heard-it-in-an-airport-once kind of way. Not that he can place it. A life of rounded vowels only for this one.]
[Emil shrugs, expression a little sheepish still, but at least the guy takes the cup from him, watches him sniff at it.]
I haven't poisoned it or anything, which I only say because I've been accused of it already this evening. Well, not accused, but had it suggested that I might. Anyway, I'm just giving it away because it would probably be stupid of me to get wasted in a strange new place while separated from my friends, right?
[Glancing back down to watch the cat continuing to snack on disgusting fish bits, Emil blinks when the other guy says that he can't remember if he brought them.]
Well, if you did, you're her new best friend. She loves fish. And, yes, I suppose she is.
[The way he says her name sounds like "kiss-cat" and it's kind of cute, he can't help but smile.]
You could call her Kiss if you like. I rescued her from the Silent World when she was just a kitten, and we nursed her back to health after her mother passed. So she sort of belongs to me and Sigrun and the rest of the group I was out on an expedition with, though she mostly sticks with Sigrun - she's my commanding officer. In this place, I'm her only person from home, though. And she's mine.
[Is it rude to say that someone doesn’t look like the poisoning type? Probably not, but he still hesitates and decides against it in the end. There’s something in this person that strikes Giorno as a little too gentle for random poisonings on the first night in a new world — but then again, you never know.]
I wasn’t worried about you poisoning me, anyway. Sometimes these things get spikes. [Still, he’s comfortable enough with it, since he goes ahead and drinks. It’s warming. Better because he didn’t have to pay for it, naturally.]
[It’s easy to trust someone who speaks about a little cat with so much affection. Considers her a person, a comrade, even. Easy to smile, too, as he watches her make a fishy mess.]
Well, I could, but I want to say it right if that’s not her name . . . No one will want to kiss her for a little while after this, either. Fish breath. [Hm. He taps his nails against his cup, thoughtful, and cocks his head at Emil.] I’m glad you have her, at least. The first little while here is hard if you’re alone. Especially if your world is very different from this one.
[Which, well, he has to imagine it is. He’s never heard of anything even remotely like a “silent world”.]
Thank you. The only guns they have here are the kind you have to reload between each shot. It's very annoying.
[And he's not going to elaborate on that, either, but trust and believe that it does genuinely annoy him. He needed a decent gun last month and he didn't have one! Did he make it work, yes, was it obnoxious, also yes.]
Exactly. Hence taciturn. I'm not sure what others. "Tall" probably wouldn't count. [Although tall is a thing that Juza is. Giorno completely missed out on the tall genes.] Straightforward . . . ? That's a dangerous thing to assume about someone, but you could just lie.
[This man thinks Juza is actually part of the mafia and on one hand, props to their designer, but on the other, he's not sure what he's supposed to say to tell him that, no, this is literally just a stage costume. Would he think he was insulting gangs? Uh. Hm. He can't see a good way out of this, so he just nods.
Yep. Cool. Love learning about guns. Juza's definitely the kinda guy who just... carries those around.]
... I'll take "Taciturn." Dunno about straightforward.
[Even as he stares, he knows he's being rude. But he has to stare, genuinely, to make sure he's not going insane. This young woman looks like Zelda in all the ways he can think of, and yet looking at her as a whole, she isn't quite right. All the features are so similar as to be nearly identical, but looking at her as a whole person, she just isn't his Zelda.]
[And yet her name is Zelda? What the fuck is happening.]
I. What?
[Brilliant. Stellar. Amazing. He shakes his head.]
I don't think we have met. I mistook you for someone else. [Who also . . . has her name . . . This is so stupid.] I'm sorry, your name is Zelda? You didn't mishear me?
[ There's a lot to take in, admittedly. The most notable thing about this particular Zelda is how much rounder her face is. Baby fat in her cheeks, mostly. But her ears, too, might be a touch longer, droopier, surely they've got to be a problem at times? ]
I could never mishear my own name. It is what I was given.
