[He pushes the fingers of his free hand through his hair, smiling at nothing-- and then sits up suddenly, with a grin.]
I've got a picture of him, you know-- wait here, I want to show you--
[And he's off, slipping out of of Giorno's grip and heading out of the kitchen. Skipping up the stairs, he takes Jotaro's present carefully off the wall and returns. He can't loop an arm around Giorno, not while he's holding the paper open, but he presses tight up against him.]
C'mere--
[It's a beautiful drawing. It's a compilation of drawings, actually, each of them carefully done and colored in. It's hung above his dresser since they made their comic book, and there's not a day goes by that he doesn't appreciate Jotaro for making it.]
[Waiting is agony. He wants to see, but he was told to wait, so he does, kicking his feet fiercely. When Polnareff returns, he reaches his hands out greedily, taking the drawing in his hands with utmost care.]
[He stares down at the drawing. It's bittersweet, really. He still hasn't given up hope on Abdul arriving here; he doesn't think he ever will. But he's not here now, and so the drawing is a little hard to look at. But he looks, because he misses Abdul fiercely, and if he can't have the man in person he's damn well going to see him in illustration.]
Yeah. He, uh . . . he's really something. Him and Magician's Red both.
[Oh. Giorno's swell of affection is sudden and unexpected, but no less enjoyable for it. He throws an arm around him, tugging him into a one-armed hug.]
[Sighing, he leans into the hug, looking down at the picture again. After a moment, he seems to find words.]
It's difficult, remembering the good things, the bright things, even though so much awful has happened. But you always find a way. I think that's very admirable. I want to be able to do it the way that you do.
[It's not so hard. Not for him, anyway. He's got a sunny disposition to begin with, and getting past grief . . . well, he's good at it at this point. He rolls with the punches because he has to; he keeps smiling and laughing because he knows that eventually they'll become genuine again.
He's pleased, though. Polnareff leans over, kissing the side of Giorno's head.]
It helps that I've got so many great people around. You and Jotaro and Kakyoin and Bruno-- I miss Abdul and Sherry and all of them, yeah, but I've got a hell of a lot to look forward to.
Probably? Definitely! No competition, Giorno, you're my favorite and the best! I mean, your siblings are jealous, but it's not their fault you're so great.
[It's a joke, of course, but it's also not. Polnareff leans against Giorno, grinning fiercely, determined to absolutely smother his son in affection. The kid can never have too much love.]
[Suffer, child. Giorno's the one holding the drawing, which means Polnareff is free to wrap both arms around him, making loud kissing noises against the side of Giorno's head.]
[Nope, too late. He slides onto the floor, keening all the way, and comes to rest with his back against the wall. The world's most graceful and dramatic death.]
Then you're doomed. I'm just gonna have to keep loving you so much.
[SUCH IS LIFE. He doesn't sound a bit sorry about it. He does, however, hop off the counter so he can kneel in front of Giorno. Carefully, he takes one hand.]
[He LEAPS to his feet-- leaps, no one has ever gotten up so dramatically-- and races to the fridge, throwing it open. And lo and behold, there is a cup of pudding. What a coincidence! What a plot twist! What a time to be alive, and he grabs it, returning to kneel at his son's side.]
[Giorno is now wheezing. Wheezing so much, so dramatically, his breath fluttering. The beeping has intensified, probably, even though real hospital machines don't work like that. He opens his eyes again when Polnareff returns to his side, reaches out for the pudding — and then his hand falls to the floor.]
Papa . . . a spoon . . .
[And then, a little more briskly:] We're not barbarians, Papa.
[He informs him of that just as briskly. Fortunately, the drawer is within hand's reach, and so Chariot rises, opening the drawer and groping blindly. It takes him two tries, but eventually a spoon is found.]
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[He pushes the fingers of his free hand through his hair, smiling at nothing-- and then sits up suddenly, with a grin.]
