Journey Of A Golden Spirit: Rossi Di Napoli (Mass Effect/JoJo)

Proper update will be up on Thursday, hopefully. I still need to get used to my crappy replacement keyboard, and I don't feel comfortable writing things of actual consequence until I do. Until then, take this.

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The bed is warm. The sheets are dry. You are warm and dry for the first time in recent memory. You feel something pinching in your arm, a distinctly unpleasant sensation only matched by how much better you feel, overall.

You ignore that to pay attention to the fact that you can't feel your sister within arm's reach, something which you definitely can't remember. Panic rises in your chest, and you begin shifting and mumbling.

"Ah- hey, hey! Don't move too much." You hear a familiar voice say. You open your eyes slightly, and between the cracks of stuck eyelashes and the first bleary visions of wakefulness, you see the same gentleman who you begged to save your sister.

"Whr... " You mumble after a second, your tongue like a lead block in your mouth, but eventually you manage to get your question out with some sense of urgency behind it.

"Your sister? She's in the bed to your right."

You crane your neck, feeling muscles all over your body complain at volume, and you see her there, still unconscious, with the same needles and bags and tubes sticking out of her as you.

In that moment, you felt a relief that you've never felt since.

She's alive.

"Wh… what… what's, wrong with her?"

"Pneumonia. Same as you, though you seem to have gotten off with a lighter case." The man says. "Now, normally, the best way to deal with that is bed rest. So… why were you carrying her through the streets in one of the worst storms Tuscany has seen in decades?"

You look down, staying silent. You don't want to think about that. Not one bit.

... She didn't deserve that place.

"... I see." The man says as if he actually does see. "Well, I won't pry. However, I must say- once you get out of here… well, you won't make it far if the storm doesn't let up, Hamon or not."

You look up again, in confusion this time.

"Ha…mon? What's that?"

The man raises an eyebrow at you.

"Really? You know how when you breathe in a certain way, you find wounds heal faster, pain numbs quicker, you feel stronger and tougher?"

… Ohh!

"That's the one." He says, gleaning what he needs to from your face alone.

"Uh… how… how did you know I can use… H-Hamon?" You ask, trying out the new word on your young tongue.

... Hm. Ha-mon. Haaamon. Hamon. Hamon, Hamon, Hamo-n, you try out a thousand different pronunciations in your mind and find the word... right.

You like it!

"You were using it in your sleep. A rare talent, that. Most people struggle to keep that kind of rhythm consciously. You, though..." He stops, eyeing you up for a moment, and your sister a moment after.

"... What? Me, though, what?" You ask, prompting him to finish his thought.

After a moment of internal weighing, he seems to reach some kind of decision.

"How would you like to work for me? Once you're both healed, of course. It would get you off the streets, and into a safe place, and I could use a couple kids like you."

You squint with some suspicion at the man. You're only ten, and not the sharpest candle in the linen cupboard, but even you know that taking jobs off strange men is a bad idea.

"... What kind of job?"

However, refusing help when you're in a bad situation is an even worse idea.

"I... run a variety of businesses that can be summed up as 'large men beating the devil out of each other for fun and profit,' and two Hamon users like you would... be invaluable. It has natural healing properties, and you could get them back on their feet in half the time it would normally take them."

You think about it for a moment. So... you'd basically be doctors? You can't see anything wrong with that. Healing people.

It would... it would be nice. It would keep your sister safe, and warm, and well-fed...

... A decision is made. A path is chosen.

A question makes itself known before you get too hasty.

"Wait, how can you get us out of here? Do the doctors think you're our dad or something?"

The man smiles and leans in close, a sly, almost conspiratorial half-smile on his face.

"Now, keep this between you and me, but, ah, a good few of the doctors in here owe me favours. If you're determined not to go back wherever you're running from, I wouldn't mind, ah... pulling some strings."

That stops you dead. The implications of that, that he's offering you a way out, for good, as well as a safe place to stay and use your Hamon for, for good, you...

How could you say no?

"... Ok. I'd, I'd like that. For me and my sister."

He blinks, before his mouth splits into a grin, showing off perfect pearly white teeth.

"Wonderful!" He responds cheerily, lightly clapping his hands, before offering you one to shake.

You take it before you can question how good this idea is. His grip is strong, but not bone-crunchingly so.

"I'm glad we could reach a deal. Might I know your name?"

"... I'm Cesare."

