[His lip wobbles a little, and he assumes what has become his secondary position during these sorts of talks with Polnareff: tucked up close with his face pressed against Polnareff's side, unwilling to look out at the world, because it's not safe. Not for people like them. Not for people like Abdul, he knows.]
He told me that . . . Bruno . . . reminded him of Abdul. My Bruno, I.
[He takes Polnareff's hand in his and tugs his arm tighter around his shoulders. It's a lie to think that no one can harm him when Polnareff is there, but he tries to believe it anyway.]
I . . . was Judgment, really. I thought I could do it. And if I had a wish, that's what it would have been.
[He says it firmly, and his voice is rough-- but his grip on Giorno doesn't waver. He settles his head atop Giorno's, tucking him in close.]
You weren't Judgement. Judgement gave me that choice knowing what it was he was doing; how false his promise was. He did it because he liked to see people suffer. There's a difference between what he did and trying to bring someone back because you-- you love them.
[His voice is so small. He burrows in closer, tucks his knees up underneath him. He feels so sad, but in a distant, aching way. And there's a bloom of sweetness in his chest, too, that after a moment he identifies as "belonging".]
So maybe I . . . was more like you? Like a hero . . . or at least trying to be one?
[He says it and he means it-- but in case Giorno takes it as simple pandering:]
You were trying to keep your friend alive. You were trying to do right. I don't think . . . I think it's something that's too tempting not to try, when you're faced with someone you love dying, when you have the power to change things.
[A beat-- and then he kisses the top of Giorno's head, just as he would Sherry when she was upset.]
[Polnareff kisses him, and he wriggles a little, loosening his grip. He feels safer with little bits and pieces of affection like that, safe enough to look up with a crooked smile.]
You said something like that, too. After you said you understood. It was almost exactly that, "too tempting not to try".
[He wonders if there will always be the moment of relief that comes after successfully navigating emotions. The little internal sigh that means you didn't mess up. He wonders if thirty-six year old Polnareff has that moment, or if he's matured enough not to need it.
He pulls back as Giorno does, though he still keeps an arm around him.]
I know I'd have always regretted it if I hadn't tried.
[They're not the same age, but it doesn't occur to Polnareff to count himself as someone not normal.]
And Sherry-- she loved people. She loved anyone who had a speck of goodness in them-- and god, she'd talk to you about flowers all day. We had a little garden outside our house, after Mama died, she was the one who planted everything-- tulips, that was her favorites. That's how I know them, she liked the red ones the best.
[He says this in an extremely blase way, but. Well. Talking about Sherry is better.]
Um, I should have made red ones! If those are her favorite. I just thought about this color because you said gold is your favorite. She sounds perfect, I don't — I never had a sibling before Jotaro. But it sounds nice.
I dunno about perfect, she fed my fish to her stupid cat once . . .
[But perfect in Giorno terms, maybe. And even as he says that, he's grinning fiercely-- no matter what, he'll always want to talk about Sherry. It hurts, but when doesn't it? At least this way he can share the good parts with someone else.]
She was smart. Smarter than me, she-- we lived together, just she and I, for a bit, she was always the one going over the books. I wish I had a picture to show you, she didn't look anything like me, she took after Mama-- brown hair, all long and curly.
[He glances up at Polnareff curiously, trying to envision what his father might look like, or what parts of Polnareff's face might be hiding in Sherry's. Absently, he plays with the end of his hair and then seems to realize something.]
I sort of wondered. You don't have enough to do it yourself.
[Honestly, he's not sure how he feels about this, but . . . it's not bad? It's odd. Just odd, that's all. He looks down at his braid, like he's inspecting it for split ends.]
[He tips his head-- he can guess what Giorno might be thinking, and part of him wants to correct it, but he'll wait. He can talk more about her for a bit.]
