But you didn't stay there long. The places beyond called to you. Your fragile little world simply wasn't enough, and you only wished to move onwards, to the edge of your world and beyond.
You had already reached the moon a century ago, planted a flag there, and on the hundredth anniversary of that event, the first moon base was established, that flag still standing, untouched. A landmark in your history as a species.
That was then. This is now.
The year is 2148, and a team of scientists have discovered something equally beautiful and terrible at the Martian South Pole. Artefacts over 50 millennia old, records worth petabytes of data, showing that whatever aliens had been there before had observed humans around the Cro-Magnon era. Alongside that, a veritable cornucopia of scientific data, caches of a new, stable element, and a strange device that was responsible for equally strange electromagnetic readings and apparently changes in the very mass of the area around it.
That last part was kept from the public, though. Would be until someone figured out what the hell it actually was. If it was important, they'd tell about it, if it was some ancient alien smoothie maker, then they'd cannibalise it into something important and tell the public about that instead.
Still, the revelation shook all humanity in many aspects of their lives. Religions scrambled to decry or assimilate or ignore the evidence of extraterrestrial life. Wars slowed down overnight, the realisation that there was another 'them' for 'us' to be against quenching the idea of conflict against other humans somewhat.
Almost overnight in bureaucratic time, an international body was created, backed by the 18 most powerful countries on the planet. The Systems Alliance, it was to be called.
Then, one day, a group of really rather odd people just walked into a meeting about the machine unearthed yesterday at the artefact site, and the bizarre readings it created.
Some are wearing a pattern on armbands and caps of a foundation that would best be described as a 'humanity advancement initiative-' it has been around for over 200 years, helping advance technology, medicine, education, aiding those considered unfortunate for little more than a promise that they would use their second chance well, and generally helping humanity make leaps and bounds in all aspects. If you remember correctly, they're the only non-government agency allowed access to the technology from the ruins.
Aside from the uniforms, there are two men who are much more… there's no other word, gaudy, in their attire. Jewellery, bright clothes with designs that had apparently been cut straight out of a vogue fashion designer's sketchbooks, but dour, chiselled faces. Despite their peacockish appearances, they're obviously serious men.
Councillor Pearce, three to your left, opens.
"Ah… Gentlemen? How... how may we help you?"
One of the dour peacock men comes forward, brandishing a file in a way that makes you wonder if he's more used to having a weapon in his hand instead. He places it on the table and then his hand on top of it.
He looks over the gathered councillors, gently counting under his breath as he does so.
"18? 18, yeah. Gemini!" He mutters, then yells
He slides the file along the table, only for it to seem to… separate, and suddenly there are two files. He put his other hand on the new file, and slides it along as well, creating a third and fourth file. This magical process continues until there are 18 files, one for each of you. He gathers them up and begins handing them out to you and the other, hopefully equally bewildered councillors.
Naturally, you're all… really very confused. What the hell was that?
"Please, when you have the time, read this file, and keep what you just saw in mind." The second peacock man calls out. "The world, this world, Earth… there are certain things about it that have been kept secret from humanity at large. After some internal debate, the Speedwagon Foundation has decided that you, as the ones responsible for our ventures into the stars, should be privy to these secrets."
The first smirks, and as he makes his way back to the group, he turns and calls back to the table at large.
"Oh, yeah, before we go, yes, there's an explanation for what I just did in there, and no, the Nazi cyborgs aren't a joke."
After that, they leave, nobody daring to stop them.
In your office, you stare at the file. You've no idea what your fellow councillors have done with theirs, but so far all you've considered using it for is killing that spider in the corner of your window before you find out if it's venomous or not. Eventually, though, you put aside your arachnophobic tendencies and open the file.
As you read through it, you think back to the human Xerox machine from earlier, keeping him firmly in mind. You find that when you do that, a lot of what you're reading seems… almost less fantastical.
Vampires caused by a stone mask, one of which, a bare neonate who didn't last ten minutes before the sun took him, was the cause of London's Shattered Wall. A Tibetan mindful breathing technique used to defeat them. Manifestations of the soul caused by an ancient bow and arrow, with abilities ranging from manipulating sand to resetting cause and effect.
Nazi cyborgs. With eye lasers. And miniguns in their torso.
… What. No, seriously, hwat.
You close the file there, and begin rubbing your temples, wondering exactly what you're going to do about this revelation. The second one in as many months.
Except…
You are not Councillor Emmet. You are a collection of beings given a little peek into the state of this particular iteration of a story told again and again throughout a hundred thousand universes.
You are fluid. A gestalt unbound by simple little things like 'causality' and 'the natural flow of time.'
You have a privilege here. That privilege is Protagonism. Except… where is Shepard, in this universe?
[] Mindoir- Shepard ain't just your name here. Green fields for the livestock, plenty of hunting game, wonderfully fresh air, the hum of Batarian slave carriers- wait, what? Oh. Aw, jeez, Shepard. You should probably go and hide.(Gain trait 'Breathe Deep,' gain opportunity "S U R V I V E.") [] Earthborn- You wanna get street gangs? This is how we get street gangs. Be a Shepard who had to do what they needed to in order to survive all the petty street wars in the dark, smoky streets of Napoli. (Gain trait "Gang Starr," gain opportunity "The Needles.") [] Spacer- You currently live on the SSV Erba Verde, a small military medical complex with a mass effect engine crammed down its metaphorical gullet. It's cramped, it's basically one giant hospital cum rehab centre, what for, you're not sure, and you wouldn't have it any other way. Still, you're wondering why some people around here wear those odd, chunky collars… (Gain trait "Military Brat Blues," gain opportunity "More Than Human/Vitae Aeternus.")
Name: Gioia Josephina Anasui Brando Shepard, 'JoJo' for short.
oh geez you a cute
Traits
Traits are the small quirks of personality and fate that flesh you out as a person. You will earn more as time goes on, either through circumstance or through your actions.
Protagonism- Whether you like it or not, you're the narrative centre of the universe. Anything interesting that happens usually involves you. It would be a boring story otherwise.
Seven. Or Nine. Who's Counting?- You are part of the Joestar bloodline, down to the star shaped birthmark on your left shoulder. Whether you got the curse or not is not my place to decide.
Gang Starr- Growing up in the shady underworld of Napoli has given you two things over the years- your gang, the closest thing to a family you have, and a mild xenophobia complex, mainly turian-based, but other races aren't safe either.
Stand User- Through the use of The Needle, you have gained the power of your soul manifest- a Stand.
Abilities
Stand Name:「Pearly Gates」 (Namesake: Prefab Sprout song)
Power: A
Speed: A
Range: C*
Durability: B
Precision: A
Potential: B
Appearance: A humanoid Stand, in the loosest sense of the word. Everything up to the nose, bar the eyes, is feminine in appearance, with naturally drooping lips, while everything up from and including the eyes is smooth, featureless crystal, shaped in a way that would make the transition from flesh to crystal feel seamless if it were a physical model that could be subjected to touch. The head isn't actually connected to the body properly, instead floating a neck's length above it. The body itself is a dull white, with silver lines curving across it in wide arcs, creating dense clusters of circular or ovaloid shapes across its torso and limbs.
It has four arms- two from the shoulders, as expected, and a second pair that starts at the third rib down, each terminating in an eight-fingered hand, which are jointed in the sanctioned manner. Both pairs are disproportionately long, each pair reaching its knees and calves, respectively. The arms themselves are flattened between shoulder and wrist, and have no elbows, instead curving and bending as if made of cartilage. Its legs bend in much the same way and end in simple, almost spike-like stumps.
Ability: Perceptual Portal Creation- Pearly Gates has the ability to create portals to anywhere Gioia can see or visualise by physically striking at the air and connecting two places through unknown means. This is the root power, and thus all others are but branches of it. The maximum discovered range so far is around 500 metres, taking you from Via Andrea D'Isserina to Via Giovanio Pontano in a single step.
Scrying- Through the portals, and the crystal ball embedded in your Stand's head, you can kind of see whatever's on the other side of a portal, given a bit of squinting and standing on your toes to bring yourself level with your Stand's head. Or, she can pry her head off and give it to you. That would explain the lack of neck, yes.
Gear
Head: Your hair. It's red. And well kept. You have nice hair.
Torso: One (1) black hoodie with grey highlights around the lapels and down one arm, One (1) white t-shirt.
Legs: One (1) pair of denim jeans. Wait, do you get any other kind of jeans? One (1) thick leather belt.
Weapon: Knuckledusters- they're a little well-worn, and they're a little loose, and the padding on the inside's gone a little, but they're still better than your bare fist. (+1 to damage rolls on physical attacks)
Inventory
356,200 Lire (210 US Dollars, 53 Credits)
One (1) phone, great by today's standards, not so great by, uh, "today's" standards.
One (1) of The Needles.
Three (3) Men's Watches, Generic Brand(s)- thick, chunky faces, thin leather bands, except for one that seems to just have chunks of iron stapled together for a band, they're not Rolexes, but they're good watches.
Seven (7) Smartphones, (Condition Range: Medium-Great)- Yeah, they're locked, probably, but you know there's ways around that. Unlock them, see if there's anything worth saving onto a hard drive, wipe the buggers, sell 'em on. Easy money.
Six (6) Pieces of Jewellery- Earring, rings, necklaces- those guys were pretty decked out. You might not get much for them, but money's money.
Mulligans
Mulligans, Fate Points, HAIL 2 U's, whatever you wanna call them, they're the same thing- through either luck, good planning, pulling something stupidly awesome off, you will gain one of these. They can be used for a variety of reasons, the two of which I will admit to here at the moment being one honest answer from me to any question asked and agreed upon by people, or to redo a bad roll, according to Rogue Trader rules- you're stuck with the reroll, regardless of how much worse it is.
"Currency can be exchanged for goods and services." Mulligans in stock: 1
Known Mulligan Uses:
Knowledge Is Power- One mulligan is worth one honestly answered question from the GM. This question requires a majority vote in order to be considered for a mulligan. If it isn't, I'll answer it anyway.
Waitwaitwait, redo, redo- One mulligan is worth one reroll and this use requires at least five* people to vote on a reroll in order to, well, reroll. However, the twist- Rogue Trader rules. You are stuck with the reroll, regardless of whether it's lower, higher, or exactly the same.