"Hello, Cesare. My name is Albrecht. I hope we'll get along."

|||

This chain cage is familiar to you. The sand, freshly laid, barely covering the sprays of blood from the last match. The wall of sound created by the crowd, clamouring for someone's blood and someone else's money. You enter through the opening in the cage and see your opponent. A large, muscular man, shirtless for the sole purpose of showing off a gaudy chest tattoo of... some kind of cross, you think. What isn't covered by ink is covered in scar tissue, and his face, by some kind of welder's mask. On what little of his scalp is unmarred by old wounds, sprouts of black hair have been grown out to ridiculous lengths and, not quite combed over, more... styled like a candyfloss wig.

Oh, great, someone playing up the psycho persona. Exactly the kind of melodramatic shit you need right now.

You hear the feedback as ancient speakers crackle to life, and manage to not wince as Albrecht screams into the microphone.

"ARE YOU FUCKING ANIMALS READY TO SEE! SOME! CARNAGE?!"

"YEAH!"

"WELL GET FUCKING READY, BECAUSE THIS IS A MATCH I'VE BEEN WAITING TO SEE EVER SINCE I GOT THIS FUCKER ON MY ROSTER! IN ONE CORNER, WE HAVE TALL, BALD AND CRAZY- GENTLEMEN AND, LADIES LET'S BE HONEST, YOU'RE NOT LADIES, SHIPPED STRAIGHT FROM THE TROPICAL COUNTRY OF SIBERIA, CHARGED AND WANTED FOR OVER A DOZEN MURDERS, THEY SAY HE BROKE OUT OF THE COURTHOUSE BY BREAKING HIS CUFFS AND CHOKING OUT THE JUDGE, IT'S THE PSYCHOPATHIC, THE PSYCHOTIC, KRUSCHEV THE KILLER!"

The man thusly dubbed as Kruschev The Killer flexes and postures in his corner while the crowd cheers him on, all while you size him up as best you can.

Favours his left leg. Right arm slightly straining to stay up as he waves. Large, slow, probably hits like a truck, most likely not a Hamon user, Albrecht advertises that shit like nothing else.

Easy.

"IN THE OTHER CORNER, OUR RISING STAR, A BOY I JUST WATCHED CRIPPLE ONE OF MY MEN FOR LIFE FOR SAYING STUPID SHIT ABOUT HIS SISTER, MR TALL, DARK, AND DEADLY HIMSELF, OUR VERY OWN WARRIOR OF THE SUN, LUMEN C!"

You try not to cringe at the name. Albrecht... wasn't the greatest at names, but you suppose it could be a lot worse. The cheers are... somewhat lesser, you feel, but still enough to be deafening. You casually slip your hands into your pockets, making it clear to the actor-maniac that you don't take him seriously. He growls, actually growls, at you.

That's fair. You're not here to be impressive. You're here because it's you or your sister.

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ENOUGH, YOU FUCKING SAVAGES! LET'S GET THIS SHIT STARTED! YOU BOYS KNOW THE RULES! 60 SECOND ROUNDS, 10 SECOND REST, YOU YIELD, GET KNOCKED OUT, OR CROAK, YOU LOSE, AND THE OTHER GUY DOES WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS TO YOU!"

There is no bell. No countdown, no "GO!", just the rules, and then you start.

Kruschev stalks forward, and you begin breathing in the proper manner.

Air enters through both your nose and your mouth, whistling past your tongue to turn the air into a blade of ice cold wind against the back of your throat, and you feel it pulsing through your core, radiating out from your bronchi, and you feel yourself begin to heat up a little. That energy infuses your muscles with an almost otherworldly energy, and you feel capable of more.

You find solace in the feeling.

Tranquillity takes you.

"I'M GOING TO MOUNT YOUR SKULL ON MY WALL!" Kruschev yells, raising his hand to slam his hand into your head and drive you to the ground. You find yourself unfrightened by the sight of the giant man bearing down on you, and as a consequence, see the path you must take.

You wait until he's committed to the action, then slip out from under his arm, spinning and planting a foot on his now unbalanced back, sending him face first into the sand, driving up both new dust and old, bloody clumps. You pause patiently while he gets back up, hands still in your pockets. When he looks back, his mask no longer attached to his face, showing a mug that's more scar tissue than flesh, with two big baby blues looking at you with fire behind them, all you do is raise an eyebrow at him.

You're not sure how much of his act is, well, an act, and how much is just his base personality, but you rile him up all the same. You know how this works. Look down on him, get him angry, get him stupid, then take him down.