Mm, let's see. She was a brat when we were younger, a bit, but I think . . . it was worse and better when it was just us, because all we had were each other, right? So we got closer, and she grew up more and so did I. She was always a cat person-- she had one official one when we were kids, but there were always a ton hanging around our house, because they knew she'd feed them.
Chariot liked her. I mean, of course he did, but-- I think even now he'd like her. She never could see him, of course, she thought I had an imaginary friend, but I had her thinking I was magic for years because of him.
[It is if he doesn't think about it. And if Giorno hadn't asked the question, he probably would have let it just be that.]
Not . . . always. I mean, yeah, some of the time. Sometimes it was miserable. I mean, for a while it was just me and then she came along and got the attention, so that sucked. She was always the baby, so I got all the stricter stuff and by the time she came along, our parents were way more relaxed. Sometimes we fought, and I was mean to her and she was mean to me. And sometimes never being alone isn't so great-- I mean, it was a small house.
So: not always good. And not every sibling is like that, I mean, I had friends who hated their siblings. But for me and Sherry-- it was more good than not, if that makes sense.
[...]
You and Jotaro . . . you must get annoyed with him sometimes, right? You love him, but I mean, the guy must drive you up a wall sometimes. But even when he does, he's still your brother, so even if you end up fighting you're gonna love him.
. . . Mm. It makes sense. I just wonder sometimes.
I think maybe . . . sometimes I feel like I had another brother. But I didn't know him for very long, so it feels strange to say that. He was always bossing me around, though, because he was older so he thought he should be in charge. We fought way more than I do with Jotaro. But I loved him anyway.
Well.
[He gives a soft smile.]
It's silly to pretend, I know, but I just wonder what it would have been like if things were different.
[Narancia or Abbachio, if he had to guess. Certainly not Mista, and Bruno was one of the others Giorno had listed as father-figure-like. But he doesn't know much about either boy, save for the fact they died. And while his gaze is soft, he doesn't smile-- because it's not silly. It's about the farthest thing from silly.]
[Immediately, obviously caught off guard, he glances up at Polnareff as though he t hinks he's done something wrong. They were talking about Sherry, so he shouldn't have said anything, right?]
[And Bruno had told him a lot more. Funny, isn't it-- because the way Bruno had talked about him, Polnareff had been imagining some fourteen year old, skinny and rebellious and still a child, really. But if he's older than Giorno-- god, what, sixteen, when all that shit went down?]
I want to hear about Narancia.
[An assurance, in reply to that somewhat alarmed look. But before they entirely leave the topic of Sherry--]
Y'know-- I did a bunch of girly stuff with Sherry, braiding her hair and all that. And I like doing it with you. And-- I just--
[How to say this...]
I don't do it with you just because I did it with her.
[His brows draw together in a total lack of comprehension. He doesn't understand how you can just have one thing with one person, and then with someone else, and it not be the same thing. Wouldn't that hurt?]
[He hesitates-- not because he's trying to lie, but because he wants to be sure he's telling Giorno the actual truth, not just what he wants to hear.]
I think . . . I wouldn't have started doing it if I hadn't done it with her. So maybe in part, yeah, because some things are always gonna make me think of her. But . . . I like doing it because I like spending time with you like that. It's nice to just sit with you like that and talk about nothing and end the day like that.
[It makes a lot of sense, and he's not really sure why he didn't think of that himself. But either way . . . he nods, and he shifts a little to snuggle closer.]
I understand. I didn't mean to — if I said something wrong, I'm sorry.
[There's two ways to treat a Giorno apology: briskly or with excessive love. This is a time for the former, and so he simply draws him in closer and settles down. There are still flowers on his floor, and he wonders idly if Giorno has any intention of getting rid of them.]
You didn't say anything wrong. And if you want-- I'd like to hear about Narancia.
[He nods a little, curls up close. But there is one thing.]
. . . Um. I know you wanted to know about what Gold Experience can do, and . . . there's a lot more than that. So I don't know if you want to talk about that first.