*This number is subject to change, either raising or lowering depending on the average number of voters we have per update.
Stands are not common knowledge, simply due to their relative rarity, and the sheer difficulty of proving they exist to people without Stands, and even if you were in Greenland, all you would find of the one that landed on Earth is maybe some dust. No, that was all snatched up a while ago.
Voting is now closed, and Earthborn wins!
Update will be up sometime in the next RIGHT NOW-
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Your name is [ERROR] Shepard.
What? No, [ERROR], not [ERROR]- [ERROR] Shepard. Shepard, [ERROR]- oh, sod it, we'll fix that later.
Right, moving on- your name is, Somethingorother Shepard, you're 16 years old, and you're currently in the middle of getting the shit stomped out of you in a back alley in Naples by seven angry Italians because you have one of their wallets in your back pocket.
… I know people who'd pay for that kinda thing.
Er- you're currently trying to keep your lunch in your stomach, and, admittedly, managing admirably, despite the several boots to the gut you're getting.
Now, at this point, you might be tempted to think about why you're getting your shit stomped in, but the act of getting your shit stomped in isn't very conducive to introspection. If you had to make an attempt, at least, you suppose trying to steal one of their wallets, in retrospect, not your brightest idea.
"Vaffanculo, Rosso pieza di merda!" One of your assailants shouts, seemingly unaware of your inability to fuck off due to her boot constantly slamming against your thighs.
Ah. Yes. Of course. Being part of a different gang would definitely be a reason for you to be getting beat up like this.
Thing is, you remember joining the Via Pontano Rossi specifically to avoid this shit. Instead, it just makes you a target for 7 on 1 beatdowns like this because your colours stand out against anything this side of the Kuiper Belt. Granted, again, you started it, but... they're Verdes, man, how are you supposed to pass up an opportunity to bring those assholes down to size?
You curl up a little further, and try and protect your face as best you can.
Eventually, your attackers get bored, and, after a quick stomp or two to the kidneys for good measure, decide to move on, leaving you on the ground, groaning and twitching while you try and force your body to move.
Injuries- probably going to look like an oversized plum tomorrow, possible damage to kidneys and spine, cut on lips, bloody nose, sprained wrist and ankle, swelling eye, and severely damaged pride. Nothing seems broken. Pain rating- 6/10. First aid required, Hamon/medical treatment advised.
Eventually, after a while, you work up the energy to pick yourself up, and limp out of the alley, gritting your teeth every time your heel makes contact with the floor, sending streamers of pain all the way up your leg. You feel something shifting around the buttocks area.
... There's no way.
… Still, a quick pat around just to check, you never know…
You pull out a flat, brown thing, with some notes barely visible within its folds, and you grin, showing off bloody, slightly chipped teeth to anyone who cared to look. The dumb bastard forgot to take his wallet back!
"Oi! You there!"
Your jubilation is interrupted by the sound of a voice belonging to a 140-year-old, which is impressive, considering its owner isn't a day older than seventy. A grizzled old… person, dressed in mostly rags, sitting cross-legged on the pavement across the road is staring at you quite intently.
Now, were it not for the fact that, a) they weren't there ten seconds ago, you don't think, and b) people past 50 are a rarity around here, you probably wouldn't have taken notice of them.
You seriously look them over as best you can through the eye that isn't rapidly swelling shut and find them unreadable. They don't seem to be overly concerned looking, nor do they seem to be malicious, per se…
"The fuck you want?" You shout across the road.
… It's pretty neutral, by your normal standards. Downright diplomatic, really.
"C'm'over here. I just wanna talk, that's all!" They shout back.
That doesn't mollify your suspicions much. Still, you hesitate, standing there instead of just fucking off, choosing to mull your options over instead.
Ok, first, we have to nip that error thing in the bud.
[] State your full name for the record, please.
[] A picture of yourself? Or a description, at least. Pretty please?
[] Any distinguishing birthmarks?
-[] A big star-shaped one on your shoulder. (This does limit your name options somewhat, for obvious reasons.) (Gain Trait, "Nine. Or Seven. Who's Counting?")
-[] Uh, those three moles on your left ear, you guess? You… yeah, you'd call that a birthmark. (Gain trait "Luck Of The Devil.")
Now what?
[] Approach Them- they look like 150! What are they gonna do, have a heart attack on you? You'll be fine. Limp on over there and listen to them. Besides, you don't get to that age around here by not being able to hurt someone who disrespects you like that.
[] Nopenopenope- mmmmmmmmmnope, you know this song and dance way too well. First it's come over here, then it's "Do you want some candy-" ok, ok, all jokes aside, you straight up just don't trust this... person. Go. Leave. Bugger off. Don't give them the time of day.
[] Stay Still- Well, you could just stay where you are and have a shouting conversation with them. You can't really be arsed limping in either direction right now.
[] Write-In
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An Offer. Whether You Refuse It Or Not Is Up To You, Really.
I mean, it's been 130 years. Even if it hasn't somehow turned to dust, anyone who knew what to do with it is long dead, and you certainly don't.
There's little to no information on how DIO actually came about the process of entering Heaven, to the point where I'm pretty much just convinced weird shit went down in that coffin.
[X] Giomarre DiGiorno
[X]
[X] Any distinguishing birthmarks?
-[X] Uh, those three moles on your left ear, you guess? You… yeah, you'd call that a birthmark. (Gain trait "Luck Of The Devil.")
-[X] A big star-shaped one on your shoulder. (This does limit your name options somewhat, for obvious reasons.) (Gain Trait, "Nine. Or Seven. Who's Counting?")
Despite your suspicions, you choose to limp across the road to the old you'regonnaguess man, who only gives a thin smile in appreciation of your decision.
A thin smile which morphs into a concerned frown as he finally seems to realise how bad off you are.
"Jes-uh, wow, you look like shit." He says, catching himself mid-blasphemy.
You're… you're too tired to care right now.
"Yeah. You have a fucking reason for calling me over, or did you just feel like insulting me, old man?" You ask, your patience already wearing thin.
He looks up at you, and you finally take stock of his appearance. His head is entirely bald, the dome almost shiny, the hair apparently having migrated to his beard, wild and matted and almost snow-white. One eye is a deep green, a placid shade, while the other is clouded over with cataracts.
"Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Well…" He looks down, running his tongue, a small, slick, grey thing, over his lips and teeth for a moment. "I'm- sorry, I just realised I have no real idea how to put this… do you know about Hamon?"
You frown, schooling your face not to show the mind-numbing pain it causes oh dear god why-
But yes, you're aware of the sunshine kung-fu. Hell, you know two fuckers who can use it.
"Yeah? I know about Hamon, what about it?"
"And vampires?"
You find your lips curling in disgust despite the pain it puts you through.
Ugh.
You don't... hate them, not like aliens anyway, but still, they creep you the fuck out. You mean, yeah, they're kept in check by those chunky ass collars, and yeah, it's not really their choice, and yeah, you guess being completely immortal to anything that isn't sunlight or Hamon is pretty great, but still.
... It's the- it's the whole 'drinking through their fingers' thing. That shit's just gross.
"Yeah." You say simply, your opinion dripping off the word, the first and final thing you want to say on the subject.
As your immediate response passes, you realise you're still not entirely sure where the old fucker's going with this.
"You know how they come about?" The old man continues his quiz of you.
"Draining people of their blood, everyone knows that." You answer without thinking.
"Wrong." He answers back just as fast. "That's how zombies are made. They're what you see in all those anti-vamp videos, what you hear about in all those stories of mothers becoming vampires to save their kids and eating the poor child themselves… no, the vampire is a much more sophisticated creature."
… Uh… huh.
You don't have time for this. You need to get back home before some other gang comes and decides you're easy pickings.
"Look, old man, yeah, that's interesting and all, but frankly I was expecting more than just a lecture on bloodsuckers. So, really, if that's all you have for me, I'm gonna go and lick my wounds before another gang comes and decides I'm an easy target. Which, I am."
As you turn to limp off, your impromptu lecturer on vampiric stereotypes reaches out a hand, desperation colouring his voice.
"W-wait! There is a reason I called you over here, I just… we shouldn't talk about it in public. There's a small pizzeria around the corner. Just… come with me, hear me out, and I'll buy you a meal for your trouble." He pleads, obviously wanting you to come with him.
You narrow your eye at him. Now he just wants you, the injured 16-year-old, to follow him round the corner, to the pizzeria that's totally there, and 'hear him out.'
We're reaching levels of sketchiness never before seen by mankind.
"No deal."
You once again turn to walk away, and-
"It's about a job! And payment!"
-stop once again.
Job. Payment. The two words that make you perk up a little. Like yeah, nabbing wallets is alright and shit, but actual jobs with actual payment, that's where it's at.
Not to mention it's hardly the average, uh, what's the word... my point is, who convinces a 16-year-old with the promise of a job?
You... guess it couldn't hurt. At worst, he is, again, somewhere in his late 150s. You think you can take him, even as punished as you are. As he gets up, you pull off the identifying rags of the Via Pontano Reds, shoving them into your pockets for safe keeping.
Ten minutes. At worst, you see no pizzeria and walk away. At best, you get a job, a free drink, and a meal. There's not much downside here.
|||
Well, he wasn't lying about the pizzeria, at least. It's a small affair, more a cafe than a restaurant, but still, the wood oven is there, the chef is hard at work making fresh dough, and there's an asari waiting to serve you.
... Uh.
What. Asari. What. Why. Why asari. Why asari here.
No, seriously, why the fuck is there an asari here, in Naples of all places, working as a pizzeria waiter? Waitress, what the fuck ever, why is it here?!
... Fuck it, you're too tired for this shit. The smurfette is here, the smurfette is not going away, so you're just going to assume the smurfette's not a hallucination. You decide, through sheer pain and lack of energy, that you can at least attempt to be civil with it for the half an hour you're gonna be here.
Speaking of, it seems to have noticed the state you're in and is currently striking a balance between staying professional and panicking.
"Table for two, please. And, ah, an icepack for my friend's ankle, if you don't mind." Your soon to be employer says, unconcerned with the flighty alien's sudden panic.