Don't take your hands out of your pockets. Unless it's absolutely necessary.

Kruschev scrabbles to his feet again, letting out a manic scream as he swings at you, going for your head, your chest, your eyes- wild, unfocused, obviously relying more on strength and speed than technique. You lean back, to the side, barely letting him get anywhere near you. It's like you know exactly where he's aiming.

To be fair to him, if you weren't using Hamon to calm down, he'd probably have hit you once or twice by now, and then from there...

"STOP! FUCKING! MOVING!" He bellows at you.

"Why?" You ask him in your blandest voice.

"BECAUSE IT'S PISSING ME OFF!"

You barely stifle a laugh at how... honest the Siberian's answer is. You let him swing one more time, this one finally throwing him off balance, and you tap at his foot again, sweeping it out from under him. This time, he only stumbles. His feet drive deep gouges into the ground, revealing your favourite thing.

Oh, look. Bloody sand. This is always a crowd pleaser- it's telling about how often these fights happen and how much blood is spilt that, even after a new coating's added, the gore is still slightly shiny underneath.

As he turns to look at you, you breathe deeply, sending Hamon through the soles of your shoes, and you lazily kick up a clout of damp sand, sending it straight into his face.

Hamon does many things, you've discovered. One is that it helps things keep their cohesiveness- keeping blood-soaked dirt as a singular clump instead of breaking up into a spray, for example. Another thing it does is multiply force.

What does this translate to?

Well, it translates to beaning Kruschev in the face with a clump of sand and blood with the kind of force you'd expect from an overclocked pitching machine. You watch his head snap back, and for a moment wonder if his body will follow. Unfortunately, it doesn't, and he slowly cranes his neck back towards you, the clot falling off his brow.

He doesn't move. You don't move.

And when he starts speaking next, he's quiet, abandoning the screaming lunatic act for just a moment.

"... When I grab you, I'm going to break you."

"Gooooood luck with that." You drawl. Honestly, you're almost bored-

"And then, I'm going to find your fucking sister, and I'm going to make what I do to you look merciful, while I make you watch."

-And just like that, fun time is over.

You take your hands out of your pockets. Before he can continue his threats, you move forward with purpose, fast enough to get in at him before he can defend himself, and now at least three of his teeth are embedded in the back of his throat.

As he gags on his own enamel and blood, you begin to work your art.

Art?

No.

Science.

Hamon enhancing your every movement, multiplying every force until you're working on a blatantly superhuman level, you grab his arm by the elbow and show it a wonderful time, letting it try out new angles it's never had the opportunity to experience before, and you move onto its neighbour, not even staying for coffee. His shoulder gets slightly better treatment, simply being grabbed and wrenched out of its socket, both drawing screams of pain from the mad Siberian. You move back down to the other end of the limb, grabbing his muscled forearm by the wrist and just bending it inwards until it suddenly wrenches forward and hangs limply. Did you break his wrist? Did you snap a tendon? You don't know.

Nor do you particularly care.

Moving onto his other arm, you grab his other hand-

The fingers bend backwards with a sort of whirring noise, fake tissue tearing and revealing the cybernetic arm beneath. You feel your own hand twist and bend in its mechanical grip, Hamon helping loosen up the tendons and flesh so nothing breaks. Still hurts like a cast-iron bitch though.

"I'M GOING TO THROTTLE YOU!" He screams in your face, and when you don't react, it only seems to anger him further.

"... You... you just. Grabbed a Hamon user. With a cybernetic hand." You say, trying to impart exactly how stupid that is through tone alone, and seemingly get nowhere.

"What of it?!" Kruschev asks, tightening his grip. You feel your fingers creak in protest, and barely manage to school your grimace.

"... People like you honestly make me fear for the human race."

You send the energy of your breathing through his arm and into his chest at that. He screams in pain as he's hit by the equivalent of twenty tasers all at once, his hand locked into place as servos and motors freeze in place, neither tightening nor loosening. By the time you stop, he's looking slightly healthier, and also very out of it. His arm loosens, motors finally loosening up as he collapses backwards, head slamming into the sand as his eyes roll into the back of his head like a pair of dying spiders.

There is silence.

Then, there is the screaming. People paid to see violence, and that's what they got to see.

"LUMEN C IN THE FIRST ROUND! AMAZING! ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!" Albrecht screams into the microphone in faux-hysteria. "WELL, HE'S YOURS, KIDDO, WHATCHA GONNA DO TO THE FUCKER THAT JUST THREATENED TO RAPE YOUR SISTER?!"

