[Right, this is Giorno? Giorno doesn't always take the teasing well. Take the direct route.]
It really does feel good, having that person by your side... being able to see them and actually make sure they're fine. We aren't even from the same world, and I know I'd probably freak if Asher were transferred to another team, even if I knew he was all right.
Hm. Commonplace? No. Not in general. With people in my particular circle, though, it's quite common.
[Near-ubiquitous, actually. Thanks, Diavolo. Giorno fixes Jin with a Look.]
I won't have you pester Fugo about it. If he chooses to talk about his ability or lack thereof, that's what it will be: his choice.
[At least Giorno leaves it at that. There's no threat; he trusts, as much as he ever can, that Jin will at least try to leave well enough alone.]
My home is Napoli, in Italia. It is a very beautiful city with very ugly spaces, full of very good and very terrible people. And the space between is where I live, I suppose.
[He smiles a little, nostalgic. Homesick.]
It's on the ocean. We have a little section of beach that belongs to our palazzo; Trish makes me take walks on Sundays so I'll stop working. [A beat.] Trish is my friend. She's very beautiful and stubborn and ruthless and the smartest person I know.
Mista is my bodyguard. He's the one I thought of, before--when I was talking to Asher. He is very loyal. Sometimes too loyal. He used to put himself in harm's way too much, but . . . then I realized that was--no good. He is too important for that. So we work differently now. Or did, when he was still with me.
[For a moment, he's distant, looking elsewhere. Even after all this time, it's hard to count his friends and stop at three. It's hard to let your heart live for a while and then cut half of it away.]
. . . Fugo you know of. Fugo is Fugo. His business is his business. I suppose you could just ask him. I told him that I trust you, so he might even answer.
The rest of my team--the people I trust most are Polnareff, Sheila, and Murolo. Polnareff is my advisor. Sheila is Mista's second. [He grins sharply for a moment.] She'd destroy you, so lucky break she's not here. And Murolo is an asshole. But he's good at what he does.
[Jin listens intently, taking in those names and committing them to memory. Giorno speaks of them with the sort of sincerity that can't be faked; these are not the names of simple acquaintances. These are his people. Truly.]
A city by the sea sounds really beautiful, Giorno. I've never been to Italy, actually. I've been around Asia-- I spent a lot of time traveling when I was around your age [and he'll leave it at that, unless Giorno asks]-- but never Italy. And your team sound like they're good people, though: the kind you can really rely on no matter where you are.
[A grin.] Don't sell me short, by the way. I might still cut it with this Sheila, if she works with Mista. Especially if you're comparing me to him.
[The name 'Polnareff' rings familiar, but he'd only ever spoken to him once or twice: warming their hands around a campfire in ALASTAIR'S snowy campsite back in Perdition's Rest. Or, wait, hadn't that same man spoken to Giorno on the--]
Polnareff was here too, wasn't he? Really tall and broad [just say 'big titty' jin we all know], used a wheelchair? Was he transferred to another team?
Sheila doesn't put up with bullshit from Mista, either. She doesn't put up with it from anyone. And Mista is only like you up to a point. He knows that someone like that, you give her respect or she'll take it.
[Really--Sheila is a lot like Giorno in her way.]
If you don't want to end up like the first people who got in her way, you give her honesty and respect, and she gives it back. Mista is good at that. He's better at people than either of us are.
[It's true, Giogio. You know it. It's how he managed to garner Jin's respect, after all.]
It's very possible he'll return to the team, too. I know there are at least a couple cases of former Audentes team members returning after being sent onto separate missions: sometimes for a month, sometimes for several.
[With Giorno's luck so far, he'd put money on it.]
[He gives Giorno an uncertain Look at the prospect of someone actually being meaner than him, but the rest of the boy's words catch far more of his attention.]
Because... of what you went through? Or of being alone here?
Don't have to answer if you don't want to, by the way. [No pressure. Giorno, though less averse to softness, is too much like him, sometimes: unaccustomed, or at least not much given to, vulnerability. The agency, and the power to share, still lies with him.]