Without speaking, it leads the two of you to a table, silently offering to help take some of the strain off your ankle, which you wave off. Honestly, it's just a little sprain, it's not like it's broken. You take a step-
... You sigh and throw an arm over the asari's offered back while it helps you to your table. After you sit down, it hovers about, wondering what to do next.
"Get a chair, prop it up off the ground, that's a good lass." The old man instructs it, and it complies, dragging a chair over and gingerly pulling your leg up onto it, wincing as you do. You have to say, it's... more awkward than you expected from an asari. Aren't they meant to be all graceful and shit?
"Ah, can I take your order?" The asari asks in flawless Italian. You're almost impressed until you spot the tiny earpiece and the small patch on its throat, only just visible in the dim light of the restaurant.
A translator.
... Fair enough.
The old man, who for the sake of allowing the phrase 'old man' to retain some iota of meaning, you're now going to call Franco, orders a glass of red wine and a Pizza Margherita, while you order a coffee and the same.
It notes down the order, then rushes off to grab cutlery and, hopefully, an icepack.
"Now. To business? Or would you prefer to wait until that's on ice?" Franco asks, pointing to your ankle.
"No, I'm fine to talk. So, what's this job you want me to do?"
Franco frowns for a moment, sighing deeply.
"It's... complicated. I believe... I believe starting with your payment would be best, actually. First off, 20,000 credits, enough to let you live like royalty here in Napoli, or enough to get you off-planet and to greener pastures. Whichever works."
You feel your jaw drop open.
Tw-twe... twenty thousand credits?
He smiles, finding some amusement in the look on your face. "You heard right. Twenty thousand. And-" He reaches into his rags, letting you see the remnants of a suit underneath, only to pull out a fountain pen sized, hospital-tile white cylinder and gently hold it up for you to see.
"This, my young, injured friend, is one of The Needles." He says.
Without even asking, you can tell that you're meant to say it with capital letters. Which tells you it's important, and... not much else.
"... The what?" You ask unashamedly.
"It's your advance payment."
You make a point of blinking.
"I mean, alright, but what is it?"
He puts his free hand on his chin, frowning for a moment while he finds the words he needs.
"Let's say that everything discovered in the past 30 years here, on Earth, none of that mass effect bollocks, can be classified as 'weird stuff.' Stuff that makes no sense on any logical level. Vampires that drink through their fingers and shoot high-pressure fluid from their eyes? A Tibetan breathing technique that allows people to emulate the power of the sun in order to fight them? All weird stuff. But there's a third thing, a third section of 'weird stuff,' that's been kept secret from the public. This-"
He presses a small button on the side, causing a small shard of dull metal to snap out from a tiny hole in the end, before retreating just as quickly. It's like, uh... c'mon, you've seen them before- that thing diabetics use to test their blood sugars before meals. What are they called?
Wait, the old guy's still speaking. No, Franco. Come on, you picked that name for a reason.
"-is the power of gods, in the shape of a self-sterilising piece of meteoric iron." He says like it answers everything. "Let me tell you a story," he continues, seeing the look on your face, "about Greenland."
He then proceeds to actually answer everything.
He goes on to explain what he means. 10,000 years ago, a meteor crashed in Greenland, one of the most hostile places on the planet, not anymore, mind, but back then it was near inhospitable. Early humans found the meteor and found something beautiful in its jagged edges and their blood, mixed together.
It awoke something in them. A potential found in those who fight to survive, who refuse to give up. Those with a will behind them. It rewarded them with power.
A power he calls a Stand. A vision of the user's soul given form.
In ancient times, the iron was formed into six Arrows, which were discovered by a man named Diavolo and used to create Passione, so on and so forth, we can talk about them later if you must, fast forward to about, oh, 25 years ago, the Systems Alliance finds the meteor, a whole 12 kilos of magical space metal only found due to the melted permafrost, and they then proceeded to figure out what the absolute minimum mass was needed to trigger this awakening, an endeavour that ended in The Needles.
Throughout all this, he's waving your 'advance payment' around like a conductor's baton, ending his story by putting it in the centre of the table.
"You take the job, you get a jab and The Needle itself, to do whatever you want with."
You... don't know what to say. The asari comes back, brandishing a tray with your coffee, Franco's wine, and for some reason a thick slab of chilled meat on it in one hand, and an icepack for your ankle in the other. It sets down the tray, then gently rests your ankle on the pack according to Franco's instructions before offering you the meat.
You look between it and the meat in confusion.
"Ah, the, the chef told me it would help your eye."
You take it from her, thanking her quietly, and press it against your swollen eye.
Ohhh sweet relief.
She smiles, happy that you seem to approve.
Y'know what, this asari's alright by you. She takes the tray and leaves to grab your pizzas.
"You seem somewhat stunned. It's a lot to take in, I understand, so please, by all means, take your time."
Franco takes a sip of his red wine, while you process everything that was just said. By the time your pizzas arrive, you're still not done, so instead, you choose to eat and drink and be merry, ok maybe not that last part, while you think. You grab your knife and fork, silently thankful that the Verdes left you your fingers, and dig into your first hot meal of the day.
Bullshitting you or not, this gets eaten before you leave.
Questions finally coagulate and rise to the surface of your mind as you consume the moist, almost soupy concoction of mozzarella, tomato puree, olive oil and bay leaves in front of you. (Max. 3 Questions.)
[] That's a lot of payment, 20K in credits and a possibly magic needle. You can only wonder what the job is.
[] For all he said on the subject, you don't... really know what having a Stand entails. Maybe you should ask about that.
[] You can't have that kind of power and not use it on yourself. Ask him if he has a Stand.
[] Why a needle? Just based on what little you saw of it, it looks like it had to be chipped off that meteorite. Why not make a knife, or more arrows? Why make something you could lose between floor tiles?
[] Write-in
Also, nipping this in the bud quickly- These are your choices, if you missed the last vote, here's your chance, if you've voted for a character before, either change your vote or don't vote for a character. Anything else gets Vito'd.
[] Diego Brando
-[] Uh, those three moles on your left ear, you guess? You… yeah, you'd call that a birthmark. (Gain trait "Luck Of The Devil.")
[] Gioia Josephina 'JoJo' Brando
-[] Your mother's maiden name was Annasui, not that it matters.
-[] Red hair, female, you'd say you're a touch taller than average. You've got a runner's build: slender, but still got more muscle mass than average.
--[] A big star-shaped one on your shoulder.
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Explanations, Examples, An Exhibition, Excitement, and Eventually, An Offer Is Extended.
I'm more than ok with that. Like I've said, I'm only using the picture that's there as inspiration for the written description, which I'll be using as, well, a base for your looks throughout the quest. After that's done, and refined to a point where I'm happy to keep it to the side as a reference for what Gioia looks like, I couldn't care less what you do with that picture because I'll have a description vivid enough to just slap in anywhere it's needed.
I could also throw myself off a bridge. Both are possible, both have the same outcome, both are equally likely to happen, and neither are recommended.
Kars... no. No, I'm pulling the spoilers card here. I am keeping my mouth shut. Instead, you get this: I actually had a Speedwagon option in the character traits, which I somehow missed while copying over the update, and I didn't notice until it was too late.
I'm so sorry.
You missed out on "Shepard withdraws coolly" I'm so so sorry-
|||
The candlelight illuminates your face, breaking the shadow covering your face. Well, illuminates the hair covering your face, its warm light intensifying the shade of your orange hair to fiery heights. You gently shift your hair away before the flame catches it and that metaphor becomes literal.
Underneath the shadow is a sharp, heart-shaped face, and, ignoring your injuries for a moment, an almost permanent pair of panda eyes surrounding two icy blue, almost silver irises. Between those, a long, Greek nose resides, suffering from a mildly deviated septum courtesy of the several broken noses you've suffered over the years. Your lips are a thin, normally pale affair, although they're redder and fuller than usual for rather obvious reasons.
…
Ehem. Pardon me, I... no, it doesn't matter. Onto things that do matter-
Between the pizza, the ice pack, and the unexpected kindness of an asari, your mood is improving in leaps and bounds!
Indeed, if it weren't for the absolute insanity of Franco's story, you might have felt even better about having the crap kicked out of you not five minutes ago.
Still, after about a quarter of this frankly delicious pizza, you feel good enough to start asking questions.
A few float to the top of the heap, and you begin sorting them out.
First- a Stand is the physical manifestation of a person's mental power. Their soul, basically. OK, simple enough, but what do they do? What benefits are there to having a Stand? You finish your mouthful of slightly charred crust, the smoky, mildly acrid flavour dancing across your palate, and take a sip of coffee to wash it down with, you begin to speak.
"So… what exactly is having a Stand like? What does it do?" You finally ask.
Franco looks up from his own Margherita, quickly chewing and swallowing the mouthful he had. When he's sure he's not going to choke, he begins to speak.
"Well, the best way to put it is that Stands... they're essentially psychic powers. I suppose if I were to generalise the benefits, you would, assuming you ended up with the right type of Stand, essentially have a large, invisible, semi-intangible man following you around, completely under your control. Every Stand has some effect, some ability, that allows it to affect the world around it, or the people in it. A Stand user emerged who could create a horrible flesh-eating virus from capsules on his Stand's fists, there was another could create zippers to enter a pocket dimension, one who could erase time... very few Stands share abilities, and most, if not all, are powerful in their own right."
You begin to nod, then stop.
"... Wait, erasing time? How does that work?"
"Well, you see, it worked by essentially removing the user from the time stream, then- and that's how it worked."
You blink. Franco smiles. Realisation dawns. You give him a dirty look.
"Alright, alright. Imagine you're at home, doing whatever it is you young people do, and you feel thirsty, so you get up, go to the kitchen, grab a glass of nice, cold milk, and go back to whatever you were doing. If this Stand were in effect during that time, then a chunk of that time would be erased. So you would feel thirsty, then be in the kitchen, with no recollection of getting there. You went from A to B, without experiencing the in between. It erases the cause, but not the effect. That's what it would be like from your perspective. See?"
You… nod hesitantly. It… kinda makes sense, if you squint.