You're fairly sure he didn't, but the implication is there enough that you can use it to justify blowing off some steam.

You get down next to him and realise that he's not breathing. You frown, and check his pulse, finding nothing there.

... Oh, great, you stopped his heart.

lub-lub-lu-dubdu-lu-

... Not... stopped, just, thrown off-rhythm. Ok, you can fix that. You breathe deeply, bringing a palm down onto his sternum hard, sending Hamon through his chest. It blows the wind out of him, and he sucks a breath in like a drowned man, and he looks at you with anger in his eyes.

"Don't, I'm trying to help you." You say blandly as you reach for his neck again.

lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub

Heartbeat's stable, strong, like ox from motherland. You're, not sure where that one came from. You stand up again, and you know exactly what you're gonna do to Kruschev now.

"... Wh... why? You could have just left me to-"

"I wanted you to be conscious long enough to feel this, and live long enough to regret everything leading up to it." You say as you drive a Hamon-powered boot ever so slightly lower than his crotch.

You know you hit gold when he tenses up and his eyes roll back into his head again. As you walk away, you hear the sound of him curling up and whining, followed by slight retching.

You're pretty sure he's not a eunuch.

... Maybe 70% sure.

|||

"Amazing, absolutely amazing, really, you're doing great kiddo, and that bit at the end with the crotch stomp was just art. I gotta say, the whole 'vengeful big brother' thing really works for you, you know? Someone who doesn't give a shit, but the moment they try and go for your weak link, they get hell? Beautiful!"

Albrecht hasn't shut up the entire way back to your cell. It doesn't annoy you enough to make you want to tell him to shut up, but you tune him out anyway.

You turn the corner to your cell. When you notice a distinct lack of Daria in your sight, you almost get to do something to your warden before two metal prongs are pressed to your back, and you're on the ground paralysed, several thousand volts of electricity working their way through your muscles.

"See, the problem with that is... it's kinda boring. People expect it, see? Really, you kinda, you kinda got too good at fighting, and then you pulled that shit with my boy, and I just, I feel like I gotta remind you exactly who's boss around here, mouthbreather!" Albrecht says, excited PR gopher demeanour not changing one iota.

You hear a girl screaming in the distance. Three syllables.

Your name.

Daria.

Through sheer willpower, you barely gurgle out a sentence.

"Hm? What was that?"

"Kll... yu..." You manage to murmur from behind a locked jaw after a moment.

"Mm, yeah, no, you're not, not if you don't want them to really fuck your sister up." He leans in close. "I. Own. You. Remember that, throw a couple fights to keep things interesting, and maybe, just maybe, you'll see your sister again. Keep acting like you don't know it, like you're some kind of invincible demigod, and I'm going to make sure the only way you see her again is in photos of the aftermath of my boys having their fun with her."

You feel the slightest sensation come back to your limbs, and a fist forms almost through reflex. Just a couple more seconds, and you can pulp his head against the fucking wall-

"For now, though... nighty-night."

You feel those damned prongs press against your neck, and darkness takes you.

Good news! The personal chaos has resolved itself, mostly, I have my lovely mechanical keyboard back, and I've miraculously unfucked my sleep schedule!

... Almost. It's more like torporific first aid at this point, but it's a start!

|||

Achille and Finch appear from the kitchen after a few minutes of chatter with Beedle over the weirdest Stand he's ever seen, and you finally take in what they're wearing. Apparently, the boys aren't big on changing before breakfast- Achille's hair is mildly tangled, not brushed through or anything, while Finch's looks much like the bird he's named after has taken up residence in it- on top of that, they're still in nightwear, the ashen-haired man wearing an absolutely garish set of pyjamas, bright blue and pink vertical stripes that seem to blend into each other, and your eyes swim when you look away from him towards Finch, who's wearing a black t-shirt and pyjama shorts, showing off way more leg than he has any right to. Both of them are clutching large cups of coffee, steam gently wafting up from the porcelain. At a glance, they seem slightly more awake than they were when they went in.

Welp, time to interrogate them, you guess.

"Hey!" You call out to them. "C'mere, it's time to meet your new boss!"

That catches their attention, and they trudge their half-dead asses over to you, eventually dragging chairs over to sit with you.

"Oh... hey. So... you're our new boss, huh?" Achille asks dozily, still very obviously dead on his feet.

