[For all that it could easily be a rebuke, it's really just quietly amused. He hears the possessive and approves of it, even though it doesn't matter whether he does or not. Even though he still thinks they're both idiots.]
[He toes his shoes off, sinks his bare feet into the sand, and looks out at the water. Water.]
. . . We were in Venezia. All of us split up, me and Mista together. He didn't like me then, or maybe he didn't care one way or the other, but either way - we were in a stolen car, racing down the highway, with a Stand user chasing us. Ghiaccio, and White Album. Freezing up the streets and the car and us, too.
It was so hard to think. And Mista was yelling at me, and he couldn't get a good shot in because this Stand, it covered the user's whole body, and it didn't seem like there were any chinks in his armor. I think Mista was pissed. He's good at what he does, you know, he doesn't like that kind of thing, when people cheat like that.
So to get away, get a moment to think, I drove the car into one of the canals. Which was stupid. He just froze the water, but - Mista wouldn't believe he couldn't be beaten. He thought there had to be a gap somewhere, some way to get him. So he figured out a way to get to shore, kept trying and trying different things to kill him, and I was stuck on the fucking car, sinking.
[The briefest flicker of a smile; he touches a spot on the back of his neck, under the braid.]
He found the weak spot. And he shot at it, but Ghiaccio, he froze the air solid, and the bullets just bounced off it and hit Mista instead. And he was saying . . . it was his responsibility, he had to take care of this. For Bruno, for everyone. It didn't matter if he died. And I thought . . .
That kind of spirit, it's too beautiful to waste.
[With a sharp exhale, he licks his lips.]
I had never really thought that before. That there were ways to victory that were unacceptable, because of the cost involved. But Mista dying there like that, I wouldn't have it. So I showed him - I had to show him - I injured myself, to show him that when blood got close to Ghiaccio it froze. And he just knew, he knew without me having to say anything - got close enough so that when he shot at Ghiaccio again and the bullets ricocheted back, the blood got in his face and froze. He couldn't see an attack coming. All he could do was die.
no subject
[For all that it could easily be a rebuke, it's really just quietly amused. He hears the possessive and approves of it, even though it doesn't matter whether he does or not. Even though he still thinks they're both idiots.]
[He toes his shoes off, sinks his bare feet into the sand, and looks out at the water. Water.]
. . . We were in Venezia. All of us split up, me and Mista together. He didn't like me then, or maybe he didn't care one way or the other, but either way - we were in a stolen car, racing down the highway, with a Stand user chasing us. Ghiaccio, and White Album. Freezing up the streets and the car and us, too.
It was so hard to think. And Mista was yelling at me, and he couldn't get a good shot in because this Stand, it covered the user's whole body, and it didn't seem like there were any chinks in his armor. I think Mista was pissed. He's good at what he does, you know, he doesn't like that kind of thing, when people cheat like that.
So to get away, get a moment to think, I drove the car into one of the canals. Which was stupid. He just froze the water, but - Mista wouldn't believe he couldn't be beaten. He thought there had to be a gap somewhere, some way to get him. So he figured out a way to get to shore, kept trying and trying different things to kill him, and I was stuck on the fucking car, sinking.
[The briefest flicker of a smile; he touches a spot on the back of his neck, under the braid.]
He found the weak spot. And he shot at it, but Ghiaccio, he froze the air solid, and the bullets just bounced off it and hit Mista instead. And he was saying . . . it was his responsibility, he had to take care of this. For Bruno, for everyone. It didn't matter if he died. And I thought . . .
That kind of spirit, it's too beautiful to waste.
[With a sharp exhale, he licks his lips.]
I had never really thought that before. That there were ways to victory that were unacceptable, because of the cost involved. But Mista dying there like that, I wouldn't have it. So I showed him - I had to show him - I injured myself, to show him that when blood got close to Ghiaccio it froze. And he just knew, he knew without me having to say anything - got close enough so that when he shot at Ghiaccio again and the bullets ricocheted back, the blood got in his face and froze. He couldn't see an attack coming. All he could do was die.