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[His lip wobbles a little, and he assumes what has become his secondary position during these sorts of talks with Polnareff: tucked up close with his face pressed against Polnareff's side, unwilling to look out at the world, because it's not safe. Not for people like them. Not for people like Abdul, he knows.]
He told me that . . . Bruno . . . reminded him of Abdul. My Bruno, I.
[He takes Polnareff's hand in his and tugs his arm tighter around his shoulders. It's a lie to think that no one can harm him when Polnareff is there, but he tries to believe it anyway.]
I . . . was Judgment, really. I thought I could do it. And if I had a wish, that's what it would have been.
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[He says it firmly, and his voice is rough-- but his grip on Giorno doesn't waver. He settles his head atop Giorno's, tucking him in close.]
You weren't Judgement. Judgement gave me that choice knowing what it was he was doing; how false his promise was. He did it because he liked to see people suffer. There's a difference between what he did and trying to bring someone back because you-- you love them.
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[His voice is so small. He burrows in closer, tucks his knees up underneath him. He feels so sad, but in a distant, aching way. And there's a bloom of sweetness in his chest, too, that after a moment he identifies as "belonging".]
So maybe I . . . was more like you? Like a hero . . . or at least trying to be one?
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[He says it and he means it-- but in case Giorno takes it as simple pandering:]
You were trying to keep your friend alive. You were trying to do right. I don't think . . . I think it's something that's too tempting not to try, when you're faced with someone you love dying, when you have the power to change things.
[A beat-- and then he kisses the top of Giorno's head, just as he would Sherry when she was upset.]
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[Polnareff kisses him, and he wriggles a little, loosening his grip. He feels safer with little bits and pieces of affection like that, safe enough to look up with a crooked smile.]
You said something like that, too. After you said you understood. It was almost exactly that, "too tempting not to try".
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He pulls back as Giorno does, though he still keeps an arm around him.]
I know I'd have always regretted it if I hadn't tried.
[A beat, and then:]
You would have liked her, you know. Sherry.
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[He gives Polnareff an uncertain look.]
I wasn't very good with . . . other people my age, who aren't. I don't know.
. . . I don't do well with normal people.
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[They're not the same age, but it doesn't occur to Polnareff to count himself as someone not normal.]
And Sherry-- she loved people. She loved anyone who had a speck of goodness in them-- and god, she'd talk to you about flowers all day. We had a little garden outside our house, after Mama died, she was the one who planted everything-- tulips, that was her favorites. That's how I know them, she liked the red ones the best.
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[He says this in an extremely blase way, but. Well. Talking about Sherry is better.]
Um, I should have made red ones! If those are her favorite. I just thought about this color because you said gold is your favorite. She sounds perfect, I don't — I never had a sibling before Jotaro. But it sounds nice.
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[But perfect in Giorno terms, maybe. And even as he says that, he's grinning fiercely-- no matter what, he'll always want to talk about Sherry. It hurts, but when doesn't it? At least this way he can share the good parts with someone else.]
She was smart. Smarter than me, she-- we lived together, just she and I, for a bit, she was always the one going over the books. I wish I had a picture to show you, she didn't look anything like me, she took after Mama-- brown hair, all long and curly.
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[He glances up at Polnareff curiously, trying to envision what his father might look like, or what parts of Polnareff's face might be hiding in Sherry's. Absently, he plays with the end of his hair and then seems to realize something.]
Did you do her hair when she was little?
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[He doesn't miss the way Giorno touches his own braid. Polnareff offers a slight smile.]
'S why I'm actually pretty decent at doing yours.
[And why he finds the entire ritual soothing, frankly.]
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[Honestly, he's not sure how he feels about this, but . . . it's not bad? It's odd. Just odd, that's all. He looks down at his braid, like he's inspecting it for split ends.]
Do you . . . well. Tell me more about her, maybe?