"Wow, Gioia, you really know how to pi-hiiiick them..." Finch says, launching into another jaw-achingly wide yawn. You almost wonder if he's going to manage to dislocate it.

"Well, yes, I suppose I am. So, I assume you've both been given your, ah... inoculation?"

Both the boys give Beedle vacant stares.

"... The jab, guys." You say, deciding to help them out a little.

That gets something from them, the sound of their brains finally catching a gear sounding suspiciously like them 'Ohhh'-ing.

They drink some more coffee and immediately look a little better for it.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, we got it. Finch squealed like a bitch-" Achille started, earning him a swift punch in the shoulder from Finch. "-and you know what, I kinda deserved that." He continues, not even breaking pace.

A moment later, he brings a hand up to rub it, finally giving into the pain.

"... Anyway, yes, we were given the Needle yesterday." Finch continues from where his friend left off. "We both saw..." He trails off, glancing at Achille, then at you.

"... Pearly Gates?" The ashen-haired one ventures.

You confirm his guess.

"Yes, Pearly Gates, but if anything else was supposed to happen, it hasn't, for me at least." Finch finishes.

Beedle looks between the two, humming and hawing under his breath for a moment.

"Do you know how to summon your Stands?" He asked after a few seconds of thought.

Finch blinks, brain skipping off the gear it had so faithfully worked the past few minutes, and his eyes just glaze over, his mind finally clocking out.

Achille, on the other hand, frowned and thought the question over for a moment.

"I... think so. Both Gioia and Daria had to say the Stand's name to bring it out, right? So, we figure out its name, we can call it out." Achille says.

Beedle blinks.

"I... yes, yes, that's correct. Have you found yours out yet?" He asks. Achille nods, and you blink, mildly surprised that he figured it out without your coaxing. "Excellent! And your... I'm sorry, I don't think we've done introductions. My name is Beedle Heike."

He stretches an ancient arm across the table to shake Achille's hand, which he accepts.

"I'm Achille Laguardia. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Heike- I simply wish I had known you were coming, I would have gotten dressed. The coma patient is Finch, you'll have to excuse him, he's... more of a night owl." He says smoothly, his voice airy and really rather pleasant to listen to. You wonder how long it's been since Achille's had to play diplomat.

"Heh, I understand the sentiment, no need to apologise."

Finch finally catches up to everyone else, eyes unfocusing as his name registers. He looks between the two as their hands part and frowns as he tries to recount the last thirty seconds, the expression only deepening as he fails on that front.

"Anyway, you say you've found out your Stand's name? Do you think you could, ah, show it off for us?"

Achille simply smiles and says a single word.

「Salt.」

Immediately, you can feel the weight behind it, and if you weren't already suspicious, the apparition confirms that it was his Stand's name.

And what a Stand.

As if giving you yet another lesson in Stand variety, Achille's fades into existence, and you're faced with your first entirely non-humanoid Stand. It's a small, squat thing, consisting of an upturned ziggurat with four long, thin legs coming from the vertices of the largest block, ending in large, flat sucker-like feet. Hanging underneath the ziggurat's final block, a cube, really, was a small hanging basket.

... It's... unique. You'll give it that.

"Hmm... do you know what it does?" Beedle asks the geometric Stand's owner after a moment of thought.

Achille sips some more coffee in thought, finally finishing the cup. You notice that he's looking massively better for the caffeinated drink.

"The truth is, I don't know. The name just came to me out of the blue last night, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to get it to do... anything! It just followed me around like a dog for a bit before I got tired and it faded away. If there's some kind of criteria I need to fulfil for it to do anything, I don't know what it is." He answers honestly after a moment.

... Hm. Well, that's kind of disappointing.

"... Well, generally, Stands react to instinct above all else. I'm sure its purpose will come to you after a while." Beedle tries his hand at encouraging the man.
Whether or not it works, you don't know.

Eventually, his eyes settle on you, and his brows furrow as if noticing some major discrepancy with the scene.

... Yeah, you suppose it is kind of odd that you're up this early-

SUCKERTHAT'SASUCKEROHGOD-

"... Gioia? Gioia! Hey, you alright?!"

Your vision fades back in after a moment, and you see Cesare's concerned faces hovering over your own. Once your consciousness has been established, he moves away, offering a hand to pull you up with. You take it, getting up and rubbing your cheeks.

Ugh. You feel like you've had a meat tenderiser taped to your face. The last thing you remember is... something flying at your face, fast enough that you couldn't even get Pearly Gates out to defend yourself...

