[Even now, he can't really put into words what "something" had been; a power of Gold Experience's, obviously, but working out what had been done had been nearly impossible by definition because everything was going too fast to try to keep up with it, and all of a sudden everything was too much. No strategy. No real capacity to act against it. If Star wasn't capable of acting on his own, would he even be here right now?
...
Wait. What?
Of course he'd be here right now —]
Wasn't gonna kill myself. I just had to be able to think long enough to tell Star what to do.
[And he almost could, hadn't he? There'd been that one second when everything had slowed back down again. One second is all he would've needed to get Time Stop off, and then he could've gotten away from the golden monster coming at him with a street sign in his hands —
...
Wait. Giorno?]
. . .
[His brow furrows slightly and his mouth comes open in preparation; there was another question in there, too, what did I do that scared you, and he's almost ready to answer it with a question of his own: who told you about mudamudamuda, was it...Jonathan?
But he doesn't, because in the second after he thinks it, he knows — no, he's got that wrong, too. Saying something like that, believing that as a possibility — now that really would warrant what Giorno had spit at him earlier, I can't believe you'd think so little of me. There's going all-out, but deliberately using even something like that against him, as a battle strategy?
It's not that kind of fight.
So he lets the notion die on his tongue, and after a minute he ventures what feels like a more vague, less likely possibility, but one that puts his faith in Giorno instead of withdrawing it over something as patently stupid as two idiot boys bending the universe around them in the sand.]
Muda. Muda muda, he'd yell it when he was about to kill someone. Mostly me. Is...that when I freaked out?
no subject
[Even now, he can't really put into words what "something" had been; a power of Gold Experience's, obviously, but working out what had been done had been nearly impossible by definition because everything was going too fast to try to keep up with it, and all of a sudden everything was too much. No strategy. No real capacity to act against it. If Star wasn't capable of acting on his own, would he even be here right now?
...
Wait. What?
Of course he'd be here right now —]
Wasn't gonna kill myself. I just had to be able to think long enough to tell Star what to do.
[And he almost could, hadn't he? There'd been that one second when everything had slowed back down again. One second is all he would've needed to get Time Stop off, and then he could've gotten away from the golden monster coming at him with a street sign in his hands —
...
Wait. Giorno?]
. . .
[His brow furrows slightly and his mouth comes open in preparation; there was another question in there, too, what did I do that scared you, and he's almost ready to answer it with a question of his own: who told you about mudamudamuda, was it...Jonathan?
But he doesn't, because in the second after he thinks it, he knows — no, he's got that wrong, too. Saying something like that, believing that as a possibility — now that really would warrant what Giorno had spit at him earlier, I can't believe you'd think so little of me. There's going all-out, but deliberately using even something like that against him, as a battle strategy?
It's not that kind of fight.
So he lets the notion die on his tongue, and after a minute he ventures what feels like a more vague, less likely possibility, but one that puts his faith in Giorno instead of withdrawing it over something as patently stupid as two idiot boys bending the universe around them in the sand.]
Muda. Muda muda, he'd yell it when he was about to kill someone. Mostly me. Is...that when I freaked out?