Whatever, you should move on. You ruminate while you continue eating your pizza, then another question occurs.
Between the theoretical zipper man, the guy with the virus, and the walking record skip, it seems like Stands do have something that could be shown to prove their existence. And, if you had something like that needle, and positive proof that Stands exist, you would jam that shit into your arm fast enough to cauterise the wound on entry.
He has both. Therefore he has a Stand.
"... Do you-" You start.
"I do."
You consider blinking in confusion, but your pizza and your coffee are both getting cold, and you need to get on with this.
"What does it do?"
He smiles.
"Here? With two other people watching?"
You glance over at the asari and the chef. They're just chatting to each other about something or other, you can't quite hear them from here. Either way, they're not really paying attention to either of you right now.
You glance over at the asari and the chef and notice that, while they seem to be talking to each other since the rest of the restaurant is pretty much dead, they do seem to be glancing over at you every now and then.
"... Fuck 'em. It's not like they'll be able to prove it." You say, still lowering your voice in the hopes of not drawing attention.
Franco grins at you.
"Heh. Ballsy. I like it. Alright, watch closely."
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
「Black Crown.」
... What happened?
Nothing happened. You frown and open your mouth to say as much.
""
Your mouth opens, you feel the air leave your mouth, but there's no sound.
Uh.
You gently snap your fingers next to your ears and find no sound emits from the action. Before you start to panic, Franco gently taps his fork against his wine glass, and the sound rings clear.
What? What?!
How?!
No, stop, calm the fuck down. It's not a matter of how, you know damn well how he did it…
So this is his Stand.
Right. Figure out what he's done to you, first. You're not deaf and mute. You're...
You clap, hard, and there's no sound, something you confirm by looking over at the asari and the chef. You lean forward to pick up your fork, and tap it against your coffee cup, eliciting a few tings of sound. You do the same with a finger and find no sound comes from the action.
So, using something against something else makes noise. But you can't make noise. Like…
You've been put on mute.
"" You start speaking, before remembering that fact.
He smiles, then you vanish. You jump a little, pulling your foot off its perch and the ice pack, bringing your unseen heel down onto the stone floor.
""
You can't hear it, and neither can anyone else, but you're swearing really loudly right now. When you grit your teeth to stop the stream of cursing, you look over at the pair of employees and find them still chatting away to each other, completely oblivious to your antics.
… So this isn't a hallucination. You have actually been silenced and turned invisible.
… If you could stand up, you could royally mess with him-
And you're visible again. Dammit.
"Need some help there?" He asks, as an unseen force grips your leg and hauls it back up onto the ice pack.
As everything that just happened sinks in, you allow yourself to panic a little.
But it's not a bad panic. No, quite the opposite, as odd as it sounds. No, it's the panic of everything he's saying actually being true.
Stands exist. That needle gives you psychic powers. You're being offered a job, that gets you that needle, to be yours, yours, to do with what you will, and 20,000 credits. You could live very comfortably on that kind of money around here, at least for a couple years.
Wait. Good panic. There's, there's a word for that, what- excitement, it's called excitement. You're excited.
That's the word.
Alas, that seed of doubt is still there.
That's... a lot of stuff, for one job. So you have to wonder how big the job is.
"... What's the job?"
In that moment, with one question, you wipe any humour from his face.
"... I was wondering when you would ask that." He says, leaning forward as he does. "Tell me- since you're asking, I can only assume you're at least entertaining the idea that I'm telling the truth?"
You nod, unsure about where he's going with this.
"Good, then this next part won't be much harder to swallow." He sighs deeply. "... I'm... 111 years old, now. I've outlived everyone I know. My back aches, my knees don't work like they used to, and really, the fact I've made it this far without Hamon is... a miracle. But... I think it's time."
... Oh.
Oh... he's asking you to-
"It's time for me to make sure I stay on this side of the mortal coil."
-not commit euthanasia in the country the Pope lives in, oh thank God.
"You remember our conversation about vampires? Specifically, how they're created?"
"... Not by draining someone of all of their blood." You say, pointing at him as you do, and feeling happier than you thought you would for remembering that.
He gives you a smile, but it lacks the humour it had before.
"Exactly. No, they're created through artefacts created by... well, that doesn't matter. They're called the Stone Masks, and they're, well, exactly what they sound like. They pierce acupuncture points in the brain, and... well. A vampire is made."
... You want to say bullshit. But he just turned you invisible, muted you, and lifted your leg back up onto the ice pack with his mind servant. You're not in a position to call bullshit.
"... Ok. What about them?" You ask.
"Well, the only people who have access to them, theoretically, are the Alliance military. They destroy 90% of the ones they find, and they find a lot, and keep the others to create more shock troopers. Why do you think you never see a civilian vampire? However, there are... exceptions. People who are powerful enough or secretive enough to find one, and keep it. One such person lives here, in Napoli. I want you to steal a mask, and give it to me. From the Alliance, from them, I don't care who, but that's your job. I'll provide help where possible, but it'll mostly be up to you-"
... Wait, waitwaitwait, whoawhoawhoawhoa, let's backtrack for a second-
"You want to become a bloodsucker?" You ask, almost incredulous of his request.
He stops, whatever he was saying dying in his throat. His lips thin and tighten around the edges.
"... I don't want to die." He says, pain clear in his voice, and his eyes.
You can only go quiet, the silence growing around you.
"... I'm scared. Of dying." He continues, seeming older by the word. "Of the idea that every minute could be the minute something important finally gives in, and that'll be it for me. Did you know there's a word for that? Thanatophobia. As if fearing the end is something abnormal." He looks down, forehead against his hand. "Everything I've done, stealing The Needle, offering you this job, I did it because I don't want to die. Is... is that hard to understand? Am I, in the wrong, for fearing my own death?" He asks you.
You can't even bring yourself to look him in the eye.
Your pizza's gone cold, you note. As has your coffee.
Shame.
"... I'll understand if you want to walk away."
Walk away?
You glance up at him, and raise an eyebrow, your question unsaid.
'Really? That's the phrase you went with?'
Franco blinks, then starts to giggle at his own turn of phrase, and within moments, you're joining him. You both giggle like morons for a few seconds, and the mood lightens considerably for it.
"Ah... I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Still, I'm... surprised at how good that felt to get off my chest, if you don't mind me saying. But, yes, that's the job. Steal an immortality granting mask off of either a very powerful man or the most powerful organisation on this and however many other planets, possibly bringing down their wrath on your head, all for enough credits to get off-planet and a psychic power granting hypodermic needle, which you get jabbed with right here and now if you take the job. Well? What do you say?"
... Well, when he puts it like that...
[] Take The Job- It's... a lot of money. And a lot of power. Money. Power. All for one dinky stone mask you have to steal off someone? Is that all? How can you say no?
[] Don't Take The Job- Well, you say it like so: "No. I'm sorry, but... it sounds too dangerous. Thank you, but no. Find someone else." Then limp off with as much dignity as you can.
This so far is the closest to the truth, but not quite hitting the bullseye.
I will say that, as far as Stand powers go, I'm... not the greatest at it, along with design, or naming, or- I'm shit at everything to do with creating Stands, ok? The only things that have stopped me from just raiding the many fan Stand blogs and the subreddit is that you lot could just search it and find out everything about it, and the fact that I've yet to find a brick wall I can't beat down with my head.
But this, Black Crown, is one I'm genuinely somewhat proud of. That, and the one you just got. The rest... vary.
Wrongo Dongo is one of the worst mistakes my family has ever made. Google it, and imagine my wine-loving aunt going through half the bottle in an hour.
She is, but mostly to Turians, because of First Contact War shenanigans. Other races, she ranges from ambivalent/only internally racist, to openly malicious. Smurfettes are at the low end of the scale, the birds and the Space French are at the higher end of the scale.
Krogans are down there with the smurfettes, on account of a) being smart enough to realise insulting a krogan to their face is a Bad Idea, and b) because krogans are fucking awesome.
All I can think of when I hear the first OP for JoJo anymore is this one English cover that was... eh, up until the very end, just before the final JoJo yell, where he belts out, without an iota of irony in his voice, this Kirby: Right Back At Ya!-esque -
HE'S THE HERO OF THE SHOW-
And it just fucking kills me every time. I can't listen to the first OP anymore without thinking of that and breaking into giggles like the manchild I really am.
Also @Lyrsin I have to ask how did the First Contact War go and more specifically how much of a WTF did the Turian commanders pull once they encountered the bizarre stuff that earth uses on the battlefield? Because I can imagine how much of a nightmare it would be fighting the Vampire shocktroops who the System Alliance probably outfits with special armor to protect them from UV attacks.
I actually had a 600-word long essay for this question before realising I'd pretty much doubled the post size with like five separate Codex entries. So instead you get this.
I'm not saying they got their shit pushed in, but... it wasn't far off. See, Hamon can stop bullets, with a handful of hair of all things, and rice grains at relativistic velocities have the same stopping power as actual bullets, and while people may not be as quick thinking as Joseph, that kind of stuff is useful to learn. A semi-good thing, depending on your perspective, is that because it's become common knowledge, and more people are using Hamon, the techniques are slowly starting to... homogenise. It still has near universal use, and most people who train in it still find something unique to do with it, it's just that useful techniques like stopping bullets with a handful of grass are spread around to be used.
And, as you said, when the Alliance got its shit together, vampires everywhere. And when night fell, well, the armour comes off, and all the weird body horror starts happening.
"THEY'RE SHOOTING LASER BEAMS FROM THEIR EYES MAN! FREAKING LASER BEAMS!"
It also led to the equally unsurprising and surprising discoveries that blood follows the levo/dextro divide, and vampires are affected by it. They don't die, but they do get violently ill afterwards. Like, the bastard child of food poisoning from a mildly suspicious all you can eat seafood buffet and your low points in college kind of ill.
[X] Take The Job- It's... a lot of money. And a lot of power. Money. Power. All for one dinky stone mask you have to steal off someone? Is that all? How can you say no?
Eh, sure, why not? I'm hardly overflowing with threadmarks.
|||
You consider refusing- no you don't. You don't even consider considering refusing, that's how much you're going to take this job. 20,000 credits, that Needle, a jab right now and to take home, which will give you a Stand, essentially your very own set of psychic powers.