"Ugh... what... what happened?"

"We thought Achille's Stand just went crazy and attacked you. One of its footpads came up and wrapped around your face, we thought it was trying to crush your head, but... well..." Cesare trails off, nodding to the table.

On the coffee table is a white powder that looks like... you're going to be hopeful and say flour because the other alternative is a little concerning for your tastes.

"Uh..."

"It's... not what you think it is. Once, er, Salt, I guess, had its foot around your face, Achille seemed to... have some idea of what was happening. He said something about this morning, and it just hopped up on the table and... that, just started pouring out of the bottom and into the little basket. Then it just tipped it out."

You're not sure how, but you're somehow more confused than you were twenty seconds ago. You can feel the confused sneer creeping up your face as he talks. And it shows, apparently, because all he can do is smile at you in a way that suggests that's only the start of the weird stuff.

"Sniff some." Cesare says, gesturing to it.

UH.

"No, seriously! Try some, you'll see what I mean." He insists, obviously seeing how much that suggestion does not appeal to you. Still, if someone like Cesare's suggesting it... it can't be that bad.

You reach over, dipping a finger in and taking a pinch.

... Bottoms up, you guess. You sprinkle some on your tongue as a taste test, and find it's actually kinda sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

He shifts, somehow making it to his feet from the lotus position he had kept for so long in less than a second, eyes unopened as he brings his fists up to jab at thin air with a surprising amount of force for a punch that doesn't actually connect with anything- "Gioia, Gioia, hey, heyheyhey, what's wrong?" He asks gently, keeping himself between you and... them- behind the granite blocks masquerading as cookies, a couple trays of Amaretti, still steaming from the oven, some Sfogliatelle flanking them, the leafy, flaky pastry filled with ricotta, but the centrepiece of the entire thing is a stack of Mostaccioli, the dense, honey flavoured- Carabinieri blinks. She seems confused for a second, staring at the point where your colours were.

"Ma'am? Is something wrong?" You ask her innocently.

You see the uniformed cyclops begin to mouth something, before she closes her eye and shakes her head.

"N-nothing. Just... been up way too long." She says after a moment, sounding as tired as she looks and no doubt feels.

-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet. Sweet.

Yes.

Sweet.

"... Bweh?" You emit as your brain skips several gears all at once. That was... a fucking trip.

You think it was... your, entire morning, condensed down into like... a second of hallucination.

"Yeah. Turns out his Stand makes powdered memories."

You take a moment to appreciate that sentence. Specifically, how stupidly useful that is. Achille's Stand might not be great in a fight, as far as you can tell, but stealing people's memories and turning them into a drug?

That's- you-

You shouldn't be surprised, honestly. You rip portals through space, honestly, your ability to be surprised should be dead right now. Your friend makes drugs out of people's memories? Pfft, so what?

Moving along before your confidence in your ability to not give two rats asses about the weirdness of Stands falters, you ask Cesare where everyone is.

"Hm? Oh, they're over in the dining room, I told them to go away while I made sure you were ok. Finch finally figured out his Stand, it's... well, less weird than Achille's. Kinda like yours, actually."

Bitch what.

You stalk over to the dining room, and you come in just in time to see Finch summon his Stand again.

「Kansas City Shuffle!」

When his Stand manifests, it manifests as a harlequin covered in a diamond pattern, blue, red, green, brown, cream, black, everywhere you look it seems like there's a new colour waiting. The only exception is its right shoulder, upon which it wears a cape with black and yellow stripes that covers most of its right side. Aside from that, it wears a mask with a long, drooping nose, and a wooden sword on its hip. It's quite possibly the most normal Stand you've seen so far.

"OH-HOHOHO!" It laughs in an exaggerated voice, an almost wild, jester-like quality to it. Which, you suppose makes sense.

Suddenly, you're where Beedle was, then you see Achille to your left when he should have been at your right, then Cesare's there, then you're out in the foyer again, then back in the dining room where Beedle was and ohgodyou'regonnahurl-

You yell at Finch to stop, and he relents, one last teleport bringing you right next to him.

"Hm? What's wrong?" He asks, sounding... surprisingly concerned about you.

You don't deign to respond, instead focusing on not emptying your stomach on the carpet. After a few deep breaths, you risk opening your mouth.

"... Nauseous. Don't, don't do that. Please."

He hums in thought and holds out his hand as if expecting to be handed something. A notepad appears, alongside a pen, and he begins writing.