[Or if he wants to, exactly. He does, but he doesn't. It's complicated, and he doesn't care to think about it too much. This is one of those moments where experience and good judgment mean nothing to him; he has no experience, nothing to base a good judgment on. This is why he relies on instinct so much: so much of life is a mystery to him, despite all the power at his fingertips.]
[He touches his fingertips to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his ribs. Then he steps out into empty air, closing his eyes to risk.]
I don't do well on my own. I used to. In a way I was a lot stronger then. I don't think I could explain in words the difference between then and now. I felt like something else: bigger, better, broader, alien. Untouchable.
And then I learned that it was possible to care so much about someone it hurts your whole body and your whole mind and parts of you that don't even exist on any plane when you lose them. I can't live without people anymore. So I'm weaker, but stronger. And at the same time, I don't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense to normal people who have normal feelings. Normal people with normal feelings have always understood that caring about people is important. Normal people know how to lose.
Where I come from, in my city by the sea, there are no normal people. I need my abnormal people by my side, or I don't work. Like a clock that only measures seconds. I tick and tock along, but I don't keep time. And then I break.
[Jin's taken completely aback. The admission is so earnest, opening Giorno up in vulnerability to what Jin perceives to be the very core of him, or near that, that he answers, immediately, in kind.]
Being on your own can be like that. [He looks past Giorno, delving into the back of his own head. He doesn't care to think about this part of himself too often, either: it's over and done with, and he has moved on, but the failure's a part of him. It's the foundation he's built himself back upon. His fingers wrap around the now-cooling cup of tea.] When you cut yourself off from everything, and all you have to rely upon is yourself... no one can let you down. No one can hurt you, or touch you, because you haven't given them any of you to put their hands upon in the first place.
[At last, he glances back.]
Or... that's what it felt like when I alone, anyway. For more than a year, it was just me and my bow and my own wits, out on the street. It's surreal to talk about it like that now. I was a different person back then.
[But the comparison's not a perfect fit. Giorno's explanation is caught between the puzzling extremes of detachment and naivety; honestly, he's not completely sure what to make of it. Save for the fact that he gets the idea that he's not quite one of Giorno's abnormal people.]
Having people who understand you and really care around, though... it's better than being strong like that. It's worth being weak if you've got that with you. I'd rather care and hurt for it than not to feel those feelings at all.
[Sometime during this explanation, Giorno's eyes open. After another moment or two, his gaze slides sideways, eerily smooth and slow, until they fix on Jin. He is always looking for a lie. This is almost certainly not one, but he still has to check. Always watch his back. Always.]
[Not with Fugo, though. And that's the other piece. He wonders.]
Yes. That's the conclusion I've come to as well, in the end.
[He says it clinically, academically, like it wasn't painful, like it didn't make him regret everything about himself all over again. Which is in complete contradiction to what he said just a moment ago, but that's fine. He's sure Jin will understand why he does it.]
[Even if he doesn't, it's no secret that in this moment Giorno is a little bit elsewhere. It's worn him out, being this honest. He wants Fugo; he wants to wind his fingers together with Fugo's and dance with words around their broken hearts. He wants to sit with Kaz and be vicious in the ways that only they can be. He wants to sit alone and cry soundlessly about Bruno Buccellati, whom he might as well have killed with his own hands.]
I feel a little bad, [he murmurs, glancing away again.] I can tell . . . you're sharing something with me that you don't share with many people. And I think maybe it makes you sad to talk about it. Have I made you sad? I don't know. I think I have, a little.
[His voice is soft, his phrasing stilted and angular. Don Giovanna isn't here right now; someone else is, someone who Giorno chooses not to name.]
I don't like that. I don't want that. I want you to be happy. I should be able to make that happen. So sometimes, it's easier to just lie. I'd rather smile and protect--the boys with just themselves, their weapons, their wits. Someone should.
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Good point. All that talk about a 'warm' feeling? That had to have come from experience.
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[Giorno Giovanna do you think he doesn't remember what it feels like to be sixteen and Wanting To Kiss Every Boy.]