[ Her tone is simple, forward, matter-of-factly. Her name isn't, admittedly, that common. What is common, however, is the passing down of this name. It's not a stretch to imagine a family member might be around. But with that, he confirms what he says; if he knew who Zelda was, he wouldn't be confused. ]
I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule, so named after the many other Princesses in my bloodline. [ They stopped counting sometime ago, you know? ]
[At this, he goes still, the confusion in his expression clearly dissipating. Now he’s processing. There are obvious curiosities, of course. The simple impracticality of naming so many princesses Zelda — but that’s not his business. The impossibility of determining the span of time between this Zelda and his own. Is she a descendent or ancestor?]
[Is that actually his business? No, of course not, but . . .]
[Is there any possibility that she might be a threat? Some shadow passes over his eyes, only mildly mitigated by the fact that she was just scrabbling in the dirt for a bauble.]
. . . We’re collecting you, then. Princesses Zelda. That’s very curious. [Was his Zelda not perfectly sufficient, when she is objectively the best one? He’s not biased.] I wonder what the royal protocol is for a situation like this.
[This would be a good point for Giorno to mention that he has already tried the hot chocolate. Because he has, absolutely. He has a belly full of hot chocolate keeping him as warm as it is possible for a vampire on a chilly night to be. But if he points this out, he won't get any more hot chocolate.]
[The choice is obvious. The con is too easy. Plus, it's really good hot chocolate. With a clearly exaggerated sigh, he plucks the cup from her hands and takes a restrained sip.]
. . . Hm.
[Okay, no, he's genuinely conflicted.]
It's very good. But not in all contexts. At best it's equally as good as pudding cups, not better than, but even then only on a night like tonight when it's very cold. Whereas pudding cups are good in all climates.
[Immediately, and stupidly, Giorno takes them off. His goal is to inspect them for any issues — is the frame broken? Is the lens cracked in some way he hasn't seen? It seems unlikely, but at the same time, this small girl does seem very genuinely confused.]
[Of course, as soon as he takes them off, the sun winks over a building just enough to make his eyes burn. He hisses and shoves them back on.]
Um — I don't think so. [He's still squinting one eye, which is watering. What an idiot.] Do they look like there's something wrong with them?
[Oh, she just means the decoration. His instinct is to take them off again and look at it himself, despite the fact that he knows what’s there, but he resists. He really doesn’t want the sun to stab him in the eye again. His ears twitch with the effort of not doing it, though.]
The sunglasses they have in this city aren’t like what I’m used to. [Here, there is no Gucci.] I just found some I thought were interesting-looking. They’re strange, aren’t they? With the fabric on the side.
[He doesn’t seem perturbed by the observation. He likes that they’re weird. He doesn’t like his vulnerability to the sun, but what’s he going to do, lie to this baby? No.]
I’m fine. The sun hurts my eyes, even this little sun. But it’s not permanently damaging. [At least, not yet. He gives her a thoughtful look through his glasses.] You’re that worried about strangers after showing up in a strange world yourself?
Sun...glasses.... [It's apparent from her tone that she's never heard the word before.] Then the coloured glass stops the sun from hurting your eyes, and the fabric is just to look interesting?
[With that mystery solved, she turns to his other question. Her tone isn't really much less puzzled by this than by the unheard of sunglasses.]
Why wouldn't I be worried? It looked like you were in pain.
That's right. [He hesitates only for a moment before admitting,] My eyes are very sensitive, so I have to wear these even when there isn't much light, unfortunately. Is this the first time you've heard of sunglasses? They're very useful.
[She must be from the past. Or some world without sunglasses, which is a very specific thing for a world not to have.]
You don’t know me. A lot of people wouldn’t ask that about someone they don’t know, especially with a lot on their mind.
[It's a very optimistic thing to say, but then again, it's probably just making conversation. The situation is a little awkward. Just shoving people together to haphazardly magic at each other is pretty high-stakes social roulette.]
[Oh, well. It'll probably be fine. He's already died, so what does he have to lose, really.]
It's a pleasure, Akechi. I'm Giorno. I hope we work well together.
[That's how humans talk, probably. He picks up the battery and examines it, turning it one way and the other.]