"Teleportation... of people... may cause... nausea. How about you two?" He calls over to Achille and Beedle.

Achille's on the floor, groaning in discomfort, while Beedle... seems fine.

"... I feel fine, I dunno what these two are complaining about."

You and Achille, almost despite yourselves, manage to flip him off at the same time. He chuckles, and before you can begin to hate him, Black Crown appears.

"Fine, fine, here-" He says, two of the flickering orange lights within the segmented skill flitting out and hitting the two of you. Immediately, you don't feel like you're about to make a mess of the carpet. "-I turned off your ability to feel nausea. By the time it wears off, you won't even notice it has."

... Black Crown, despite the fact that it's terrifying, is a very very useful Stand and you like it very very much.

So! What now? The morning is still young-ish- you've got time. (Going out will be unlocked after you deal with at least one of these, and from there, dog quest.)

[] Talk to Beedle- you still have many, many, many questions about this.(Pick either the Alliance option, or equipment and a write-in, or two write-ins.)
-[] Equipment. Stands are nice and all, but you wanna have actual proper stuff you can rely on. Like a walkie-talkie, or… rope. You don't fucking know what to get for a heist, and it's about time you fixed that.
-[] The Alliance. You still don't know many details about where this fabled Alliance base is, and you could use that information to make an informed decision on which pack of angry meatheads gets to shoot you in the face while you try and steal powerful artefacts from them and wow that got dark fast.
-[] Uh… you dunno, you'll figure something out by the time you get there. (Write-in)

[] Talk to Finch- Your personal feelings, and whatever happened last night aside, you… kinda need Finch, if you wanna fence those phones and watches and whatnot. Might not be much, but, money's money. (Unlocks the Fence- use your heroic kleptomania for fun and profit!)

[] Talk to Achille- Your service to the Rossi may mainly be of the lip variety, but it's still a service you should be providing. See if there are any jobs that need doing- at worst, you earn some extra cash you can go blow on whatever, at best, that, but multiplied by a lot, and maybe some goodwill with very useful people. (Unlocks Rossi sidequests, aka, your freakin' job.)


[] EXPERIMENTS- You have psychic powers. How on earth could you possibly turn down the chance to do stupid shit with them with other people who also have psychic powers? Go! Have fun! Go do something stupid with your friends! Go try to be a goddamn normal teenage girl for once in your life, except not really because you rend space and time with your mind and you're trying to figure out how that works!

You want to talk to Beedle some more, you decide. As he helps Achille up off the floor, you wander over to him and wonder what exactly you should ask. You suppose, first, you should ask about equipment. Stands are all well and good, but as you discovered firsthand not twenty minutes ago, they can run out, and you don't trust Gioia the perfectly normal girl in a fight against armed goons. Hell, you barely trust Gioia the girl with a space-rending manifestation of her soul against armed goons. So, yes, equipment is a must.

"Hey, uh, Beedle, can we talk for a moment?" You ask him as Achille stumbles off to a chair. The centenarian turns to you, looking at you with a curious eye.

"Of course, Gioia. What is it?"

"Well, I just wanted to ask... is there anything we might need to pull this off? I mean, Stands are great and all, but..." You trail off, unsure how to phrase your fears.

"But you don't think they're as reliable as you'd like. That's fair, that's fair, I understand what you mean. So, you mean what physical gear will you need?"

You nod, and he takes a seat, resting a hand on his chin for a moment as he hums in thought.

"Hrm... Finch, pass me that notepad of yours, will you? I need to make a list." He calls out, grabbing the kleptomaniac's attention as he messes with his Stand. Finch closes the notepad, places the pen in the spiral band, and lobs it at Beedle, landing it perfectly on the table in front of him, pulling out his phone as he does. "Thank you."

Showoff.

Beedle flips it open again, and you notice Finch's chicken scrawling on a couple of pages. You can barely make it out, but you note a couple of words here and there that tell you he was probably writing about his Stand in some way.

range entirety of house at min.

easily discernible connection= instant transferral- less connection, longer transfer times, correlative scale makes sense, needs more testing

more conceptual connections possible? phone/notepad- both allow me to write down things, using wholly different methods- frame of mind my only limit?

More testing needed.

... Well, at least he's having fun, you suppose. Beedle flips to a new page, and frees the pen from its aluminium spiral prison, before tapping on the page for a couple seconds in thought.

