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ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅰ
buongiorno! sorry i missed you; i'll happily get back to you as soon as i'm done with whatever business i'm on. leave a message!
( text | voice | video )
⇦ ● ⇨
buongiorno! sorry i missed you; i'll happily get back to you as soon as i'm done with whatever business i'm on. leave a message!
( text | voice | video )
⇦ ● ⇨
[He's reasonably on time when he comes rolling in, hat brim pulled down low over his eyes and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, and the good news is he seems...genuinely calmer today than he'd been previously, having made good use of the downtime to settle and begin sorting some things out, and obviously not getting blindsided by unexpected flashbacks to one terrible night in Cairo isn't hurting anything, either.
The empty chair that Kakyoin had occupied, though, does earn a glance that lingers just slightly too long, before he sits and settles himself back in with the same vague discomfort of not precisely fitting into the cafe's chair as before.]
I don't have to ask permission to sit or something, do I?
[He says, already seated.]
The empty chair that Kakyoin had occupied, though, does earn a glance that lingers just slightly too long, before he sits and settles himself back in with the same vague discomfort of not precisely fitting into the cafe's chair as before.]
I don't have to ask permission to sit or something, do I?
[He says, already seated.]
[It's good to see Jotaro calm. It really is. Not that it's Giorno's place to worry about him, necessarily, but - well, he's never been very good at keeping to his place, and Jotaro is already important to him for several reasons.]
[The probability that this conversation will make him upset again is . . . not zero, but Giorno gave himself a little bit of buffer time to work out how to make is as painless as possible.]
[Still, professionalism or no, he wrinkles his nose at the question.]
Don't be ridiculous. You're not my subordinate.
[Jotaro is - sort of sideways. Probably. He's still working it out.]
[The probability that this conversation will make him upset again is . . . not zero, but Giorno gave himself a little bit of buffer time to work out how to make is as painless as possible.]
[Still, professionalism or no, he wrinkles his nose at the question.]
Don't be ridiculous. You're not my subordinate.
[Jotaro is - sort of sideways. Probably. He's still working it out.]
[He tips his head a little to the side, taking that in, and as he does he adds it silently to the repertoire of little things that he's gradually picking up from Giorno — not just that words are important, but distinctions are, too. Some of them, he suspects, can overlap, even if he doesn't know what the outcome is when they do. But he can tell that it's important, somehow, subtly so, to have a good grasp of where it is he stands with Giorno Giovanna, which of those distinctions are likely to be applied, and what they mean once they are.
"Family" is the one to watch for; talking with Giorno and Buccellati both has made it abundantly clear that it's a word they both put a lot of significance on. It's something, he suspects, that's earned and not simply discovered. But "friend", that one might be floating around nebulously to acquire someday, and "not my subordinate" strikes him as valuable too, in an equally vague and ambient way.
...Plus, the fact that he cracked enough to make a face is a little encouraging.]
You're right about that.
[Which probably didn't need to be said, but there it is.]
So. Something's come up?
"Family" is the one to watch for; talking with Giorno and Buccellati both has made it abundantly clear that it's a word they both put a lot of significance on. It's something, he suspects, that's earned and not simply discovered. But "friend", that one might be floating around nebulously to acquire someday, and "not my subordinate" strikes him as valuable too, in an equally vague and ambient way.
...Plus, the fact that he cracked enough to make a face is a little encouraging.]
You're right about that.
[Which probably didn't need to be said, but there it is.]
So. Something's come up?
[Part of what makes Jotaro an appealing person to talk to, as Giorno's already discovered in the very small space of time they've known each other, is that he pushes back. Giorno has, at least in the last few years, known himself to thrive best under pressure, with some resistance, not necessarily negative, but not universally positive, either. Yes-men have limited use, certainly, but they're not creative and they're certainly not interesting.]
[Jotaro is interesting. He's also creative, in an oblique way that Giorno is still investigating. And if he is family in one way or another - well, Giorno left his mother behind for a reason, but it wasn't because he thought the ties of blood meant nothing. Far from it. He felt a need to distance himself in order to make decisions on his own, to escape the cycling of his birth family.]
[He doesn't anticipate a need to escape Jotaro.]
I'm usually right, [he says quietly, with a small smile, and thinks about how important it is to be aware that when you watch people, they are very often watching you back.]
Yes. I wanted to let you know that he likes you.
[Which Bruno never actually said; but Giorno's an expert at reading between his particular lines.]
[Jotaro is interesting. He's also creative, in an oblique way that Giorno is still investigating. And if he is family in one way or another - well, Giorno left his mother behind for a reason, but it wasn't because he thought the ties of blood meant nothing. Far from it. He felt a need to distance himself in order to make decisions on his own, to escape the cycling of his birth family.]
[He doesn't anticipate a need to escape Jotaro.]
I'm usually right, [he says quietly, with a small smile, and thinks about how important it is to be aware that when you watch people, they are very often watching you back.]
Yes. I wanted to let you know that he likes you.
[Which Bruno never actually said; but Giorno's an expert at reading between his particular lines.]
[And that's what makes Giorno an appealing person to talk to in exchange — that graceful way that he can say a lot without mincing any words, which is often a lot easier to absorb and consider than if he were the type to say the same thing in five times as many syllables. "He likes you" is concise, but says everything — yes, Buccellati is one of his; yes, his suspicions were correct; evidently, he'd left an impression; presumably, he'd been discussed or acknowledged between the two of them prior to this.