Funny. It really does look . . . just like a large battery. You can put magic into this?
[Straightening up, Giorno pushes himself off the wall and cocks his head.]
What, do you think the mirrors were an isolated incident? There's plenty they're not telling you at the outset. I couldn't tell you what the motive is, but it's true. The rules of magic aren't very well-defined.
Why, do you have something you don't want Nessie to hear? [It's a joke. But a very tired one.]
[His frown deepens for a bare moment; he was really hoping he was wrong about the mirrors. Then he lets it relax into something that approximates a smirk instead.]
Sure, don't you?
[Everyone's got secrets. Defensiveness lets people hone in toward those spots you don't want people to see, but going with the flow of a conversation lets you misdirect. He hums, letting his crossed arms lightly drop as he leans one against his hip.]
Sounds like you're pretty familiar with them. Normally, I'd offer to buy lunch and talk about these things they haven't told me yet, but I'm not exactly loaded with money at the moment. Maybe I can owe you one?
[That could be a dangerous thing to offer. But for now, the Coven are the greater unknown. It's a calculated risk. Here's hoping he's not bad at math (this time).]
[He registers this, even if distantly, as he stares at Bruno and unwillingly absorbs his absolution. This angers him, at least in the abstract, because he knows that it’s wrong. There’s plenty he needs to be forgiven for. The fact that he understands why Bruno doesn’t feel that way is a sign of something in Bruno that refuses to be upset on his own behalf, not an indication that he’s done nothing wrong.]
[He’s done a lot wrong.]
[Still. His shoulders sag. It would be easy to just accept it. Maybe he should; maybe that would be the most peaceable solution. Instead he shakes his head.]
There is. But I can’t make you see that, and even if I could it would . . . just disturb you. Wouldn’t it.
[Bruno’s peace. What he’s found beyond the veil. This gratitude that it hurts Giorno’s mind to even contemplate. What peace is there in dying? Even dying for a cause. Especially dying for a cause.]
I should have started this conversation differently. [He should. Smile, probably. Say something pleasant. Genteel. Kind. Be don. Show Bruno he wasn’t wrong to trust in him. But he doesn’t know what the right thing is.]
[Oh. There’s one thing. It isn’t even a lie, which makes him laugh as he says it.] It’s good to see you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
8/19. zelda. new moon.
[He doesn't jump when she touches him, but he does start a little, shoulders going stiff and tight when her static leaches into his form. Startling but not painful. After the first instant of surprise, it feels good, like a shot of long-forgotten sunlight. He's tempted to forget about it, to just take it again if it comes, but that's not . . . responsible.]
[When she almost falls, his iron grip is around her arm before he thinks twice about it. Mortified, he loosens his grip and opens his mouth to apologize when Zelda gets ahead of him and does so herself.]
. . . You need an outlet.
[It comes out quietly, spoken soft and almost deferential — indicative more of his desire not to burn bridges than any true deference, because there's a part of him that believes she'll dart away and leave him behind if he says the wrong thing.]
I don't suppose there's anyone you trust enough for a Bond?
no subject
What you want does not matter. You have to do whatever it takes, in order to survive.
Still, even as she shivers, magic pulsing through her like a heartbeat and ringing in her skull, the words come out bitter, a frustrated joke at the expense of the very reason they enjoy each other's company.]
... Do you?
no subject
[There is somewhere else he goes when cruelty digs its claws in, his own or other peoples'. He recognizes it lingering in the edges of his consciousness now, but doesn't feel the need for it after all. His own answer surprises him, the truth of it making his eyebrows lift before he even manages to get it out.]
Yes.
[Yes, he does have someone he trusts enough to know all of his ugly secrets. Does he want them known? Certainly not, but — if it must be . . .]
[He knows who he would pick. Absolutely. For once, he doesn't think twice about his answer.]
I trust you.
no subject
He trusts her. And something in the hollow of her chest breaks as she realizes the reverse is also true.