It sounded fresher. Like it was something recent moreso than a fond memory. Either way, I'm happy for you.
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You're happy you have something to make fun of me for.
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[Right, this is Giorno? Giorno doesn't always take the teasing well. Take the direct route.]
It really does feel good, having that person by your side... being able to see them and actually make sure they're fine. We aren't even from the same world, and I know I'd probably freak if Asher were transferred to another team, even if I knew he was all right.
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. . . Yes.
[SO SUSPICIOUS. But.]
I missed him. I missed all of them, but. I worried about him most.
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And now you don't have to worry. [...] Well, you can worry about him less. We're still here to get to work at the end of the day.
What's the rest of your team like, back home? Actually... I don't really know what your 'home' is like. Is having 'abilities' like yours commonplace?
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Hm. Commonplace? No. Not in general. With people in my particular circle, though, it's quite common.
[Near-ubiquitous, actually. Thanks, Diavolo. Giorno fixes Jin with a Look.]
I won't have you pester Fugo about it. If he chooses to talk about his ability or lack thereof, that's what it will be: his choice.
[At least Giorno leaves it at that. There's no threat; he trusts, as much as he ever can, that Jin will at least try to leave well enough alone.]
My home is Napoli, in Italia. It is a very beautiful city with very ugly spaces, full of very good and very terrible people. And the space between is where I live, I suppose.
[He smiles a little, nostalgic. Homesick.]
It's on the ocean. We have a little section of beach that belongs to our palazzo; Trish makes me take walks on Sundays so I'll stop working. [A beat.] Trish is my friend. She's very beautiful and stubborn and ruthless and the smartest person I know.
Mista is my bodyguard. He's the one I thought of, before--when I was talking to Asher. He is very loyal. Sometimes too loyal. He used to put himself in harm's way too much, but . . . then I realized that was--no good. He is too important for that. So we work differently now. Or did, when he was still with me.
[For a moment, he's distant, looking elsewhere. Even after all this time, it's hard to count his friends and stop at three. It's hard to let your heart live for a while and then cut half of it away.]
. . . Fugo you know of. Fugo is Fugo. His business is his business. I suppose you could just ask him. I told him that I trust you, so he might even answer.
The rest of my team--the people I trust most are Polnareff, Sheila, and Murolo. Polnareff is my advisor. Sheila is Mista's second. [He grins sharply for a moment.] She'd destroy you, so lucky break she's not here. And Murolo is an asshole. But he's good at what he does.
im a nerd i kno leave me be
A city by the sea sounds really beautiful, Giorno. I've never been to Italy, actually. I've been around Asia-- I spent a lot of time traveling when I was around your age [and he'll leave it at that, unless Giorno asks]-- but never Italy. And your team sound like they're good people, though: the kind you can really rely on no matter where you are.
[A grin.] Don't sell me short, by the way. I might still cut it with this Sheila, if she works with Mista. Especially if you're comparing me to him.
[The name 'Polnareff' rings familiar, but he'd only ever spoken to him once or twice: warming their hands around a campfire in ALASTAIR'S snowy campsite back in Perdition's Rest. Or, wait, hadn't that same man spoken to Giorno on the--]
Polnareff was here too, wasn't he? Really tall and broad [just say 'big titty' jin we all know], used a wheelchair? Was he transferred to another team?
never
[He shakes his head. Nothing doing.]
Sheila doesn't put up with bullshit from Mista, either. She doesn't put up with it from anyone. And Mista is only like you up to a point. He knows that someone like that, you give her respect or she'll take it.
[Really--Sheila is a lot like Giorno in her way.]
If you don't want to end up like the first people who got in her way, you give her honesty and respect, and she gives it back. Mista is good at that. He's better at people than either of us are.
[Giorno purses his lips, expression clouding.]
He was transferred. [Giorno Might Be Pissed.]
no subject
[It's true, Giogio. You know it. It's how he managed to garner Jin's respect, after all.]
It's very possible he'll return to the team, too. I know there are at least a couple cases of former Audentes team members returning after being sent onto separate missions: sometimes for a month, sometimes for several.