Really, how could you say no? You can't, that's how.
"Yeah. I'll take the job." You say, trying to hide your excitement.
Your new employer blinks, then beams, years melting off his face as he laughs his happiness out.
"Wonderful! Then, I suppose this is yours." He says, still beaming with yellowed but otherwise healthy teeth. He picks up The Needle, and runs his thumb over the divot again, causing the shard of iron to jab out with a small mechanical click sound. Yes, it still works, and you feel your heart flutter a little.
"So, you want to do it yourself, or should I?" He asks you, gesturing with your prize.
You frown as much as your swollen eye allows.
"Does it need to go anywhere specific?"
"No, anywhere should do. It does leave a small divot in the flesh, though, so keep that in mind."
You think for a moment. Well, if it goes deep enough to leave a divot, it's probably gonna hurt like a bitch, then again, so does 70% of your body. You guess...
You extend your left hand towards him.
"Middle fingertip? I could probably hide that if I had to." You say, proffering the aforementioned finger.
He smiles, and gently takes your hand in his, pressing the business end of the needle against your finger-
Not looking the gift horse in the mouth is what killed the Trojans.
-And you jerk it back at the last second as a question occurs to you.
"Wait. I just... why me? People would kill for a chance to use The Needle, let alone use it. Mercenary groups, actual professionals, would jump at an offer like this. So... why go for some no-name punk you only just met, like, 20 minutes ago?"
Franco frowns at you. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, then settles his chin in his hand to think.
"... Well... would you trust them with that kind of power? At least you and, I suppose your friends if I give you this, aren't a galaxy-spanning mercenary group with goodness knows how many people at their disposal. No, with you, it's at the very least contained to... however many people you're gonna give Stands, I suppose- my point is, it's not going to be numbering in the thousands, is it?"
You smile, shaking your head. You don't have a final number, but you definitely have a shortlist. Achille, definitely, Vittoria, if you can get her out of her funk long enough to hear you out...
Finch? Ehh, he's an ass. Maybe if he can go a couple days without being an ass you'll consider it.
"And besides that..." Franco continues. "... Would they believe me? Like, sure, I could do the same as I did with you, but that's a short path to getting shot. So you, believe me, are contained, and I can work with you more personally than a mercenary band that would stick out like a sore thumb here. Understand?"
You nod, understanding his points.
"Now, if that's out the way, your jab?"
... Right, yes, the jab, that thing that needs to happen.
|||
As you walk, yes, walk home, colours still tucked firmly in the waistband of your jeans, the old man, whose name you eventually remembered to ask and learned was Beedle did something else with his Black Crown that wiped the pain from your body, only temporarily, as he warned you. He also warned you that he didn't take away the injuries, and you would need to see a doctor or a Hamon user sharpish if you wanted to keep using that ankle, which is why you're making your way back to the building you call home as fast as you can. You rub your fingertips, unsure when Stands... occur.
He said it shouldn't take longer than a day. As in, a full 24 hours.
Still, in happy fun good news land, you could see Black Crown. A large, robed figure, faceless, with only two small orange dots where its eyes should have been, and, of course, a large, black crown on top. You couldn't make out... any specific details, it was kinda blurry and flickery, but still, you could see it!
Aaa! It's working!
As your jubilation subsides, your realise the sun is beginning to set now, and you're still a fair way away from Via Pontano. At least half a kilometre out. The buildings around you are tall, blocking off most of the sunlight around here, but it's not quite dark enough for the streetlamps to turn on yet, so you're left walking alone and injured in twilight, the world barely visible around you.
The Needle in your pocket suddenly feels a lot heavier as you realise exactly how valuable it is, and what people will do if they find it on you. Will they know what it is? Rationally, no, you know they won't, but what if The Needles are common knowledge and you didn't know because nobody told you? Even if they don't, what if they just crush it under boot, or think it's got drugs in it, or-
You begin to wonder if panicking is a viable option now.
As if in answer, you take a left, and walk straight into a group of Verdes, one of whom, if you remember your attackers from earlier correctly, is the same guy you stole a wallet from. The one he didn't take back.
The one in your back pocket right now.
You almost think you could pull a 180 and keep on walking, but he's definitely eyeing you up and he's definitely recognised you and oh god he's coming over.
"You," he says, pointing at you, "still need to give me back my wallet. I should beat you again just for the disrespect. You give me my wallet back, along with whatever else is worth any money on you, and maybe I'll call you an ambulance when I'm done with you."
He walks right up to you, holding his hand out like he's just expecting it to be handed over on a silver platter. You don't need to look at his smug face to know you look like a deer in headlights. You can see his smirk anyway.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
You... might be able to run.
But your ankle is still injured, even if you can't feel it. Whether it'll be able to support your weight while you run is another matter entirely.
You... should probably give him the wallet.
You can think of many reasons to give him the wallet.
You notice the way his eyes are roaming over your figure. Your disgust is immeasurable in that moment, and all you can think of is how much you want to just beat the shit out of him and run.
You aren't giving him the wallet.
Why aren't you giving him the wallet?
Why are you telling him to- goodness gracious young lady where did you learn about that?!
Naturally, he's annoyed at you. You watch as his fist approaches your face, then something flashes between you and him, something taking up the entirety of your vision during the time his fist should be occupying his face, and suddenly he's reeling to the side, clutching at his nose as he slams against the alley wall.
"Gah! Fuck, you bitch!" He yells at you nasally, blood dribbling from between his fingers.
You suddenly become aware of a figure behind you, like a second shadow. It's large, and with an odd shaped head, and two arms on either side. You can't quite count the fingers in the dim light, and you aren't gonna turn around and check, but there are definitely more than five on each hand.
"Muoviti..." It growls in an almost ethereal voice. You don't know who or what is telling something to move it, but that wasn't a human voice.
... Ohhhhh you're gonna have fun with this.
You mentally command your Stand to continue beating the shit out of him.
Go! Punch him some more! Curbstomp the fuck!
The shadow doesn't move.
... How do you- really?! You get psychic powers, and now you have to figure out the fucking controls?!
Come on!
Uh, I dunno, try and command it to do shit? Where's the manual on this thing?
[] Curbstomping Of The Few- Try and focus on beating the shit out of the dude still reeling from... whatever that was. He deserves it. (d10)
[] Curbstomping Of The Many- Focus on the masses. There might only be two of you, one of which is severely injured, the other of whom is a psychic power, but you need to try and not get bullrushed. Like you did the first time, you fucking dumbass. (d10)
[] Fuck It, Just Have A Badass Moment- Yeah, you've earned a freebie at this point. Well. Freebie in quotation marks. Still gotta roll. (d20)
[] Nope, You Are Done, You Are Leaving, Goodbye, Good Day, I SAID GOOD DAY SIR- You have stunned him, now speedwalk away urgently. Try and figure out what your Stand can do to slow them down or expedite your getting the hell away, but for the love of god, engage as a last resort only.
Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Mar 26, 2017 at 11:08 AM, finished with 158 posts and 10 votes.
[X] Nope, You Are Done, You Are Leaving, Goodbye, Good Day, I SAID GOOD DAY SIR- You have stunned him, now speedwalk away urgently. Try and figure out what your Stand can do to slow them down or expedite your getting the hell away, but for the love of god, engage as a last resort only.
WAIT SHOOT HOLD UP I MEANT TO CLOSE THE VOTES LIKE THREE HOURS AGO GODDAMMIT-
Right, here's how vote tallying's gonna work now-
I'm going to put a tally at the end of every threadmarked story post, counting once the day after the post goes up, updating it every now and then, depending on vote density, and one final time just before I lock the vote. I'll make posts commenting on the general flow, what's winning, or whatever, but the hard numbers will always be on the latest story threadmark.
... Or, alternatively, you can just, do a tally yourselves. Nothing stopping you from doing that. I ain't your mother.
Storytime, With Prince Of Pomp And 36 Kars On Mars, And Occasionally A Quest Happens (Mass Effect/JoJo).
... Wait, does that actually- no, it doesn't fit. DAMMIT.
WHY MUST MY ATTEMPTS TO PUBLICALLY RIB PEOPLE ALWAYS BE STONEWALLED BY CHARACTER LIMITS.
Either way, here's something else to fill the time while I write the next update- I actually did plan out some things for both other routes, and I thought that letting it go to waste would be a shame. so I'm gonna write snippets based on them. Not in any kind of order, or anything too spoilery for the future of this quest, hopefully. Just something to let me get things out of my head and clear space out for the main event.
Thus, I present to you, first of hopefully many;
The Mindoir Blues.
|||
The muttering was only the beginning. It's been quiet for hours since you'd made your way to the barn, at least, for a given definition of quiet- the sounds of gunfire and explosions were muffled, muddled, far away enough for you to put it out of your mind while you tended to the patients in the hayloft with your Hamon.
Dr Collins is shocked with your proficiency for it, almost stunned by how much you're putting out in each breath, without training.
But that's what you need to put out. People might die otherwise. You need to put in everything you have and then more to avoid that happening because if it does you're not sure how you're gonna live with yourself.
Then people start to hear the batarians outside.
Everyone goes silent at once. Their alien language is muffled by the barn door, but they're close. They sound… happy. Not aggressive, mindless invaders, no, people, friends just, joking around after a good day's work.
It disgusts every fibre of your being.
You stop your breathing. Henderson stops trying to fix his arm, mechanical, whirring, gently sparking every now and then, earning him a twitch and a quiet grunt, and instead slowly reaches for a box of bullets, before Collins waves him down.
You quickly, quietly, go to your mother and sister, wanting to hold them one last time in case this was it. Everyone else stays deadly silent. You strain your ears, and you can just about hear their low, guttural language.
"G'so cheh?"
A question. It sounds like it's getting closer to the barn door. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. You think they're trying not to think.
A bang, a boot against a locked and barred door, and everyone tenses. Henderson takes his chance and grabs the case of bullets for his…
You can't believe you're saying this, even just internally- torso machine gun.
The rattling of the bullets is deafening, and everyone else draws in a breath, wondering if he's just signed your death warrants. Another kick, half-hearted this time. The batarian doing the kicking grunts in frustration, then there's silence.