She does not cry. She's not been broken down quite enough for that. But she does push her face somewhere into the vicinity of his shoulder, hiding it there as her breathing edges close to sobbing. She stays there for some time, wordlessly wrestling with her frustrating and her grief, mourning the loss of the vision of herself who could handle it all on her own.
All fires lose fuel eventually, however. Her breathing evens out, her muscles lose their tension, and though her voice is strained, she can still push enough force into it to ask:]
How... should we do this, then?
no subject
[Still. Though they haven't made the Bond yet, it feels in this one way as though they have. He can feel her sorrow and despair heavy in his chest, clutching tight at his heart. His eyes sting wet against the night air, so that he wants to bow his head against the world and hide his expression until he can clear his vulnerability from view.]
[What he's proposing means he won't be able to do that. Zelda will always have access to what he's feeling. The prospect is terrifying. But it's also the only right option that he sees. The only way to keep both of them safe and under control without exposing them to some stranger's naivete or ill will.]
[So, frightened as he is, his fingers still slide from her arm down to her hand, tentative and cautious as he loosely laces their fingers together. While she grieves, and he supports her. Not because she needs it, but because she's asked for it, words or no words. His palm is cold, his fingers colder — but he's there, until or unless she pushes him away.]
[When she speaks, he realizes that she's asking for something else: that he lead the way, at least to start. Which should feel natural but doesn't, not when it comes to something like this.]
We'll . . . need to go to the Coven, won't we? For the ceremony.
no subject
She doesn't want to go to the Coven, she thinks for once as she lifts her head, a wave of exhaustion washing over her as her grief quiets into something more resigned. But there's no other choice.]
... Do you want to walk? I can warp us there, if we would prefer to do this quickly.
[The whole reason she's in this situation is because she was trying to observe Aefenglom's customs and not use magic during a holiday, but... fuck it. Just, fuck it.]
no subject
[Will that become more normal? Easier, as he gets used to the Bond? Or will it always feel odd? Is this getting ahead of himself? Should he — listen to what Zelda's saying, maybe—]
It — might be a good idea to warp there, honestly.
[Not because he wants to get it over with, particularly, but for the simple fact that Zelda doesn't feel well, and he'd like to reduce the amount of time she has to not feel well. Customs can get fucked. Zelda's comfort is at the absolute top of his priority list.]
If you're willing to take us, then I trust you. [Again. Just as true as it was a few moments ago.] Do what you need to do.
no subject
[A hum of assent as she remembers, faintly, that they've talked about this before-- teleporting, and the terrifying side effects overuse of that kind of magic can produce. It's important, that he's trusting her with this, she recognizes just as faintly, but she just feels so miserable that it goes without comment or further contemplation.
She pulls his hand close, fingers still laced together, and bows her head. She hums a brief, bright little melody, and in the next moment, they are weightless, floating in some blank white void that swallows their vision for just a second or two. And in the moment after that, they're at the footsteps of the Coven, surprisingly quiet with much of the students and faculty out on the town for the holiday. Zelda sways again, that tiny bit of released pressure enough to be dizzying, and grips Giorno's arm once more to steady herself.]
The, ah... The chamber is downstairs, I believe. [...] They'll... want us each to say something...
[A warning, sort of. She can't be sure of how well acquainted Giorno is with the whole... process. But she's also fishing for his opinion, terrified as she is. How important are they going to consider these "vows" to be? Eloquence is probably not her strong suit at the moment...]
no subject
[The moment passes more quickly than he expects it to, and he shivers out a sigh before remembering to loosen his grip on her hand. He doesn’t let go, though. At this point, he won’t until he’s asked to. He rests his other hand over hers as she reaches to steady herself on his arm.]
To say something . . . ?
[He remembers, yes. But it’s not the sort of thing he ever put any active thought into. What would he have done that for? Who would he have thought up practice vows for? Just her. Except he never did, because they were both in denial.]