(It also makes it likely that Buccellati is a Stand user himself, and adds another few names to watch for when it comes to matters involving Giorno — if Buccellati was looking for them, then it stands to reason that they're members of the group, and that the unnamed "others" he was with quite possibly included Giorno himself, who he'd been protecting.
...Which makes it curious that he'd single out those two as safe to name, doesn't it.)
But he recognizes that he can't simply sit there thinking about it, as much as he'd like to, so before his own silence stretches on too long, he fills in with a slight nod and drags his hands out of his pockets.]
I know you like to know what gave it away, when it comes to things like that.
[He considers carefully for a moment.]
...You're a lot alike, right?
(It also makes it likely that Buccellati is a Stand user himself, and adds another few names to watch for when it comes to matters involving Giorno — if Buccellati was looking for them, then it stands to reason that they're members of the group, and that the unnamed "others" he was with quite possibly included Giorno himself, who he'd been protecting.
...Which makes it curious that he'd single out those two as safe to name, doesn't it.)
But he recognizes that he can't simply sit there thinking about it, as much as he'd like to, so before his own silence stretches on too long, he fills in with a slight nod and drags his hands out of his pockets.]
I know you like to know what gave it away, when it comes to things like that.
[He considers carefully for a moment.]
...You're a lot alike, right?
[Even Giorno can't quite hide how pleased he is at this assessment. He is strong on his own - has been for years - and while he did need Bruno once, he doesn't anymore. He's don now, after all, a title that travels with him no matter where he goes; there's a power in him that thrives with support, but doesn't require it. And yet.]
[His fingers curl around the edge of his cup, a slight joyful motion, and he nods - because Bruno is important, and he's been so focused on catching up that he hasn't had time to actually be happy that he's here. Alive, or something far more like it than anything Giorno could do on his own.]
We are. Although . . . some things are a little bit more like convergent evolution, and some things are all his.
[His values, his beliefs, his influence.]
I told you about perspective before, I think. Bruno provides good perspective.
I hope you understand why I didn't tell you right away. For his sake, mostly. [For his sake in a lot of different ways - because if Giorno was cautious before, he's paranoid now.]
[His fingers curl around the edge of his cup, a slight joyful motion, and he nods - because Bruno is important, and he's been so focused on catching up that he hasn't had time to actually be happy that he's here. Alive, or something far more like it than anything Giorno could do on his own.]
We are. Although . . . some things are a little bit more like convergent evolution, and some things are all his.
[His values, his beliefs, his influence.]
I told you about perspective before, I think. Bruno provides good perspective.
I hope you understand why I didn't tell you right away. For his sake, mostly. [For his sake in a lot of different ways - because if Giorno was cautious before, he's paranoid now.]
I haven't told Kakyoin. Figured I'd get you to confirm the hunch first.
[For a number of reasons, arguably. One is, of course, because Giorno's word is worth something and to have him vouch for a person carries weight; another is not kindness, exactly, but an almost professional sort of courtesy — because the kind of relationships that Jotaro builds now are the ones that start on a solid foundation, and he's not eager to have this one in its fledgling stages come with the impression that he's the type to use something like an unsuspecting new arrival to his own advantage.
Giorno has had the chance to form his own impressions of Kakyoin; moreover, he'd seen them together. He assumes it'll carry some weight of its own, the admission that he went to Giorno with this first, even before Kakyoin.]
It's fine, though. I just wanted to make sure you knew, one way or another. That he was here now, too.
[For a number of reasons, arguably. One is, of course, because Giorno's word is worth something and to have him vouch for a person carries weight; another is not kindness, exactly, but an almost professional sort of courtesy — because the kind of relationships that Jotaro builds now are the ones that start on a solid foundation, and he's not eager to have this one in its fledgling stages come with the impression that he's the type to use something like an unsuspecting new arrival to his own advantage.
Giorno has had the chance to form his own impressions of Kakyoin; moreover, he'd seen them together. He assumes it'll carry some weight of its own, the admission that he went to Giorno with this first, even before Kakyoin.]
It's fine, though. I just wanted to make sure you knew, one way or another. That he was here now, too.
[Although Giorno isn't one to be effusive with praise, he's grateful enough for this to smile again, warmly. It would have been easy for Jotaro to confer with Kakyoin before coming to him with his suspicions - as Giorno had done with Bruno, in fact. Not that he thinks he's done anything wrong (because he is paranoid; because forewarned is forearmed; because Bruno was halfway there anyway; because Bruno is Bruno), but he is aware, at least, that it's not the most honest way of doing things.]
[It does make Giorno wonder, though. One way or another - he tips his head slightly to one side, considering Jotaro, gauging. Were you worried about me? he wants to ask, but it seems intrusive and, anyway, isn't the point. But he does wonder.]
Please, tell Kakyoin anything you feel is pertinent. If we're going to be working together [he includes Bruno in this, instantly and smoothly and effortlessly], we need to have open communication. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he already had some idea.
[Even though his tactics are very different from Jotaro's, it was obvious that they were both coming to similar conclusions. Kakyoin was the first one Bruno identified, too, the canny one, laying traps with words. But, of course, just as their tactics are different, so Bruno's assessments and reactions are different. He commented on Kakyoin's savvy, his intelligence, his strategy. He mentioned Jotaro's heart.]