…
Nothing. Still, nobody moves. Breaths are taken slowly, and crying is done silently. People are even more on edge now.
Your hold your mother and sister in your arms for a moment longer, before your mother shifts, and pulls a bag onto her lap that you're almost sure she didn't have before.
She stares at it, seeming to contemplate something with those hollow eyes of hers.
When the sound of a bullet impacting a lock rings through the barn, you see something inside them for the first time in 16 years. A conversation goes on outside. 「What in the hells are you doing?!」
A spark. She reaches into the bag as she stands up, letting it drop as she grabs whatever's inside. 「What? It's not like we're in a hurry, and I'm curious. Why's it locked?」
When the bag leaves her hand, all that remains is a very odd stone mask. And a razor blade. 「Gee, I dunno, maybe because even humans lock their shit up at night?!」
Henderson notices it first, and his eyes widen. He stands quickly, knocking the box of bullets over the edge without giving a damn, the clatter deafening. 「... Shut up.」
"Camille, I don't know where the hell you got that mask, but it is not the answer." He says, still trying to be quiet. Not that it matters much now, you suppose.
"You just told them we're in here. At least this way, we have a fighting chance. Now load up in case I miss anyone."
The banging continues, and you can hear the splintering of wood from here. A chill grips your heart, but whether it's because of the mask or the splintering, you can't tell.
"M… mom? What is that?"
She turns, registering you and your sister for the first time since she got up. The spark flickers. The flame wavers. She walks back over to you and crouches down.
"This is… something I shouldn't have. It's called a Stone Mask, and it makes people very, very dangerous." She explains to your sister.
"... Are you gonna die?" Corinne asks her.
"... Yeah. But I'll get better."
Oh, great, cryptic answers, what a great time for those.
She turns to you.
"Collette, take care of your sister and the others, ok?"
She slips the mask on, allowing you your first proper look at it. It's the face of a man, a severe one, with high cheekbones, and pursed lips through which two fangs poke. Up along his nose, and up across his forehead, there's something that would be a tumorous cowlick if rendered in flesh.
She wraps her arms around you and Corinne, one last time.
"I love you both so, so much. Never forget that." She says, the muffling of the mask almost hiding the cracking in her voice.
She gets up, and you almost reach out for her, before your sister grabs your hand. You look at her, and her face says it all.
'Don't.'
Dr Collins chooses now to chime in.
"Camille, please, we can hide, there's no need to-"
"And what about the others? The ones who might still be out there, hiding, scared, without Hamon, without cybernetics, without this?" She says, using the razor to gesture to her face. "No. This need to be done."
She walks past him, and nobody else tries to stop her.
You remember something. Something you read once, years ago. Maybe it was out of a comic. You're not sure.
'-but as the king held the flame in outstretched hand, Enyis felt its sickening heat, and knew instantaneously that if he took that flame, it would become him. It would never stop burning him until all that was left would be a hunger for more fuel.'
... Who gave her the flame? Where had it been hiding all this time?
She reaches the edge of the hayloft rafters and stands on the edge. The razor comes to her left hand, thick with cracking scar tissue, and she slashes the fleshy side of her palm, drawing blood. She brings it up to the mask, and suddenly you understand why her hand is so scarred.
She was preparing for this. You're not sure how you know it, but that mask... needs blood.
The spikes are almost too fast for you to see as they pierce her head. A small, detached part of you notes that there are ten in total, asymmetrical in their placement.
It continues to note that someone is screaming, and a moment later, you realise it's you.
Granted, your mother just committed suicide in front of you, so you're kind of justified in it. As her limp body falls from the rafters, a blinding light comes from below. What you assumed to be a flashbang from batarians who had made their way in finally persists for a few seconds more, and then a few seconds later, the barn door explodes.
... This is it.
You gave everyone away. You killed them all, you dumb, stupid, worthless bitch-
The sounds of gunfire from outside. Their words quickly become panicked, before devolving into screaming, and gurgling, and wet, meaty sounds you never want to hear again in your entire life.
Silence, once more.
And then, a sound. One high, piercing screech, that sends chills through your bones on a primal level. The sound of an inhuman predator, something so far up the food chain that you have no idea how to process how far below the creature that made it you are.
... See, this is why I run quests- it means I get you lot to do a large part of the thinking for me.
In fairness to myself, something I should be doing a lot more, that would have been really painful and bloody, because it's a solid piece of iron, unlike the hollow ones that you're supposed to pierce your ears with. It would be like jabbing it with a thumbtack. A very thick thumbtack. It might not go straight through, but it would still have to break the skin, so... yeah. That would hurt.
Collins and Henderson both still exist, if not on Mindoir, they're both veterans if their knowledge of the Masks didn't give that away, and they've both no wish to join up again, so even if you did meet them, don't expect them to help you in a combat role, if at all. As for your mother...
You-you'll see. When I get around to writing it. Along with DFTR. And Symbol Of Peace. And writing out other things I wanna start eventually.
I support this interpretation. All backgrounds service records could easily fit into the same timeline. Mindoir was raided, and the events of all of the Psychological Profiles easily could have occurred in the same timeline, just to different people. So some poor sap (let's say his name is Marco Zeppeli) ends up being the only survivor of a thresher maw nest on Akuze, while another individual was branded the Butcher of Torfan, while Gioia was at Elysium, or any of the other options.
Side adventures with later impacts would be a great idea.
You stand there, momentarily stunned as things begin sinking in.
You have a Stand. It just protected you… somehow. Some kind of reflection ability? You push the thought to the side, for now, instead focusing on getting it under control.
Which isn't to say that it's out of control, just that it's not… in your control.
The asshole is getting back up. Your ability to control your Stand is still best described as 'you can't,' and the others are starting to move towards you now. You have seconds before they realise that you're not actually a threat, and, considering they can't see your Stand, you know that's not gonna help you out unless you figure out how to move the damn thing.
... It's not moving- OK SCREW THIS IT'S SPEEDWALKING TIME.
You turn on your good heel and hightail it out of there. Well. Mediumtail it. You're not moving fast enough to qualify as hightailing.
Really, it's a glorified hobble.
You don't turn around to look, but you can hear them beginning to follow, starting to run after you. Fuck. They're gonna catch you and beat the shit out of you again and this time they're probably gonna make sure you stay down.
Nobody's gonna call you an ambulance. Even if someone finds you, they're just going to walk away. Maybe spit on you for disrespecting the local gang.
You feel a hand brush against your shoulder, someone shouting for your blood right behind you, and your heart skips a beat.
This is it, then.
You're going to die, in a back alley, not even half a kilometre from safety.
"MUO!"
Before you can truly panic, your Stand finally bursts into action. It flits in front of you, not seeming to occupy the space between behind you and in front of you, and begins clawing at the air in with all four of its inhumanly long arms. Before you can figure out what's happening, you're suddenly at the intersection, stumbling forward as if tripping on a step, and the shouting behind you is a lot quieter.
"What the fuck?!" You hear behind you, prompting you to turn around and see the same pricks that were chasing you, but...
They're... all the way back there. At the other end of the street. One of them, once leading the pack, is now flat on her face and scrambling to get up. The others are staring at her and at the space directly in front of her, which is a little too close to staring at you for comfort.
Choosing to not look gift horses in their mouths, you move out of their line of sight and hobble down the road, putting the apartment block closest to you between them and yourself. It's around this point that you realise your Stand is still, uh, standing in front of you, allowing you to properly take in its form. Now that you have some respite, you decide that it needs some serious examining.
The first thing you notice is that it is severely taller than you. As in, you need to take a step back to properly appreciate how tall it is.
Granted, that could just put it at six foot solid, but still. After a step or two back, you begin to take in the rest of it.
The head is the first thing you notice. Well, what passes for a head, anyway. The lower half is feminine, with lips fuller than yours, drooping at the sides as if in a permanent state of mild disapproval, and a sharp jawline and cheekbones, leading up to a nose not unlike yours, and eyes...
There are no eyes.
Actually, everything above the nose seems to have been subsumed by something like a crystal ball, just shaped enough to smoothly connect to the lower head. Right now, the inside seems to reflect the gangsters behind you, if you squint properly.
You can see them looking around, yelling at each other about what the fuck happened, before one of them, one you deduce to be wallet douche, tells them to quit bitching and start looking. He moves uncomfortably close towards whatever you're scrying through, and the feed cuts out.
You move on quickly before you're caught again, hobbling along as your Stand hovers by faithfully, allowing you to take in the rest of its appearance as you can.
Its head isn't actually connected to the body proper, instead just floating a neck's length above it. The body itself is a dull white, with silver lines curving across it in varying arcs, creating dense clusters of circular and ovoid patterns across its torso and limbs.
Speaking of, the limbs are odd- it has four arms, two from the shoulders, as expected, and a second pair that starts at the third rib down, each terminating in an eight-fingered hand. Both pairs are disproportionately long, each pair reaching its knees and calves, respectively. The arms themselves are flattened between shoulder and wrist, and have no elbows, instead curving and bending as if made entirely of cartilage.
Its legs, by contrast, end in simple stumps, tapering off into round spikes.
Now that you've appreciated your Stand enough, it's time to turn your mind back to the sheer panic you are feeling right now because you are being hunted down by twelve thugs and you have a gimpy leg oh GOD YOU JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE- A vision, of a gently sloping street, leading to a building draped in vines covered in brilliant red flowers. Inside, people waiting for you. Achille. Daria. Cesare. Finch, unfortunately. The others. It's warm. It's safe. It's... home.
That thought, primal, instinctual, is a catalyst for your Stand. The four-armed figure turns away from you, bringing its arms up and striking at the air in front of it with its fingertips. They seem to... sink into the space in front of it, like syrup, the world around its fingertips bending and moulding around it, before it pushes its hands through, and pulls away.
You have a sudden revelation. When it clawed at the air earlier, it... made this.
This, this, not this, use your words, Gioia, you know you can do it, what's it called, a, a gateway, a door, a... fuck it, figure it out later, the point is, it made it fast enough that you didn't even see it before you walked right into it. So why is it being so slow now?
...
Is it showing off for you?
You look between it and the portal- portal, that's the word- and find yourself hesitating.