About what our Bond will mean, and what we mean to each other, if I remember right. Mm. [After a moment’s thought, he quirks a faint smile at her, more confident than he feels.] I think we can do that. It doesn’t have to be long, does it? It’s not anyone’s business but ours.
no subject
His words offer her some comfort, however, and it shows in the slight slackening of her shoulders. Perhaps she would recognize the front he's putting up if she hadn't waited until the last second to go through with this, but at the moment that facade of confidence in his reassurance is like a balm to her frayed nerves. She doesn't match his smile - that's another thing she feels like she can't do at the moment - but her lips waver in a way that suggests she might've, if the situation were different.]
I would... appreciate that. If it isn't long. I fear I do not know how eloquent I can be at the moment; I... did not want you to hold it against me if I cannot come up with some masterful prose at the last second.
[Of course, the standards she holds herself to are miles higher than just about anyone else would consider reasonable, and Giorno likely doesn't necessarily need the insight offered by the Bond to see that, but, you know. There are only so many boundaries one can push against in a single night.]
no subject
[After a few pensive moments, he shakes his head.]
I won’t hold it against you, of course. But more than that, I don’t think either of us need . . . masterful prose. Do we? Not when we know.
[Know . . . Oh, there’s so much. He hums quietly, eyes on the movements of their feet, and makes sure his hip is aligned with Zelda’s, his shoulder with hers; that she can fall on him easily if she needs to.]
That you’re willing to do this with me at all . . . that says all that needs to be said. No speech can articulate that more clearly than we already know.
11/8; masquerade
I can understand the need to acquiesce to someone with a strong personality. [Without a trace of irony.] It suits you, though. Understated and bold both suit you.
Are you going to dance with me?
no subject
The corners of her lips twitch a bit, betraying her struggle - she does still think he's biased, but she manages to say instead:]
Thank you.
[And then:]
I do not know. Do you mind having your feet stepped upon?
no subject
I'd be honored if you'd step on my feet, Your Highness.
[Even if she did, it'd probably be a graceful and charming foot-stomping. It seems like she kind of can't help it.]
Do you mind being spun once or twice? It comes as part of the package. [Because spinning is dramatic, and fun. He holds his hand out to her. Deal?]
no subject
I suppose I cannot very well object if that is the case. [Package deals and all that. She takes the offered hand.] Just... do not spin me out too far, else someone else receives the honor of the Princess of Hyrule stepping upon their toes.
[It is a privilege reserved solely for him, if that's what he's going to make it sound like.]
no subject
Whoops. [Wow!] You're right. I'd prefer to enjoy your company uninterrupted. I'll spin you in a very small radius.
[Although they have to actually get out to the dance floor first. Resting one hand on her waist, he turns them in a half-circle and gets to the business of leading.]
no subject
She yelps a little, hand landing heavily upon his shoulder to catch herself, and then just... narrows her eyes, put out in a way that has absolutely no bite behind it.]
You have me simply bursting with confidence and security.
[Even so, the hand at her waist sends a tiny shiver up her spine, little electric flutters that she chalks up to still getting used to this whole physical contact thing. She glances down at her very sparkly shoes, and watches to make sure she doesn't trip either of them up as Giorno begins.]
no subject
[Have they really known each other long enough to have a way about them, a pattern? Objectively they have. Subjectively it feels as though they just met, or as though he's known her for decades. Which is how he feels about everyone he cares about, he supposes.]
[There's no conclusive evidence that he's registered her reaction to his touch. A moment of hyperfocus, perhaps, his eyes looking somewhere else for a little while as he makes note of this new thing coming through the Bond. And within the Bond itself, there's only . . . a hum, curious and acknowledging, but nothing more than that. When he goes to meet her eyes again, she's looking at her shoes.]
. . . I do aim to.
[Make her feel secure, and all that. He drums his fingers along her waist, to make her jump or to remind himself that she is really permitting him to be here. His lead is gentle, though, a careful tempo, never too quick for her to keep up.]
I'm glad you came, you know.
no subject
For now, though, she's laser focused upon her feet, and not tripping over them. Her steps are half a beat off, which she notices, and the muscles of her back flex and twitch against his fidgeting fingers, which she doesn't.]
Oh? [Her eyes flick up then.] Because you also believe I do not take enough time to "relax," or for another reason?
