[Every friend group needs a buzzkill. Theoretically. In this group, forming around Steve as the nucleus, Riley fills that role. Ideally she'll keep them from getting killed via their own stupidity too often. Big shoes to fill.]
[Solemnly, with the air of speaking a foreign language with great precision, Giorno responds to Steve with a single fingergun and a weirdly good imitation of a gunshot sound. Pew, pew. It's always difficult to tell in these sorts of situations whether he's knowingly dunking on himself or just being oblivious, but he is finding meeting Steve where he's at with deadpan solemnity to be pretty fun. Even when he's quickly interrupted by body horror.]
[Leaning forward, he watches the unfootening with interest, apparently unbothered by the visuals. Steve doesn't start screaming, so he's probably got nothing to worry about.] You can really do that every day? That's fascinating. Can you only change back to how you looked before, or can you do other things?
[Above him, in the bushy branches of the small tree, something has been awakened by either the body horror, the pew pews, or the conversation as a whole. Out of nowhere, a blob of black fur dead-drops onto Giorno's shoulder, knocking the breath out of him in an oof, although he doesn't seem all that concerned, given that he doesn't even look up. The thing fixes Steve with a stare. Its face is a solid two-thirds eyes. Debatably, this is a cat.]
I haven't met a single person who's gotten away without their feet going weird. At least it doesn't hurt doing it this way — right? [It would be pretty ridiculous to keep doing it otherwise. He can't imagine Riley permitting it.]
no subject
[Solemnly, with the air of speaking a foreign language with great precision, Giorno responds to Steve with a single fingergun and a weirdly good imitation of a gunshot sound. Pew, pew. It's always difficult to tell in these sorts of situations whether he's knowingly dunking on himself or just being oblivious, but he is finding meeting Steve where he's at with deadpan solemnity to be pretty fun. Even when he's quickly interrupted by body horror.]
[Leaning forward, he watches the unfootening with interest, apparently unbothered by the visuals. Steve doesn't start screaming, so he's probably got nothing to worry about.] You can really do that every day? That's fascinating. Can you only change back to how you looked before, or can you do other things?
[Above him, in the bushy branches of the small tree, something has been awakened by either the body horror, the pew pews, or the conversation as a whole. Out of nowhere, a blob of black fur dead-drops onto Giorno's shoulder, knocking the breath out of him in an oof, although he doesn't seem all that concerned, given that he doesn't even look up. The thing fixes Steve with a stare. Its face is a solid two-thirds eyes. Debatably, this is a cat.]
I haven't met a single person who's gotten away without their feet going weird. At least it doesn't hurt doing it this way — right? [It would be pretty ridiculous to keep doing it otherwise. He can't imagine Riley permitting it.]