[Which is why he's having this conversation with Jotaro and not with Kakyoin. It's heart that he needs now, no matter how reluctant he'd be to admit it.]
He isn't a danger. Far from it. He's honestly a much more moral man than I am. He was the [den mother] leader of the gang within Passione that I initially infiltrated, and - well, now he's my subordinate, technically.
[But there's a touch of humor in that, something he'd never express to Bruno, because it's ridiculous. Bruno is not his; he is Bruno's, and always will be.]
[It does make Giorno wonder, though. One way or another - he tips his head slightly to one side, considering Jotaro, gauging. Were you worried about me? he wants to ask, but it seems intrusive and, anyway, isn't the point. But he does wonder.]
Please, tell Kakyoin anything you feel is pertinent. If we're going to be working together [he includes Bruno in this, instantly and smoothly and effortlessly], we need to have open communication. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he already had some idea.
[Even though his tactics are very different from Jotaro's, it was obvious that they were both coming to similar conclusions. Kakyoin was the first one Bruno identified, too, the canny one, laying traps with words. But, of course, just as their tactics are different, so Bruno's assessments and reactions are different. He commented on Kakyoin's savvy, his intelligence, his strategy. He mentioned Jotaro's heart.]
[Which is why he's having this conversation with Jotaro and not with Kakyoin. It's heart that he needs now, no matter how reluctant he'd be to admit it.]
He isn't a danger. Far from it. He's honestly a much more moral man than I am. He was the [den mother] leader of the gang within Passione that I initially infiltrated, and - well, now he's my subordinate, technically.
[But there's a touch of humor in that, something he'd never express to Bruno, because it's ridiculous. Bruno is not his; he is Bruno's, and always will be.]
Edited (it is so late that i can no longer spell) 2015-08-30 09:01 (UTC)
[The smile on Giorno's face when he talks about Buccellati is different from the one he wears when he talks about his own accomplishments. That's the first thing Jotaro notices as he listens, following along with the assurances and other tidbits of detail that help to flesh out the existing relationship between the two of them even further. It'd occurred to him, the last time they spoke, that Giorno has a smile that looks like something you'd see on a marble statue — perfect and elegant but also controlled, somehow sculpted into place. This isn't the same one; Giorno in general is warmer today, which probably makes sense considering this encounter started out on an amicable foot instead of a hostile one, but still.
He seems happy. It's a good look on him, and he makes a quiet note of it, not for now but for sometime later — and whether it'll be for his own benefit or for Giorno's, he's not entirely sure.
He can't remember Dio ever looking happy. Cocky, superior, triumphant, smug, high, full of himself, proud — sure, he'd run that whole spectrum. But never happy, never prompted by something as evidently simple as this, the way that the topic of Bruno Buccellati puts warmth in Giorno's expression and turns up the edges of his mouth.]
So I'll try not to rub it in, that he has to ask permission to sit and I don't. Technically.
["Moral", though. That's an interesting choice of words. Honor, that's something he'd expect to find in a gang in spades, nothing unusual about that. But "moral"...
...He won't say it aloud, but it does occur to him that Giorno conceding Buccellati as being more moral than him might be a double-edged sword. In some respects, it makes him a better person. But organized crime isn't the sort of business that tends to incentivize morality, either.]
Why does he like me? Or is that a secret?
He seems happy. It's a good look on him, and he makes a quiet note of it, not for now but for sometime later — and whether it'll be for his own benefit or for Giorno's, he's not entirely sure.
He can't remember Dio ever looking happy. Cocky, superior, triumphant, smug, high, full of himself, proud — sure, he'd run that whole spectrum. But never happy, never prompted by something as evidently simple as this, the way that the topic of Bruno Buccellati puts warmth in Giorno's expression and turns up the edges of his mouth.]
So I'll try not to rub it in, that he has to ask permission to sit and I don't. Technically.
["Moral", though. That's an interesting choice of words. Honor, that's something he'd expect to find in a gang in spades, nothing unusual about that. But "moral"...
...He won't say it aloud, but it does occur to him that Giorno conceding Buccellati as being more moral than him might be a double-edged sword. In some respects, it makes him a better person. But organized crime isn't the sort of business that tends to incentivize morality, either.]
Why does he like me? Or is that a secret?
[The assessment isn't entirely wrong. Bruno was good at what he did, but it wasn't what he was made for, not really. Giorno doesn't know everything about Bruno's past, only bits and pieces, but what he does know makes it clear that he's always been a caretaker; it's an intrinsic part of his personality, one he could never entirely turn off, not when he was working for Polpo or Diavolo. It's a strength, but in the context of Passione, it was once a great weakness, too. He took a lot of chances on a lot of people who might have proven to be his undoing. Giorno, for just one example.]
[And the question is a good one, too. For a moment Giorno isn't sure if he should say exactly what Bruno said, which almost seems too incisive, too intimate, or what he himself gleaned from how Bruno said it, which might be too revealing of Bruno. It's a fine line he's walking here. His loyalty is to Bruno, of course, but . . . Jotaro is important to him already, someone he feels compelled to protect and someone who deserves - has earned - his honesty.]