[She's had enough people prod her about the former, at least.]
no subject
[Her question makes him huff out a laugh, anyway. That’s what matters, he thinks, and drums a pattern closer to the beat.]
Because I’m happy to see you.
[Hm. Is that entirely honest? A turn to the swell of the orchestra, and he revises.]
I don’t know if you take enough time to relax. I just know I don’t get to do this sort of thing with you much. Just— [A one-shouldered shrug.] Fun. I’m glad to have the opportunity.
february 2020 intro log.
stiles.
[don't be a jojo, man.]
Really. That's a new one on me. I haven't actually spoken to anyone who has experience with chimera (chimerae?) in their worlds. Vampires yes, werewolves yes, chimeras no.
[Should he ask Caren and Kaede? That seems pretty personal. Hey, how many genetic codes do you have?]
Were all of those from transplants, or were there any cases of natural chimerism?
no subject
[ Unbeknownst to him, one is a natural chimera. But that’s a plot point he hasn’t experienced yet. ]
I’ll keep asking some of the other Chimeras here. I’m not ready to give up on the possible connection yet.
sasookay
[Unfortunately, Giorno actually goes a little pensive at that particular split hair. He's on the verge of agreeing with it — it is important information to know — when his eating habits are unfairly critiqued.]
[His eyes narrow.]
Have you ever heard of a payara? [No one has heard of a payara, Giorno.]
no subject
No. I haven't.
emil.
Oh.
[Well, there are worse things to do when you're feeling sorry for yourself, he supposes. He's more startled by the honesty than anything, but then some people just say what they're feeling as they feel it. The rare breed. The end result is a free drink and he isn't mad about it.]
Well, thank you, then. [He considers a toast to self-pity, but that is too much of a dick move even for him, so he proceeds to sniff the drink to ascertain its alcohol-and-other-stuff level. These festivals are so unpredictable.]
[On the question, he glances up over the edge of the cup, eyes wide and innocent.]
Me? [Squatting down, he offers the cat his knuckles to sniff.] I don't remember. Is she yours? Kisse-katt?
[The sounds are both clumsy and sort of familiar in an I-heard-it-in-an-airport-once kind of way. Not that he can place it. A life of rounded vowels only for this one.]
no subject
I haven't poisoned it or anything, which I only say because I've been accused of it already this evening. Well, not accused, but had it suggested that I might. Anyway, I'm just giving it away because it would probably be stupid of me to get wasted in a strange new place while separated from my friends, right?
[Glancing back down to watch the cat continuing to snack on disgusting fish bits, Emil blinks when the other guy says that he can't remember if he brought them.]
Well, if you did, you're her new best friend. She loves fish. And, yes, I suppose she is.
[The way he says her name sounds like "kiss-cat" and it's kind of cute, he can't help but smile.]
You could call her Kiss if you like. I rescued her from the Silent World when she was just a kitten, and we nursed her back to health after her mother passed. So she sort of belongs to me and Sigrun and the rest of the group I was out on an expedition with, though she mostly sticks with Sigrun - she's my commanding officer. In this place, I'm her only person from home, though. And she's mine.
no subject
[Is it rude to say that someone doesn’t look like the poisoning type? Probably not, but he still hesitates and decides against it in the end. There’s something in this person that strikes Giorno as a little too gentle for random poisonings on the first night in a new world — but then again, you never know.]
I wasn’t worried about you poisoning me, anyway. Sometimes these things get spikes. [Still, he’s comfortable enough with it, since he goes ahead and drinks. It’s warming. Better because he didn’t have to pay for it, naturally.]
[It’s easy to trust someone who speaks about a little cat with so much affection. Considers her a person, a comrade, even. Easy to smile, too, as he watches her make a fishy mess.]
Well, I could, but I want to say it right if that’s not her name . . . No one will want to kiss her for a little while after this, either. Fish breath. [Hm. He taps his nails against his cup, thoughtful, and cocks his head at Emil.] I’m glad you have her, at least. The first little while here is hard if you’re alone. Especially if your world is very different from this one.