You... don't know where it leads. At all. You can guess it leads away from here, but 'away from here' could also be 200 metres in the air. Or back at the restaurant.
Well?
[] Just go for it. It's not gonna kill you. Probably.
[] No, show some caution- but how?
-[] Stick your head through, see what's on the other side.
-[] You could see the other side using the crystal part of its head, righ-
"HEY, SHE'S OVER HERE!" You hear behind you, followed by someone running closer.
GOODBYE CAUTION, WE HARDLY KNEW YE.
|||
Your name is Achille Laguardia.
You're standing outside your house- and yes it is your house no matter what that fuckhead Finch says, you're the one that found it and got the shitter working again and that's what matters here-trying to enjoy the process of rolling and lighting a nice, calming cigarette to relieve you of your headache. Yeah, you have like ten in a holder in... one of your pockets, but it's the ritual, you know?
You reach into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small box of black papers- because why the hell not, they look great, they were on sale, and you like liquorice anyway- and your tobacco pouch. You consider patting yourself down to see if you can find a filter, then remember that that's effort.
Filterless it is, then. Eh, it's better for the environment anyway.
Deft fingers pluck a thin paper from the box then return it to another pocket for the moment, before taking a pinch of tobacco and placing it along the crease of the paper, then another to fill it out, before returning the pouch, closed, remembering just in time, to the pocket from whence it came. You roll it up, run your tongue along your cheek to make sure it's not dry, then run it along the edge of the paper, immediately removing the very concept of moisture from your mouth, and seal it up.
You check your handiwork and find it to be as neat and compact as you expect of your efforts to put as many carcinogens in your body as humanly possible.
You pull your lighter from yet another pocket, a compact thing, barely larger than your thumb, and press the button on the side. After a moment of mild worry that you've got it the wrong way up once again and you're about to set your cuff ablaze, the lighter sparks into life, a hissing blue flame sputtering into existence from the top like some kind of minimalistic troll doll. You bring it to the edge of your cigarette, bringing the other end to your lips, and puff until the smoulder is self-sustaining. You release the button, snuffing the gas flame.
You take a deep drag, watching the tip flare into life, going from a deep red to a bright orange in seconds. The sweet, mildly nutty taste, accented by the liquorice in the papers and the cloves in your mix, gently crackling away as they burn, gives you pleasure you struggle to put into words, and the hit of wake the fuck up that comes after only makes it harder to describe.
You exhale, a plume of bluish-grey smoke shooting past your lips and out into the dying twilight.
Four minutes off your life with every one?
Fucking worth it.
You move to take another drag, then suddenly Gioia. The abruptness of that sentence is a rather apt comparison to exactly how suddenly she just... appeared. You watch her burst into view out of the literal thin air, space rippling and bending around her body, like she's passing through a thin soap film. She stumbles forward, before stopping suddenly, and staring at the house in confusion. Then you.
Your mouth drops open slightly, leaving the cigarette hanging there but for the grace of saliva.
"... Gioia?!" You say, as if saying her name will somehow enlighten her to your need for answers. The cigarette leaps from your mouth, and you rush to catch your baby before it hits the ground.
Like. That won't stop you from smoking the rest of it after you pick it up, but, you'd rather not all the same.
Either way, you just manage to catch it and not grab it, a) all hamfisted like and b) by the burning end. Overall, a very graceful catch from Laguardia, 9s across the board, bar a 4 from Germany, that must sting. Still, a bronze medal performance at worst.
Once your nicotine craving based shenanigans conclude, you finally begin to take in how Gioia looks.
Mainly, the fact that she's been beaten to hell and back, one of her eyes has swollen shut, and you think her nose might have been broken.
Again.
"Hhhheeeeyyyy, Achille..." She drawls out, just managing to say it before fatigue takes her, and she begins to tilt forward.
Wait, what?
Wait no no no nononononononoNO-
You rush forward, nononoing the entire seven feet there, and just about manage to catch her by the torso before her knees meet the ground. A sigh of relief later, and you realise your cigarette is gone.
Again.
You look around and find it smouldering on the ground, forgotten in your rush to catch her.
... You could- no, no, you're not sinking that low. Friend first, coffin nail later.
|||
"Khhhooouuuuuu..."
"Khhhoooaaaaaa..."
When you- Gioia, I mean- wake up again, you're laid out on something soft and warm, with the sounds of Hamon breathing on either side of you, and the sensation of sunlight in your bones. Which you can attribute to the Hamon breathing on either side of you.
You are... in incredible pain right now ow.
You start to move, and feel hands gently hold you down. You open your eyes, yes, plural, you can open both now, and see the Muraro twins working their sunshine magic on you.
"H-hey, don't move yet!" Cesare says from your left.
"Seriously, don't. How did you get this banged up in the first place?" Daria says from your right.
You try to speak, but find you can only croak and pop in response. You suddenly realise your throat is painfully dry.
"Can you speak? Do you need some water?"
"Of course she can't, dumbass, listen to her! Go and get her some water."
"Why do I need to go and get water? I'm better with Hamon than you!"
"Because I left a bottle on the table right next to you."
"... Oh. Aight then."
... You love him, you really do, but that boy's as sharp as a wooden spoon sometimes.
Cesare grabs the water, and you hear the cap pop as he opens it.
"... Right just gimme a second to figure out how-"
"Prop her up so you don't drown her."
"Right, yeah, that'll work."
You feel them start to move you, and shake them off, to your immediate regret, but work yourself into a sitting position nonetheless. You can prop your own damn self up, thank you very much. Cesare presses the bottle against your lips, and you start to drink sweet, cooling water. While that happens, Daria begins to work on your ankle, and you can almost feel the pain just seeping out.
It's blissful.
After a moment and about half the waterbottle, between breaths, Daria begins to speak.
"... Cesare, can you give us a couple minutes alone?"
"What? Wh-"
"Girl talk."
Cesare frowns, but puts his hands up, barely managing to keep from sloshing water out onto his hair. He puts it down on the table and walks out, grumbling to himself.
"Right. Yeah, freaking girl talk, sure why not, just tell the best healer we have to fuck off, sure, why not..."
...
Eh. He'll be fine. A bruised ego won't kill him. You turn your attention to the older twin for the moment, raising an eyebrow as best you can.
"'Girl talk?' Mind explaining?"
"Yeah. Girl talk. So... um... geez this is awkward- whoever beat the shit out of you like this... was it... just a beating?"
What?
... Oh.
Oh.
"Oh, no, God no, nothing like that happened! I just got caught stealing some asshole's wallet, that's all! Then... got caught again, after he realised he hadn't, actually got it off me the first time round."
Daria sighs, cutting off the flow of Hamon to your body. The aches and pains, while lesser, begin to settle into your bones again. You shift around in discomfort.
"Gioia, you've been gone for seven hours, you get back home beaten half to death, Achille had to carry you in, probably the greatest feat of strength he's pulled off since he fixed the toilet, and he's been outside smoking those damn clove cigarettes of his ever since, and you're telling me that you just got the shit kicked out of you for stealing someone's wallet? No offence, but bullshit. What really happened?"
She looks beyond concerned right now. Daria genuinely seems to think that something terrible happened to you, and, while she's not entirely wrong, she couldn't be farther from the truth.
Still, dismissing her outright seems... unwise. You suddenly become aware of how delicate a situation you're in right now.
... Well. This is... probably not the situation you were hoping for when it comes to breaking the news, but honestly, you are in neither the physical or mental state to try fabricating a lie from scratch right now. No fakeout this time, I promise. Consider that the closest thing to an April Fool's joke this quest is getting.
Injuries- Thanks to however long the twins have been working you, most injuries are gonezo my friend. Your ankle and some of your ribs are still a little tender, and I wouldn't eat anything hard or crunchy for a couple days while your teeth reroot themselves, but you're not on the path to death's door at the very least. Pain rating- 2/10.
[]Motor Mouth- "Dariaohmygodyouwon'tbelievewhathappenedoksoImetthisoldmanafterIgottheshitbeatenoutofme-" She asked for what really happened, not for it to be comprehensible.
[] Exhibit A- Show her The Needle. Explain what it does. Maybe show off your Stand, somehow.
[] Slowly But Surely- Essentially the above options, but not so... all at once. You can take your time. You're safe now.
[] Write-in
Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Apr 3, 2017 at 2:44 PM, finished with 202 posts and 11 votes.
[X] Slowly But Surely- Essentially the above options, but not so... all at once. You can take your time. You're safe now.
[X] Slowly But Surely- Essentially the above options, but not so... all at once. You can take your time. You're safe now. -[X] "We've got a job. Easy money, just gotta steal some silly little wallhanger. Want in?"
[X] Just go for it. It's not gonna kill you. Probably. [X] Slowly But Surely- Essentially the above options, but not so... all at once. You can take your time. You're safe now.
[X] Just go for it. It's not gonna kill you. Probably. [X] Motor Mouth- "Dariaohmygodyouwon'tbelievewhathappenedoksoImetthisoldmanafterIgottheshitbeatenoutofme-" She asked for what really happened, not for it to be comprehensible.
You take a deep breath, considering your options. Some tiny part of you just wants to start babbling away, uncaring of whether or not she understands you, just wanting to get it out and maybe once you've got everything off your chest you might be able to talk about it normally.
You push that part of you down. No. There's no, no rush here.
There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe.
"... Ok. You... you deserve to know the truth."
You notice the look of concern on her face growing in severity and raise a finger to grab her attention.
"But," you start, "I'm setting down some ground rules for this. One. You listen. Ok? Everything I'm about to say is… stupidly unbelievable, until you see hard evidence. So I want you to listen to the very end, alright? If you walk out halfway through, without the full story… you'll just think I'm crazy."
Daria hesitates, but nods.
"… Two?"
Ah. You. Really only came up with one.
"... No, that, that about covers everything." You say, cheeks flushing with embarrassment that you couldn't actually come up with a second ground rule.
Daria smirks but otherwise, chooses not to comment.
"Ok then- what really happened?"
You take a breath, trying to order your thoughts as best you can. You guess you should start with Wallet Douche.