[He takes a moment to sip his cooling cappuccino, lowering his eyes to consider his options. In the end, he goes with a blend, one that will hopefully reveal exactly the right amount about each of them.]
He likes you because you're a good person. Because you seemed honest and straightforward to him. Because you wanted to help him, even though you didn't have to. He was impressed with the way you made the connection between us, and the ways you did it that were different from Kakyoin's methods.
And . . .
[Shifting slightly in his seat, he crosses one leg over the other under the table, curling his fingers around his cup.]
Because he likes people he can see potential in. I think he saw potential in you.
[And the question is a good one, too. For a moment Giorno isn't sure if he should say exactly what Bruno said, which almost seems too incisive, too intimate, or what he himself gleaned from how Bruno said it, which might be too revealing of Bruno. It's a fine line he's walking here. His loyalty is to Bruno, of course, but . . . Jotaro is important to him already, someone he feels compelled to protect and someone who deserves - has earned - his honesty.]
[He takes a moment to sip his cooling cappuccino, lowering his eyes to consider his options. In the end, he goes with a blend, one that will hopefully reveal exactly the right amount about each of them.]
He likes you because you're a good person. Because you seemed honest and straightforward to him. Because you wanted to help him, even though you didn't have to. He was impressed with the way you made the connection between us, and the ways you did it that were different from Kakyoin's methods.
And . . .
[Shifting slightly in his seat, he crosses one leg over the other under the table, curling his fingers around his cup.]
Because he likes people he can see potential in. I think he saw potential in you.
[You're a good person, Giorno says as the messenger of Bruno Buccellati's thoughts, and he almost (almost) wants to answer that no, he's really not. There are people in the world who are good people; he's seen them, he's met them. A lot of times they've been put in danger, and occasionally they've even died. He catches himself thinking, again, of the Speedwagon Foundation, and how he doesn't understand what it is these people believe in, this entire organization full of people who come running at his grandfather's call and put their lives on the line for a fight they have no stake in except that they were asked to be a part of it.
Two young men piloting a helicopter into the desert to deliver Iggy to them, to take a picture and wish the Joestar party good luck. To give them an update on his mother. Just like that they died, and for what? Because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Because they tried to help, and that put them in harm's way.
It hurts, almost, trying to imagine himself lumped in with the people who deserve to be called good. A good person wouldn't have done a lot of the things he's done in his life. And it's so tempting to say that, to just say sorry, he's wrong, and not even because he wants to be convinced otherwise but for a second he thinks he almost just wants someone to agree and confirm it.
But in the end, he doesn't. What he does is listen quietly to what Giorno says, and tries to absorb it without dwelling too long on the complications raised by the fact that it's being said about him, and tries to scrape the look of almost vulnerable confusion off his face once he's done.]
He thinks I'd make a good gangster, or something?
[It's an obvious deflection; he doesn't try to pretend otherwise. But what it'll buy him either way is a few more seconds to try to sort things out, starting with why it is that something that's obviously praise feels wrong, and digs in under his skin so much.]
Two young men piloting a helicopter into the desert to deliver Iggy to them, to take a picture and wish the Joestar party good luck. To give them an update on his mother. Just like that they died, and for what? Because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Because they tried to help, and that put them in harm's way.
It hurts, almost, trying to imagine himself lumped in with the people who deserve to be called good. A good person wouldn't have done a lot of the things he's done in his life. And it's so tempting to say that, to just say sorry, he's wrong, and not even because he wants to be convinced otherwise but for a second he thinks he almost just wants someone to agree and confirm it.
But in the end, he doesn't. What he does is listen quietly to what Giorno says, and tries to absorb it without dwelling too long on the complications raised by the fact that it's being said about him, and tries to scrape the look of almost vulnerable confusion off his face once he's done.]
He thinks I'd make a good gangster, or something?
[It's an obvious deflection; he doesn't try to pretend otherwise. But what it'll buy him either way is a few more seconds to try to sort things out, starting with why it is that something that's obviously praise feels wrong, and digs in under his skin so much.]
[Giorno is almost watching people as he talks to them. It's an occupational requirement, honestly; to be anything other than constantly vigilant is a good way to get yourself killed. Still, there's a difference between the way he watches most people and the way he's watching Jotaro now. Most people, he watches so he can identify their weak points and use those against them. He's watching Jotaro to see if he says something wrong, if he upsets him, the way he did so many times during their first meeting.]
[And it's clear that he has, although he can't really pinpoint what it was. Jotaro wouldn't be the first person he's met who didn't want to be perceived as a good person - but on this Giorno thinks that Bruno is very much correct. Jotaro is a good person. Sad, a little broken, but not irreparably, and absolutely not bad.]
[So he doesn't soften his words, and he doesn't take anything back. Just watches and waits for Jotaro to speak - and when he does, Giorno's perfectly content to let the subject shift, because this is important information, too.]
Sort of. The gang Bruno led within Passione was . . . effective, if not particularly strong, if that makes sense. The reason it was cohesive, the reason they were able to work together, is because Bruno had hand-picked all of them, pulled them out of unsafe or disadvantageous situations and given them something else to do with their lives.
[Admittedly, that something else was working for the mob. But Giorno knows for a fact none of them would go back.]
I think what he sees in you is potential to do whatever you want to do, honestly. [A short pause, and then he nods sharply.] I see that, too.