[Which, well, he has to imagine it is. He’s never heard of anything even remotely like a “silent world”.]
juza.
Thank you. The only guns they have here are the kind you have to reload between each shot. It's very annoying.
[And he's not going to elaborate on that, either, but trust and believe that it does genuinely annoy him. He needed a decent gun last month and he didn't have one! Did he make it work, yes, was it obnoxious, also yes.]
Exactly. Hence taciturn. I'm not sure what others. "Tall" probably wouldn't count. [Although tall is a thing that Juza is. Giorno completely missed out on the tall genes.] Straightforward . . . ? That's a dangerous thing to assume about someone, but you could just lie.
no subject
Yep. Cool. Love learning about guns. Juza's definitely the kinda guy who just... carries those around.]
... I'll take "Taciturn." Dunno about straightforward.
2elda.
[. . . Wait. No, this isn't right. Is it?]
[Even as he stares, he knows he's being rude. But he has to stare, genuinely, to make sure he's not going insane. This young woman looks like Zelda in all the ways he can think of, and yet looking at her as a whole, she isn't quite right. All the features are so similar as to be nearly identical, but looking at her as a whole person, she just isn't his Zelda.]
[And yet her name is Zelda? What the fuck is happening.]
I. What?
[Brilliant. Stellar. Amazing. He shakes his head.]
I don't think we have met. I mistook you for someone else. [Who also . . . has her name . . . This is so stupid.] I'm sorry, your name is Zelda? You didn't mishear me?
no subject
I could never mishear my own name. It is what I was given.
[ Her tone is simple, forward, matter-of-factly. Her name isn't, admittedly, that common. What is common, however, is the passing down of this name. It's not a stretch to imagine a family member might be around. But with that, he confirms what he says; if he knew who Zelda was, he wouldn't be confused. ]
I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule, so named after the many other Princesses in my bloodline. [ They stopped counting sometime ago, you know? ]
no subject
[At this, he goes still, the confusion in his expression clearly dissipating. Now he’s processing. There are obvious curiosities, of course. The simple impracticality of naming so many princesses Zelda — but that’s not his business. The impossibility of determining the span of time between this Zelda and his own. Is she a descendent or ancestor?]
[Is that actually his business? No, of course not, but . . .]
[Is there any possibility that she might be a threat? Some shadow passes over his eyes, only mildly mitigated by the fact that she was just scrabbling in the dirt for a bauble.]
. . . We’re collecting you, then. Princesses Zelda. That’s very curious. [Was his Zelda not perfectly sufficient, when she is objectively the best one? He’s not biased.] I wonder what the royal protocol is for a situation like this.
trucy.
[This would be a good point for Giorno to mention that he has already tried the hot chocolate. Because he has, absolutely. He has a belly full of hot chocolate keeping him as warm as it is possible for a vampire on a chilly night to be. But if he points this out, he won't get any more hot chocolate.]
[The choice is obvious. The con is too easy. Plus, it's really good hot chocolate. With a clearly exaggerated sigh, he plucks the cup from her hands and takes a restrained sip.]
. . . Hm.
[Okay, no, he's genuinely conflicted.]
It's very good. But not in all contexts. At best it's equally as good as pudding cups, not better than, but even then only on a night like tonight when it's very cold. Whereas pudding cups are good in all climates.
[Why is he like this.]
1/2
[ She can't poke holes in that. Pudding is great in all climates. ]
no subject
[ Though as soon as the words leave her lips, Trucy seems to consider that idea. Marshmallow and pudding, why didn't she think of it sooner? ]
leslie.
What?
[Immediately, and stupidly, Giorno takes them off. His goal is to inspect them for any issues — is the frame broken? Is the lens cracked in some way he hasn't seen? It seems unlikely, but at the same time, this small girl does seem very genuinely confused.]
[Of course, as soon as he takes them off, the sun winks over a building just enough to make his eyes burn. He hisses and shoves them back on.]
Um — I don't think so. [He's still squinting one eye, which is watering. What an idiot.] Do they look like there's something wrong with them?
