[He puts his hand over his mouth, but not before Polnareff catches the way his mouth trembles. And the entire situation is absurd, really-- I'm sorry that I'm not what you hoped I would be, and he could say those exact same words to Giorno. He's not wise enough, clever enough, quick enough; he's not the man he'll become, someone who can advise Giorno, who understands in ways that Polnareff, now, is too stupid to.
He doesn't think; he just reaches, tugging Giorno forward, manhandling him into a hug.]
You don't have anything to be sorry for.
[Firm and rough, not something that can be argued against. An indisputable fact. He says it as firmly as he can to the top of Giorno's head-- and it's good they're like this, because he doesn't want to have to worry about how he looks for the next part of it.]
Sherry is dead. She's dead and she will not come back, no matter what I do or who I meet. I tried once to bring her back, and it taught me that-- and so there is nothing you could have done, and I wouldn't have wanted you to try. She's dead and gone and you can't fix that, and neither can I.
[He would sell the world to get her back. He'd happily trade his own life for hers, even now, in this moment, he would. But he can't. The price isn't too high; it simply doesn't exist, and that's all there is to it.]
Giorno-- you are exactly what I hoped you'd be, because you're you. I'm the one who doesn't know, the one who-- who isn't who he should be. And I'll get there, I promise I will, but-- you have to understand, Giorno, I don't know you. Not yet. Not all of it. I'm going to be stupid and make mistakes and not understand, because I'm not who I become.
[So bear with me, that's what his words convey, but what really lies beneath that is: don't be too disappointed in me. Polnareff always shoots his mouth off, says stupid things, makes errors and blunders his way through life-- and god, he doesn't want to do that here. He wants to get it all right, and he knows he can't and he won't.]
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He doesn't think; he just reaches, tugging Giorno forward, manhandling him into a hug.]
You don't have anything to be sorry for.
[Firm and rough, not something that can be argued against. An indisputable fact. He says it as firmly as he can to the top of Giorno's head-- and it's good they're like this, because he doesn't want to have to worry about how he looks for the next part of it.]
Sherry is dead. She's dead and she will not come back, no matter what I do or who I meet. I tried once to bring her back, and it taught me that-- and so there is nothing you could have done, and I wouldn't have wanted you to try. She's dead and gone and you can't fix that, and neither can I.
[He would sell the world to get her back. He'd happily trade his own life for hers, even now, in this moment, he would. But he can't. The price isn't too high; it simply doesn't exist, and that's all there is to it.]
Giorno-- you are exactly what I hoped you'd be, because you're you. I'm the one who doesn't know, the one who-- who isn't who he should be. And I'll get there, I promise I will, but-- you have to understand, Giorno, I don't know you. Not yet. Not all of it. I'm going to be stupid and make mistakes and not understand, because I'm not who I become.
[So bear with me, that's what his words convey, but what really lies beneath that is: don't be too disappointed in me. Polnareff always shoots his mouth off, says stupid things, makes errors and blunders his way through life-- and god, he doesn't want to do that here. He wants to get it all right, and he knows he can't and he won't.]