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[He tips his head-- he can guess what Giorno might be thinking, and part of him wants to correct it, but he'll wait. He can talk more about her for a bit.]
Mm, let's see. She was a brat when we were younger, a bit, but I think . . . it was worse and better when it was just us, because all we had were each other, right? So we got closer, and she grew up more and so did I. She was always a cat person-- she had one official one when we were kids, but there were always a ton hanging around our house, because they knew she'd feed them.
Chariot liked her. I mean, of course he did, but-- I think even now he'd like her. She never could see him, of course, she thought I had an imaginary friend, but I had her thinking I was magic for years because of him.
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[He presses his lips together thoughtfully.]
Is that what it's like to have a sibling? Always playing games and never being alone?
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Not . . . always. I mean, yeah, some of the time. Sometimes it was miserable. I mean, for a while it was just me and then she came along and got the attention, so that sucked. She was always the baby, so I got all the stricter stuff and by the time she came along, our parents were way more relaxed. Sometimes we fought, and I was mean to her and she was mean to me. And sometimes never being alone isn't so great-- I mean, it was a small house.
So: not always good. And not every sibling is like that, I mean, I had friends who hated their siblings. But for me and Sherry-- it was more good than not, if that makes sense.
[...]
You and Jotaro . . . you must get annoyed with him sometimes, right? You love him, but I mean, the guy must drive you up a wall sometimes. But even when he does, he's still your brother, so even if you end up fighting you're gonna love him.
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I think maybe . . . sometimes I feel like I had another brother. But I didn't know him for very long, so it feels strange to say that. He was always bossing me around, though, because he was older so he thought he should be in charge. We fought way more than I do with Jotaro. But I loved him anyway.
Well.
[He gives a soft smile.]
It's silly to pretend, I know, but I just wonder what it would have been like if things were different.
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[Narancia or Abbachio, if he had to guess. Certainly not Mista, and Bruno was one of the others Giorno had listed as father-figure-like. But he doesn't know much about either boy, save for the fact they died. And while his gaze is soft, he doesn't smile-- because it's not silly. It's about the farthest thing from silly.]
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[Immediately, obviously caught off guard, he glances up at Polnareff as though he t hinks he's done something wrong. They were talking about Sherry, so he shouldn't have said anything, right?]
Narancia. You . . . I told Jotaro about him.
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[And Bruno had told him a lot more. Funny, isn't it-- because the way Bruno had talked about him, Polnareff had been imagining some fourteen year old, skinny and rebellious and still a child, really. But if he's older than Giorno-- god, what, sixteen, when all that shit went down?]
I want to hear about Narancia.
[An assurance, in reply to that somewhat alarmed look. But before they entirely leave the topic of Sherry--]
Y'know-- I did a bunch of girly stuff with Sherry, braiding her hair and all that. And I like doing it with you. And-- I just--
[How to say this...]
I don't do it with you just because I did it with her.
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[He chews his lip for a moment, before:]
But that is . . . part of the reason?
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I think . . . I wouldn't have started doing it if I hadn't done it with her. So maybe in part, yeah, because some things are always gonna make me think of her. But . . . I like doing it because I like spending time with you like that. It's nice to just sit with you like that and talk about nothing and end the day like that.
Make sense?
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[It makes a lot of sense, and he's not really sure why he didn't think of that himself. But either way . . . he nods, and he shifts a little to snuggle closer.]
I understand. I didn't mean to — if I said something wrong, I'm sorry.
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[There's two ways to treat a Giorno apology: briskly or with excessive love. This is a time for the former, and so he simply draws him in closer and settles down. There are still flowers on his floor, and he wonders idly if Giorno has any intention of getting rid of them.]
You didn't say anything wrong. And if you want-- I'd like to hear about Narancia.
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[He nods a little, curls up close. But there is one thing.]
. . . Um. I know you wanted to know about what Gold Experience can do, and . . . there's a lot more than that. So I don't know if you want to talk about that first.
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