[And it's clear that he has, although he can't really pinpoint what it was. Jotaro wouldn't be the first person he's met who didn't want to be perceived as a good person - but on this Giorno thinks that Bruno is very much correct. Jotaro is a good person. Sad, a little broken, but not irreparably, and absolutely not bad.]
[So he doesn't soften his words, and he doesn't take anything back. Just watches and waits for Jotaro to speak - and when he does, Giorno's perfectly content to let the subject shift, because this is important information, too.]
Sort of. The gang Bruno led within Passione was . . . effective, if not particularly strong, if that makes sense. The reason it was cohesive, the reason they were able to work together, is because Bruno had hand-picked all of them, pulled them out of unsafe or disadvantageous situations and given them something else to do with their lives.
[Admittedly, that something else was working for the mob. But Giorno knows for a fact none of them would go back.]
I think what he sees in you is potential to do whatever you want to do, honestly. [A short pause, and then he nods sharply.] I see that, too.
[It's somewhere around there that his urge to fiddle with something hits its limit; ultimately, he finds his solution in the napkin holder on the table, pulling one out to fold and twist for the sake of something to do with his hands while they talk. Probably a more appropriate solution would be to just go get something from the barista at the counter, and actually behave as though he's in a cafe for something other than just the conversation, but he's honestly not all that hungry and doesn't feel like wasting perfectly good food just for the sake of occupying his hands.
But it does come with the added effect of having him sit up more properly at the table rather than slouching against the back of his chair, which is probably indicative of progress as much as it is a shift in his mood.]
I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing.
[The napkin twists under his fingers, curling in on itself to form a spiral as it winds idly tighter and tighter.]
Not just here. I don't have anything waiting back home for me the way you've got Passione. I ought to stop skipping school and make up what I've missed, I guess.
[He shrugs a little, deciding that he might as well elaborate on that as much in response to Bruno's method of handpicking his people as to where his unease with the compliment had stemmed from.]
I fought a lot, even before I got wrapped up in all the legacy bullshit. Kept to myself, took care of myself. Put people in the hospital when I felt like it.
[Walked out on the check when he didn't like the food.]
But it does come with the added effect of having him sit up more properly at the table rather than slouching against the back of his chair, which is probably indicative of progress as much as it is a shift in his mood.]
I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing.
[The napkin twists under his fingers, curling in on itself to form a spiral as it winds idly tighter and tighter.]
Not just here. I don't have anything waiting back home for me the way you've got Passione. I ought to stop skipping school and make up what I've missed, I guess.
[He shrugs a little, deciding that he might as well elaborate on that as much in response to Bruno's method of handpicking his people as to where his unease with the compliment had stemmed from.]
I fought a lot, even before I got wrapped up in all the legacy bullshit. Kept to myself, took care of myself. Put people in the hospital when I felt like it.
[Walked out on the check when he didn't like the food.]
[It sounds, to Giorno, like a confession. Jotaro seems to him the sort of person who likes to present himself to the world as - not uncaring, but somewhat distant from concerns like what he's going to do next week, next month, next year. It reminds him of the other thing that Bruno had said - he's looking for something.]
[Jotaro is absolutely looking for something. Or looking for permission to carry on with his life, even after everything he's left behind, all the people and the innocence he's lost.]
[Giorno doesn't allow Jotaro the mercy of looking away. He does, however, change the subject slightly, for all that he wants to lay his hand over Jotaro's and tell him he can figure it out, that there's time, that he has a future no matter how guilty that makes him feel.]
One of my . . . [He wonders what the word is; finally settles on:] Brothers. He missed a lot of school, did a lot of fighting. He didn't have a lot of direction, either. I don't think he really wanted it.
He wanted support, though. I think everyone does; it's just a matter of allowing yourself to take it when it's offered. And Bruno offered it, freely and without judgment. So he was able to build a life out of the mess other people had made of his.
[Taking another sip, he lets his eyes fall to the tabletop briefly.]
Do you know what you want to do? [Because there is a difference between supposed to and want to.]
[Jotaro is absolutely looking for something. Or looking for permission to carry on with his life, even after everything he's left behind, all the people and the innocence he's lost.]
[Giorno doesn't allow Jotaro the mercy of looking away. He does, however, change the subject slightly, for all that he wants to lay his hand over Jotaro's and tell him he can figure it out, that there's time, that he has a future no matter how guilty that makes him feel.]
One of my . . . [He wonders what the word is; finally settles on:] Brothers. He missed a lot of school, did a lot of fighting. He didn't have a lot of direction, either. I don't think he really wanted it.
He wanted support, though. I think everyone does; it's just a matter of allowing yourself to take it when it's offered. And Bruno offered it, freely and without judgment. So he was able to build a life out of the mess other people had made of his.
[Taking another sip, he lets his eyes fall to the tabletop briefly.]
Do you know what you want to do? [Because there is a difference between supposed to and want to.]
[It's a simple question he's being asked, and there's a simple answer to it in exchange, except that what makes answering it considerably more complicated is the fact that the simple answer isn't the only one by any means. The easy answer is a plain no; if he had any ideas, any direction to even begin to start from, this wouldn't be nearly so difficult a prospect to cope and contend with.