[With Giorno's luck so far, he'd put money on it.]
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[Someone is meaner than him?? Terrifying.]
I hope so. But--well, I don't know. I'm not good at starting over with people. So as long as I have someone who's been through--
[Hm. He pauses, starts over.]
Someone who knows me. I'll be all right. I wasn't for a while.
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Because... of what you went through? Or of being alone here?
Don't have to answer if you don't want to, by the way. [No pressure. Giorno, though less averse to softness, is too much like him, sometimes: unaccustomed, or at least not much given to, vulnerability. The agency, and the power to share, still lies with him.]
no subject
[Or if he wants to, exactly. He does, but he doesn't. It's complicated, and he doesn't care to think about it too much. This is one of those moments where experience and good judgment mean nothing to him; he has no experience, nothing to base a good judgment on. This is why he relies on instinct so much: so much of life is a mystery to him, despite all the power at his fingertips.]
[He touches his fingertips to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his ribs. Then he steps out into empty air, closing his eyes to risk.]
I don't do well on my own. I used to. In a way I was a lot stronger then. I don't think I could explain in words the difference between then and now. I felt like something else: bigger, better, broader, alien. Untouchable.
And then I learned that it was possible to care so much about someone it hurts your whole body and your whole mind and parts of you that don't even exist on any plane when you lose them. I can't live without people anymore. So I'm weaker, but stronger. And at the same time, I don't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense to normal people who have normal feelings. Normal people with normal feelings have always understood that caring about people is important. Normal people know how to lose.
Where I come from, in my city by the sea, there are no normal people. I need my abnormal people by my side, or I don't work. Like a clock that only measures seconds. I tick and tock along, but I don't keep time. And then I break.
no subject
Being on your own can be like that. [He looks past Giorno, delving into the back of his own head. He doesn't care to think about this part of himself too often, either: it's over and done with, and he has moved on, but the failure's a part of him. It's the foundation he's built himself back upon. His fingers wrap around the now-cooling cup of tea.] When you cut yourself off from everything, and all you have to rely upon is yourself... no one can let you down. No one can hurt you, or touch you, because you haven't given them any of you to put their hands upon in the first place.
[At last, he glances back.]
Or... that's what it felt like when I alone, anyway. For more than a year, it was just me and my bow and my own wits, out on the street. It's surreal to talk about it like that now. I was a different person back then.
[But the comparison's not a perfect fit. Giorno's explanation is caught between the puzzling extremes of detachment and naivety; honestly, he's not completely sure what to make of it. Save for the fact that he gets the idea that he's not quite one of Giorno's abnormal people.]
Having people who understand you and really care around, though... it's better than being strong like that. It's worth being weak if you've got that with you. I'd rather care and hurt for it than not to feel those feelings at all.
no subject
[Not with Fugo, though. And that's the other piece. He wonders.]
Yes. That's the conclusion I've come to as well, in the end.
[He says it clinically, academically, like it wasn't painful, like it didn't make him regret everything about himself all over again. Which is in complete contradiction to what he said just a moment ago, but that's fine. He's sure Jin will understand why he does it.]
[Even if he doesn't, it's no secret that in this moment Giorno is a little bit elsewhere. It's worn him out, being this honest. He wants Fugo; he wants to wind his fingers together with Fugo's and dance with words around their broken hearts. He wants to sit with Kaz and be vicious in the ways that only they can be. He wants to sit alone and cry soundlessly about Bruno Buccellati, whom he might as well have killed with his own hands.]
I feel a little bad, [he murmurs, glancing away again.] I can tell . . . you're sharing something with me that you don't share with many people. And I think maybe it makes you sad to talk about it. Have I made you sad? I don't know. I think I have, a little.
[His voice is soft, his phrasing stilted and angular. Don Giovanna isn't here right now; someone else is, someone who Giorno chooses not to name.]
I don't like that. I don't want that. I want you to be happy. I should be able to make that happen. So sometimes, it's easier to just lie. I'd rather smile and protect--the boys with just themselves, their weapons, their wits. Someone should.