I've got a picture of him, you know-- wait here, I want to show you--
[And he's off, slipping out of of Giorno's grip and heading out of the kitchen. Skipping up the stairs, he takes Jotaro's present carefully off the wall and returns. He can't loop an arm around Giorno, not while he's holding the paper open, but he presses tight up against him.]
C'mere--
[It's a beautiful drawing. It's a compilation of drawings, actually, each of them carefully done and colored in. It's hung above his dresser since they made their comic book, and there's not a day goes by that he doesn't appreciate Jotaro for making it.]
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[Well.]
Wow.
[i saw a man so beautiful i started to cry???]
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[He stares down at the drawing. It's bittersweet, really. He still hasn't given up hope on Abdul arriving here; he doesn't think he ever will. But he's not here now, and so the drawing is a little hard to look at. But he looks, because he misses Abdul fiercely, and if he can't have the man in person he's damn well going to see him in illustration.]
Yeah. He, uh . . . he's really something. Him and Magician's Red both.
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I'm proud of you, Papa. I don't think I tell you that enough, but I am.
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Where'd that come from?
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[Sighing, he leans into the hug, looking down at the picture again. After a moment, he seems to find words.]
It's difficult, remembering the good things, the bright things, even though so much awful has happened. But you always find a way. I think that's very admirable. I want to be able to do it the way that you do.
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[It's not so hard. Not for him, anyway. He's got a sunny disposition to begin with, and getting past grief . . . well, he's good at it at this point. He rolls with the punches because he has to; he keeps smiling and laughing because he knows that eventually they'll become genuine again.
He's pleased, though. Polnareff leans over, kissing the side of Giorno's head.]
It helps that I've got so many great people around. You and Jotaro and Kakyoin and Bruno-- I miss Abdul and Sherry and all of them, yeah, but I've got a hell of a lot to look forward to.
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I'm pretty great, huh? I'm the best son you've ever had, probably.
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[It's a joke, of course, but it's also not. Polnareff leans against Giorno, grinning fiercely, determined to absolutely smother his son in affection. The kid can never have too much love.]
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[What the heck.]
Papa, you are smothering me.
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[Suffer, child. Giorno's the one holding the drawing, which means Polnareff is free to wrap both arms around him, making loud kissing noises against the side of Giorno's head.]
Now I'm smothering you, ma petite.
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[He squawks and goes limp, desperate to slither onto the floor and out of this hellish torment. LEAVE HIM BE . . .]
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I can't help it if I love you!
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Your love is too strong!
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[He leans over, peering down at his poor son.]
Wear some crappy clothes on some days, I don't know. Burn dinner one night.
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[This gasped out, the last words of a doomed child. Never. Never will he be anything less than perfect!]
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[SUCH IS LIFE. He doesn't sound a bit sorry about it. He does, however, hop off the counter so he can kneel in front of Giorno. Carefully, he takes one hand.]
Are you dying, my poor son?
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I am . . . I am. Only one thing will save me now.
[slowly . . . cracks one eye open . . . are u paying attention papa]
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What is it?
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[Can one pose while also pretending to die? Apparently one can.]
Pudding.
[Because of course it is.]
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But do we have any?
[He LEAPS to his feet-- leaps, no one has ever gotten up so dramatically-- and races to the fridge, throwing it open. And lo and behold, there is a cup of pudding. What a coincidence! What a plot twist! What a time to be alive, and he grabs it, returning to kneel at his son's side.]
Giorno!
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Papa . . . a spoon . . .
[And then, a little more briskly:] We're not barbarians, Papa.
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[He informs him of that just as briskly. Fortunately, the drawer is within hand's reach, and so Chariot rises, opening the drawer and groping blindly. It takes him two tries, but eventually a spoon is found.]
Now can you live, petit?
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[He considers the spoon. Then, grabbing it, he nods, and sits up, cradling the pudding cup to his chest.]
I think I will manage, yes.
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[He flops back, lying on the floor, propped up on his elbows.]
That was a close one.
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