The ways he wants to answer yes are harder. He's starting to accept that no matter what he does, there will always be a part of him that wants to go back to the night of January 16th and stay with his grandfather and Kakyoin instead of doubling back to go find Polnareff. There's also a much vaguer, more frustrated I want to stop feeling like this, which is all well and good but still equally directionless.
And then there's, well. There's still, admittedly, the stupid whimsy things that don't quite seem to reconcile with everything else, the weird little flashes of fascination born of finding out that dolphins sleep with only half their brain at a time.
None of that adds up into much of anything, not really.]
...No.
[He settles on that, because it's just easiest.]
I can think of a few things I'll have to do. But they're not aspirations or anything.
The ways he wants to answer yes are harder. He's starting to accept that no matter what he does, there will always be a part of him that wants to go back to the night of January 16th and stay with his grandfather and Kakyoin instead of doubling back to go find Polnareff. There's also a much vaguer, more frustrated I want to stop feeling like this, which is all well and good but still equally directionless.
And then there's, well. There's still, admittedly, the stupid whimsy things that don't quite seem to reconcile with everything else, the weird little flashes of fascination born of finding out that dolphins sleep with only half their brain at a time.
None of that adds up into much of anything, not really.]
...No.
[He settles on that, because it's just easiest.]
I can think of a few things I'll have to do. But they're not aspirations or anything.
. . . Have to do is a start.
[Not a great one, admittedly. But just because Giorno never knew what it was like to live without a dream doesn't mean he doesn't understand the concept. His job now, or at least a great part of it, is to inspire men. Admittedly most of them are a lot older and more hardened than Jotaro Kujo, but, well.]
[Maybe Bruno isn't the only one who thinks Jotaro would be a perfectly acceptable member of the family.]
And you have some of the important things. You have support.
[He looks up at Jotaro again, then, sharp and a little calculating.]
Do you let yourself take it when you need it?
[Not a great one, admittedly. But just because Giorno never knew what it was like to live without a dream doesn't mean he doesn't understand the concept. His job now, or at least a great part of it, is to inspire men. Admittedly most of them are a lot older and more hardened than Jotaro Kujo, but, well.]
[Maybe Bruno isn't the only one who thinks Jotaro would be a perfectly acceptable member of the family.]
And you have some of the important things. You have support.
[He looks up at Jotaro again, then, sharp and a little calculating.]
Do you let yourself take it when you need it?
[He twists the napkin in his hands a little tighter, looping it in on itself and working the ends over and through to make it into a knot; it's difficult to do, he muses silently, because the paper is wound so tight that it won't bend properly, it resists and threatens to tear if he pushes it too hard.
It's not like he's doing it on purpose, or out to find wise and cosmic lessons in everyday things. But it does strike him that it's the sort of comment that Avdol probably would've made, if he were around to see it, and he's not sure if he finds that knowledge comforting or not.
...Or knot, as the case may be.]
You fought someone who can erase time.
[He says it quietly, gaze drifting up to meet Giorno's steadily, without wavering.]
Is that something you could describe, to someone who wasn't there with you? Not just retelling what happened. Could you make someone like me understand what it was like, just with words?
I think that whatever it is you went through, you already know it's something you're going to carry for the rest of your life. Maybe it'll fade, maybe it'll be "that one day in the past" someday, but it's not going to disappear. I think you're the kind of person who wouldn't let it disappear even if you could make it.
It's not just about taking support. There are things I can't make my support understand. And I'm pretty sure that trying and failing is just going to hurt them worse, so it's not about shouldering some burden alone. It's about trying not to screw up people who've suffered enough as it is, with something that I'm going to have to bear either way, no matter what.
It's not like he's doing it on purpose, or out to find wise and cosmic lessons in everyday things. But it does strike him that it's the sort of comment that Avdol probably would've made, if he were around to see it, and he's not sure if he finds that knowledge comforting or not.
...Or knot, as the case may be.]
You fought someone who can erase time.
[He says it quietly, gaze drifting up to meet Giorno's steadily, without wavering.]
Is that something you could describe, to someone who wasn't there with you? Not just retelling what happened. Could you make someone like me understand what it was like, just with words?
I think that whatever it is you went through, you already know it's something you're going to carry for the rest of your life. Maybe it'll fade, maybe it'll be "that one day in the past" someday, but it's not going to disappear. I think you're the kind of person who wouldn't let it disappear even if you could make it.
It's not just about taking support. There are things I can't make my support understand. And I'm pretty sure that trying and failing is just going to hurt them worse, so it's not about shouldering some burden alone. It's about trying not to screw up people who've suffered enough as it is, with something that I'm going to have to bear either way, no matter what.
[Jotaro is, as usual, remarkably perceptive, not only in his dissection of the situation but in his estimation of Giorno. It's true: Giorno wouldn't let the memory of Diavolo and King Crimson disappear, not only because his revenge is immensely satisfying to him, but because it serves as a warning of what could happen if he doesn't take care of his people properly, or if he uses his Stand unwisely.]
[Giorno's expression doesn't waver; nor does his gaze. But he does nod, just slightly, to acknowledge the predicament presented here, that Jotaro isn't (or at least isn't completely) withdrawing in an effort to isolate himself.]
I think it's a little different for you and for me. I have a certain responsibility to carry this alone. There are certain burdens that someone in my position has to carry alone, no matter how much they hurt or how beneficial it might be to speak of them. It would be . . . [He considers his wording.] Showing throat, in certain contexts. So I don't.