[There's a lot going on here.]
no subject
The glass is green. And there's something fuzzy on the sides....
[It's not what she would imagine glasses looking like. But more importantly....]
Are you okay...?
no subject
The sunglasses they have in this city aren’t like what I’m used to. [Here, there is no Gucci.] I just found some I thought were interesting-looking. They’re strange, aren’t they? With the fabric on the side.
[He doesn’t seem perturbed by the observation. He likes that they’re weird. He doesn’t like his vulnerability to the sun, but what’s he going to do, lie to this baby? No.]
I’m fine. The sun hurts my eyes, even this little sun. But it’s not permanently damaging. [At least, not yet. He gives her a thoughtful look through his glasses.] You’re that worried about strangers after showing up in a strange world yourself?
no subject
[With that mystery solved, she turns to his other question. Her tone isn't really much less puzzled by this than by the unheard of sunglasses.]
Why wouldn't I be worried? It looked like you were in pain.
no subject
[She must be from the past. Or some world without sunglasses, which is a very specific thing for a world not to have.]
You don’t know me. A lot of people wouldn’t ask that about someone they don’t know, especially with a lot on their mind.
akechi.
I suppose we'll have to.
[It's a very optimistic thing to say, but then again, it's probably just making conversation. The situation is a little awkward. Just shoving people together to haphazardly magic at each other is pretty high-stakes social roulette.]
[Oh, well. It'll probably be fine. He's already died, so what does he have to lose, really.]
It's a pleasure, Akechi. I'm Giorno. I hope we work well together.
[That's how humans talk, probably. He picks up the battery and examines it, turning it one way and the other.]
Funny. It really does look . . . just like a large battery. You can put magic into this?
no subject
And drain magic from it, as well. It seems like it's full right now...
[ He hums thoughtfully for a moment, then offers the battery back to Giorno. ]
I suppose one of us can drain it, the other can refill it, and then the same person can drain it again and pass it back. Does that seem fair?
qrow
Of course.
[Straightening up, Giorno pushes himself off the wall and cocks his head.]
What, do you think the mirrors were an isolated incident? There's plenty they're not telling you at the outset. I couldn't tell you what the motive is, but it's true. The rules of magic aren't very well-defined.
Why, do you have something you don't want Nessie to hear? [It's a joke. But a very tired one.]
no subject
Sure, don't you?
[Everyone's got secrets. Defensiveness lets people hone in toward those spots you don't want people to see, but going with the flow of a conversation lets you misdirect. He hums, letting his crossed arms lightly drop as he leans one against his hip.]
Sounds like you're pretty familiar with them. Normally, I'd offer to buy lunch and talk about these things they haven't told me yet, but I'm not exactly loaded with money at the moment. Maybe I can owe you one?
[That could be a dangerous thing to offer. But for now, the Coven are the greater unknown. It's a calculated risk. Here's hoping he's not bad at math (this time).]
5/10. fourth wall.
[It’s infuriating.]
[He registers this, even if distantly, as he stares at Bruno and unwillingly absorbs his absolution. This angers him, at least in the abstract, because he knows that it’s wrong. There’s plenty he needs to be forgiven for. The fact that he understands why Bruno doesn’t feel that way is a sign of something in Bruno that refuses to be upset on his own behalf, not an indication that he’s done nothing wrong.]
[He’s done a lot wrong.]
[Still. His shoulders sag. It would be easy to just accept it. Maybe he should; maybe that would be the most peaceable solution. Instead he shakes his head.]
There is. But I can’t make you see that, and even if I could it would . . . just disturb you. Wouldn’t it.
[Bruno’s peace. What he’s found beyond the veil. This gratitude that it hurts Giorno’s mind to even contemplate. What peace is there in dying? Even dying for a cause. Especially dying for a cause.]
I should have started this conversation differently. [He should. Smile, probably. Say something pleasant. Genteel. Kind. Be don. Show Bruno he wasn’t wrong to trust in him. But he doesn’t know what the right thing is.]
[Oh. There’s one thing. It isn’t even a lie, which makes him laugh as he says it.] It’s good to see you.