"Hrm... Offhand, you need some kind of communication- omnitools preferably, but normal two-way radios would do if you can't grab the money for them. Aside from that, protection, both defensive and offensive, should be helpful- body armour, or a shield, a knife, if you can't grab an omnitool, and guns. Now, those are probably something you should talk to your more... connected friends about. Last I checked, nothing but the knife would be legal to buy, and not for someone as young as you. Aside from that, in case worst comes to the worst, I'd suggest trying to pick up some medigel or a first-aid kit if you can. None of your Stands seem capable of healing, and Hamon only goes so far, especially when you might be splitting up. Oh, yes, and some way to conceal your identity- you don't want her to figure out who you are, after all. Other than that..."

He pauses, tapping the pen against the pad for a moment in thought.

"... No, that's really all I can think of." Beedle tears the page from the notepad and hands it to you. "There- a shopping list, just for you. Anything el-"

He begins coughing, the movement racking his body and doubling him over in his seat. You wince, unsure how to deal with this. You remember something about slapping people on the back when they're coughing, but you're not sold on the idea he'd... survive that. After a minute or so, it passes, and he wipes the tears from his eyes. A moment later, a sigh pulls itself from his lungs.

You are very suddenly and quite brutally reminded of your employer's impending mortality.

"... How long?" You ask.

"Hm?"

"How... how long, do you think you have? I know you talked about not wanting to die, but..."

You want to say that you're asking about him simply because it's inconvenient for your boss to die before he can pay you, but honestly? You're... kinda concerned for him. He's like, a really nice grandpa, and you're... kinda enjoying his company.

"Oh, piss off, it was just some spittle going down the wrong tube. I've got another year in me, at least." He tells you, not quite putting enough vitriol in it to come across as genuinely angry.

That... relieves you more than you thought it would. On a purely pragmatic level, your boss isn't going to keel over, hopefully. On a less pragmatic level...

Bluh. Bluh. It's too early for this emotions shit.

Move on.

... Wait, is that my cue? Oh, er, ok then-

Item acquired!

The List: Communications, omnitools preferably, medigel or a first-aid kit, body armour or a shield, a gun of some sort, and a way to conceal your faces. Everything you need to not immediately die to armed goons, military or otherwise.

Now that that's done with, what's your next move?

[] Talk to Finch- Your personal feelings, and whatever happened last night aside, you… kinda need Finch, if you wanna fence those phones and watches and whatnot. Might not be much, but, money's money. (Unlocks the Fence- use your heroic kleptomania for fun and profit!)

[] Talk to Achille- Your service to the Rossi may mainly be of the lip variety, but it's still a service you should be providing. See if there are any jobs that need doing- at worst, you earn some extra cash you can go blow on whatever, at best, that, but multiplied by a lot, and maybe some goodwill with very useful people. (Unlocks Rossi sidequests, aka, your freakin' job.)

[] Go check on The Girls- It's like 9 am. Vittoria, sure, that's par for the course, but Daria should probably get up to talk to Beedle. Go check on at least one of the girls, and get them up to talk to their new boss.
-[] Get One- you know Vittoria's gonna be a lost cause this early, probably, but Daria has no excuse.
-[] Get Both- no, no, they both need to see Beedle at some point, and you don't really know if he intends to stick around long enough for 'Tori to rise from her grave. Check on them both and force the issue.

[] Go Outside- despite the fact that so far going outside has led to you ending up in fights… third time's the charm? Where to though?
-[] Go to the Shopping District- you need shit, so go and see how much said shit costs legally. At the very least, omnitools and knives should be on the menu.
-[] Go Pickpocketing- while, yes, there is some overlap, instead, you're going to the shopping district to make bank. Off, other people's bank.
-[] Go Find The Dog- Go look for the dog. In enemy territory. By yourself. Why do you wanna do this again?
-[] (Write-in) (Once again, keep it around Chiaia. I can only remember so much of a travel guide.)


[] Acquire Moolah- That shopping list sounds pretty expensive. Sorry, let me rephrase- that shopping list sounds hilariously out of your budget. You need to acquire money.
-[] Run Your Protection Racket- you gotta start collecting that protection money you're owed. All of it. How long's it been since Achille worked up the balls to grab another payment? Six months? A year? Maybe two years.
-[] Rob Another Place- it'll be practice! Go find a rich fuck, go make him not so rich. Sounds simple enough, and all you really need for it to work is your Stand and a mask of some sort. And maybe Cesare. And Achille. You know what, make it a group effort.
-[] (Write-in)