[Although he does have Mista and Trish, back home, who understand, even if wordlessly. That isn't the point, though, not now. The point is Jotaro, who sits in front of him twisting a napkin as though he might like to strangle it.]
[He smiles slightly, a little wistfully. Has he suffered? Yes, he has. But he can shoulder plenty of burdens. Has, does, will continue to. It's his job. This is what he's always wanted.]
I know we don't know each other very well yet, Jotaro. But I want to remind you that I'm stronger than I look.
[There's an offer under there somewhere.]
[Giorno's expression doesn't waver; nor does his gaze. But he does nod, just slightly, to acknowledge the predicament presented here, that Jotaro isn't (or at least isn't completely) withdrawing in an effort to isolate himself.]
I think it's a little different for you and for me. I have a certain responsibility to carry this alone. There are certain burdens that someone in my position has to carry alone, no matter how much they hurt or how beneficial it might be to speak of them. It would be . . . [He considers his wording.] Showing throat, in certain contexts. So I don't.
[Although he does have Mista and Trish, back home, who understand, even if wordlessly. That isn't the point, though, not now. The point is Jotaro, who sits in front of him twisting a napkin as though he might like to strangle it.]
[He smiles slightly, a little wistfully. Has he suffered? Yes, he has. But he can shoulder plenty of burdens. Has, does, will continue to. It's his job. This is what he's always wanted.]
I know we don't know each other very well yet, Jotaro. But I want to remind you that I'm stronger than I look.
[There's an offer under there somewhere.]
Most of the time I feel like I don't really remember much about that night. I know what happened, but I don't remember doing a lot of it. There wasn't time to be anything but fast. Fast or dead.
[He pauses, drifting on that train of thought for a minute. There's a lot he can't say, he knows, without giving up too much on the nature of his Stand, on the grim and unsettling details of how so much of that fight really went. And he of all people knows with painful clarity how even a single word can open the floodgates that way, so there's a lot that he could try to explain, but won't.
Maybe he will someday, but as Giorno has said himself — there just hasn't been time to know each other very well yet. Giorno doesn't feel like a stranger, but a lot of this isn't something he'd have an easy time dropping on his closest friend, much less anyone more distant than that.
Especially not when the villain of the tale in question happens to be that person's estranged father. There's no way to soften that, and he thinks that even if Giorno wouldn't necessarily want him to soften it, that doesn't mean he shouldn't try. It's cruel in a way that sits badly with him, to do otherwise.]
I remember I stopped my heart. He thought I was dead, so if he'd heard my heart beating, it would've been over. So I stopped it. From beating.
[And that's the other facet of the difficulty he faces in remembering that night: when he says aloud the things he'd done, he sees them with clarity now, and has the space to really understand how wrong it is to recount them so matter-of-factly.]
It's hard to tell people something like that, isn't it?
[He pauses, drifting on that train of thought for a minute. There's a lot he can't say, he knows, without giving up too much on the nature of his Stand, on the grim and unsettling details of how so much of that fight really went. And he of all people knows with painful clarity how even a single word can open the floodgates that way, so there's a lot that he could try to explain, but won't.
Maybe he will someday, but as Giorno has said himself — there just hasn't been time to know each other very well yet. Giorno doesn't feel like a stranger, but a lot of this isn't something he'd have an easy time dropping on his closest friend, much less anyone more distant than that.
Especially not when the villain of the tale in question happens to be that person's estranged father. There's no way to soften that, and he thinks that even if Giorno wouldn't necessarily want him to soften it, that doesn't mean he shouldn't try. It's cruel in a way that sits badly with him, to do otherwise.]
I remember I stopped my heart. He thought I was dead, so if he'd heard my heart beating, it would've been over. So I stopped it. From beating.
[And that's the other facet of the difficulty he faces in remembering that night: when he says aloud the things he'd done, he sees them with clarity now, and has the space to really understand how wrong it is to recount them so matter-of-factly.]
It's hard to tell people something like that, isn't it?
[It's strange, maybe perverse, but when Jotaro talks about stopping his heart, all Giorno can think of is seeing his own dead body, impaled, the deja-vu-double-vision moment of it all, when he both knew that he was alive and saw that he was dead, and the moment just after when he knew without doubt that he had failed in protecting one of his own. His heart had, after all, stopped, technically; it just wasn't his soul in his body. It was Narancia's.]
[There's the slightest, most infinitesimal shiver of pain across his face; then he nods again, serious and solemn.]
It's hard in several ways. Hard to relate to someone who's never fought, because there's a high likelihood they won't understand why you had to make the choices you made. Hard to relate to anyone, in case of unwanted sympathy. Hard to explain decisions rationally that were made on the spur of the moment.
[The pause that comes then is more contemplative than hesitant. There are a lot of things he could tell Jotaro here. The first thing that comes to mind is Bruno - not one particular thing that Bruno did, but what Bruno is, the sacrifices he made, even in the face of Giorno's great blundering mistake, his other failure, Gold Experience's massive limitation.]
[But that - that's Bruno's to share or not, and Giorno knows it. And so he chooses to say something else, something he might not say to someone else - to Kakyoin, or even to Bruno, in the way he says it now.]
There's also difficulty sometimes in explaining why a choice was necessary. Why mercy wasn't an acceptable option.
I told you I killed Diavolo. But I didn't tell you that he's still dying. He's going to keep dying, over and over, until the end of time. It's hard to tell people something like that. Not the same, I know. But it's . . . something I think about.
[Although he never, ever regrets.]
[There's the slightest, most infinitesimal shiver of pain across his face; then he nods again, serious and solemn.]
It's hard in several ways. Hard to relate to someone who's never fought, because there's a high likelihood they won't understand why you had to make the choices you made. Hard to relate to anyone, in case of unwanted sympathy. Hard to explain decisions rationally that were made on the spur of the moment.
[The pause that comes then is more contemplative than hesitant. There are a lot of things he could tell Jotaro here. The first thing that comes to mind is Bruno - not one particular thing that Bruno did, but what Bruno is, the sacrifices he made, even in the face of Giorno's great blundering mistake, his other failure, Gold Experience's massive limitation.]
[But that - that's Bruno's to share or not, and Giorno knows it. And so he chooses to say something else, something he might not say to someone else - to Kakyoin, or even to Bruno, in the way he says it now.]
There's also difficulty sometimes in explaining why a choice was necessary. Why mercy wasn't an acceptable option.
I told you I killed Diavolo. But I didn't tell you that he's still dying. He's going to keep dying, over and over, until the end of time. It's hard to tell people something like that. Not the same, I know. But it's . . . something I think about.
[Although he never, ever regrets.]
...The hell can you do, that you managed to beat him like that.
[He says it softly, and under his breath, but not in the sort of tone that suggests he's saying it to himself, as though he didn't mean for Giorno to hear. It's rhetorical, certainly; it's not something he expects an answer to, undoubtedly. But it's confirmation of another way that they're alike, that they've hovered around enough that he can start to see at least the shape and perimeter of it, even if he doesn't know the entirety.
He has no idea what kind of Stand power could possibly give someone the capacity to ensure that a target will die like that, die and die and die forever. It makes him think, briefly, of Dio's thirst for immortality, and the strange irony of Giorno harnessing something very much like it — a death that perpetuates, that never ends.
A power like that has to be terrible to wield. Terrible and lonely, and maybe even a little horrifying to be made its custodian.]
You ever think about it and wonder who decided you should be trusted with something like that...?
[He says it softly, and under his breath, but not in the sort of tone that suggests he's saying it to himself, as though he didn't mean for Giorno to hear. It's rhetorical, certainly; it's not something he expects an answer to, undoubtedly. But it's confirmation of another way that they're alike, that they've hovered around enough that he can start to see at least the shape and perimeter of it, even if he doesn't know the entirety.
He has no idea what kind of Stand power could possibly give someone the capacity to ensure that a target will die like that, die and die and die forever. It makes him think, briefly, of Dio's thirst for immortality, and the strange irony of Giorno harnessing something very much like it — a death that perpetuates, that never ends.
A power like that has to be terrible to wield. Terrible and lonely, and maybe even a little horrifying to be made its custodian.]
You ever think about it and wonder who decided you should be trusted with something like that...?
[Giorno smiles, then, a little wistful. It's his least favorite of the powers that he's capable of, the things that Gold Experience can do. And yet it's what allowed him to win in the end. Maybe he should be more grateful. But he just isn't. Jotaro's right; it's a lot of responsibility to hold in your hands, and while he knows he can handle it, it's not something that he feels connected to.]
[Maybe that makes sense. It's artificial, after all, or at least more artificial than what he started with. The arrow created Requiem, pulled Gold Experience inside out and made it unbeatable. But it reminds him uncomfortably of Dio and makes him itch to put his fingers on life instead of death, for all that he would do it again (and again and again and again) if Diavolo ever dared to show up here.]
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think . . .
[He hesitates here, unsure if he should continue. It's something he wouldn't say to anyone from home, not even Trish, who's usually exposed to his weaker side. But it's Jotaro.]
[That, somehow, is the only reason he needs. It's Jotaro.]
Gold Experience Requiem resets. Everything. It makes an action void. And so . . . sometimes I think it feels like a test. Will I abuse it or won't I?
[The implication is obvious. Will he do what Dio would have done with it, or will he keep his promises? So far, he's done the latter, hasn't even felt a temptation towards the former. But time changes people, he supposes, and nothing's impossible.]
Do you? Wonder, I mean.
[Maybe that makes sense. It's artificial, after all, or at least more artificial than what he started with. The arrow created Requiem, pulled Gold Experience inside out and made it unbeatable. But it reminds him uncomfortably of Dio and makes him itch to put his fingers on life instead of death, for all that he would do it again (and again and again and again) if Diavolo ever dared to show up here.]
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think . . .
[He hesitates here, unsure if he should continue. It's something he wouldn't say to anyone from home, not even Trish, who's usually exposed to his weaker side. But it's Jotaro.]
[That, somehow, is the only reason he needs. It's Jotaro.]
Gold Experience Requiem resets. Everything. It makes an action void. And so . . . sometimes I think it feels like a test. Will I abuse it or won't I?
[The implication is obvious. Will he do what Dio would have done with it, or will he keep his promises? So far, he's done the latter, hasn't even felt a temptation towards the former. But time changes people, he supposes, and nothing's impossible.]
Do you? Wonder, I mean.
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