"Ok, so, it started with this Verde piece of shit, he was just walking along and I thought 'yeah why not' and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. He, obviously, caught me, along with his friends, and they beat the shit out of me. When they got bored with that and walked away, I left it ten minutes before I got up. When I did, I... met someone."
At some point during your story, Daria starts breathing again, laying her hands on your ankle and sending sunlight through your bones again.
Ohhh that's good shit.
You close your eyes for a moment, drinking in the sheer relief of not being in incredible pain anymore. Eventually, you start talking again.
Eventually.
"I met this old guy, called himself Beedle, he talked to me for a bit, asking if I knew about stuff like Hamon and bloodsuckers, and before I got too tired of his shit and walked away, he... offered me a job. We went to a pizzeria just around the corner, he bought me dinner-"
"Waitwaitwait-" Daria interrupts, "so you just... trusted this random old guy, and went with him to a pizzeria because he offered you a job."
You blink, unsure where she's going with this.
"Uh... yeah, I'm, pretty sure that's what I just said."
"... Gioia, what the fuck? In what sense did that sound even remotely like a good idea?"
You can't help but laugh a little. Really?
"Ok, one, fuck you, no matter how beat up I am, I can take an old man. Two, who the fuck tries to convince someone to come with them with the promise of a job?"
Daria goes quiet, jutting her jaw out in thought.
"... That's fair."
"Yeah, thought so. He started by telling me what my payment for the job would be."
You stop talking. She gives you a look, and all you offer her is a crooked smile.
You really want her to ask you what the payment is. You want to enjoy the look on her face.
"... Alright, I'll bite. What did he offer you?"
"20,000 credits."
"WHAT?!"
The shrill yell of confusion leaves your ears ringing, and within seconds, Cesare is sprinting into the room, frenzied over his sister's yelling.
"What, what?! What's wrong?!" He yells, panic clear on his face.
Daria blushes slightly, no doubt embarrassed about being so loud.
"It-it's nothing." She mumbles after a moment
"No, Daria, it's not nothing, because you don't yell like that for no damn reason!" He says, panic quickly turning to frustration.
You decide you should probably step in before they start yelling at each other properly.
"I was offered a job by a guy, payment's 20,000 credits."
"WH-" He starts, before snapping his mouth shut, resolving not to make the same mistake as his sister.
"What?!" He eventually says, making sure to use his indoor voice.
"I'm serious. 20,000 credits, and-" You pat your pocket, feeling about for the most valuable thing you own.
A moment later, you pull The Needle out. A cursory check tells you that it isn't damaged, thankfully. The casing and button are both undamaged at the very least, which is a good sign, you suppose. Hopefully that speaks for the state of the actual important part as well.
"-this."
Cesare and Daria eye it up, confusion apparent on their faces.
"What... what is it?"
Ah. You realise that you... really don't have any idea how to explain Stands to them.
...
Eh, wing it.
"Ok, first off, Cesare, I'm telling you the same thing I told your sister. You listen, ok? This is going to sound like bullshit, but if you let me finish, I can prove it to you. Ok?"
They look at each other, some creepy twin silent conversation bullshit no doubt happening, but after a moment, he nods.
And so you begin trying to explain Stands while they get back to healing you. Your leg is a lot less swollen now, and most of your cuts and bruises have healed up nicely. You can probably walk out of here now if you want to.
First, you remind them about Hamon and vampires- two things that make no logical sense but still exist anyway.
10,000 years ago, a meteorite landed in Greenland, a place once inhospitable. Early humans found it and discovered that it did something when they cut themselves on it. It awakened something that Beedle called a Stand. A physical manifestation of the spirit. At first, they used chunks of the meteorite to make Arrows, and then, 25 years ago, the Alliance found what was left and created The Needles.
You told them how he proved the existence of them by getting rid of your ability to make any sound, and putting your leg up on the chair without touching it and oh sweet Jesus they think you're crazy.
"Look, look, I can... I can prove it. Because, he pricked me with it, and... I have one." You finish lamely.
"... Rrrrright. Gioia, are you... sure you're alright?" Cesare asks. "Because, like, I mean, I dunno if you're alright, it sounds like you've had a pretty stressful day, and, I dunno, maybe you're just having, like... a mental break?"
Daria smacks the back of his head.
"Ow! The hell was that for?!"
"At least let her finish before you assume she's crazy, dumbass." Daria answers.
"Oh, what, so you believe her?!"
"Not in the slightest, but I did agree to listen to the very end. So did you."
He opens his mouth, before thinking better of whatever he was about to say, and sighs instead.
"... Ok. Fine. You said you got one of these... 'Stands?' Prove it."
Ohh, you're gonna prove it, alright.
...
Any second now.
"... Well? We're waiting." Daria says, urging you on.
"... Uh. Gimme a second. I... don't, really have the hang of this, yet." You respond, an awkward laugh bubbling past your lips at the last second.
Wow, your throat's really dry all of a sudden. You could really go for a drink right now. You look for the water bottle Cesare had, and find it on a nightstand just out of reach.
You consider asking one of them to hand you it before an idea occurs to you. Instead, you focus on that desire for a moment.
I want that water bottle. I really, really want that water bottle.
Something hovers at the edge of your mind, leaving something at the very tip of your tongue. Instead of reaching for it and chasing it off, you leave it for a moment and are rewarded for your patience.
A name. Defining. Representing. Your soul, reduced to two words.
「Pearly Gates.」
As the name, words you don't recognise, English, you think, passes your lips, you feel something click into place deep in your core, and suddenly your desire is granted. Your Stand appears in all its alien glory, and picks up the water bottle for you, somewhat awkwardly, considering the odd shape of its hands, but it manages. It scrapes away a portal, the terminus above your waiting hands, and drops the bottle in.
You catch it, unscrew the cap, and take a deep swig of the cool, mildly disgusting water.
Heh. So that's how you do it.
You look over at the twins and find mirrored expressions awaiting you- both of their mouths are open, slack-jawed as they try to process what just happened.
"... Please tell me you saw that too." Daria asks her brother.
"Uh huh." Cesare answers his sister.
"Well? Is that proof?"
"I... what did it do?"
"It... kind of, scrapes away at space, and makes, uh..." come on, come on, you know this, use your words- "portals! It makes portals!"
This explanation doesn't seem to help them at all.
"... But how?"
"Well, they're... basically psychic powers. I dunno how it works, but it does."
They both grow silent for a moment. Cesare frowns, bringing his fist to his mouth.
"... Wait. So... he just, gave you that? As, what, an advance payment?" He eventually speaks up.
"Yeah. And the 20k is for when I, now we, I suppose, complete the job."
"... What... is the job, exactly?"
Well, after that display, the fact that vampires are created using some ancient mask is gonna be a much easier pill to swallow, right?
The answer is no. Well, yes, but the purpose of the mask after the fact of it being stolen is... taken less than well.
Daria pinches the bridge of her nose.
"I... shouldn't even need to tell you how ridiculously stupid this is. So, we grab this mask, either from the Alliance, the fucking military, or someone powerful enough to find one and keep it away from them, and then give it to this old guy you've known for less than half an hour, so he can become a bloodsucker? I'm sorry, and what's stopping him from just turning around and stabbing us in the back when he gets what he wants?"
You consider the question for a moment. He seemed trustworthy, even if he did have something of a desperate streak. Even if he did turn on you after the fact, by that point there would be six of you with Stands, which, using the two Stands you know of as a litmus test, are going to be awesome, you think that wait you're talking to two Hamon users what the fuck are you doing?
"'How are we going to deal with a backstabbing vampire,' asks the Hamon user."
The look she gives you drops the room temperature by several degrees. You raise your hands in a pacifying gesture and give her a proper answer instead.
"Ok, ok. Look, by the time we give him the mask, there's going to be six of us, two of which can use Hamon, all of us with Stands, against one fresh vampire. I think we can take him."
At that, they each seem to fall into a deep thought. You find it almost cute, how they unintentionally mirror each other without noticing it- they both raise a fist to their mouths, lying the flats of their fingers against their lips, both furrowing their eyebrows as they look down towards the ground. Or, your ankles, you suppose.
Then, as one, their eyes draw up, before settling on The Needle.
A chill goes down your spine as you realise what's about to happen. Even if they know you'll offer it to them both, they're still going to scramble to be first, scrambles which almost inevitably get physical, and considering your current state, you do not want to be the focus of that.
"Hold it." You say, catching their attention, and thankfully defusing the imminent scramble. "You wanna be jabbed, right?"
""Uh-huh."" They answer in unison, almost childlike desire in their voices.
...
Now. You take a step back and seriously consider the ramifications of what you're doing. While by no means the least qualified to gain new supernatural powers, the twins are...
Giving them yet another dick to measure is probably not the best idea you've ever had. Not to mention you should, probably go and talk to everyone else about this before you start doing anything.
[] Fortune Favours The Brave- I mean, you're planning to jab the others anyway, why not get started early? Besides, once they figure out how to summon their Stands, that's more proof right there. Where's the downside?
[] Only Fools Go Rushing In- On second thought, you should probably leave it until you've talked to the others. So you can explain, y'know, why giving the twins stupid-crazy psychic powers is a good idea. And, y'know, hear out any problems people might have with things.
[] Write-in
Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Apr 7, 2017 at 12:22 PM, finished with 220 posts and 7 votes.
[X] Fortune Favours The Brave- I mean, you're planning to jab the others anyway, why not get started early? Besides, once they figure out how to summon their Stands, that's more proof right there. Where's the downside? -[X] But, to be on the safe side, start with Daria. You trust her more, anyway.
[X] Fortune Favours The Brave- I mean, you're planning to jab the others anyway, why not get started early? Besides, once they figure out how to summon their Stands, that's more proof right there. Where's the downside? --[X] Just line the ones you can trust up with their shoulders exposed as if they were getting a shot and jab them as you go down the line
[X] Fortune Favours The Brave- I mean, you're planning to jab the others anyway, why not get started early? Besides, once they figure out how to summon their Stands, that's more proof right there. Where's the downside?
[X] Only Fools Go Rushing In- On second thought, you should probably leave it until you've talked to the others. So you can explain, y'know, why giving the twins stupid-crazy psychic powers is a good idea. And, y'know, hear out any problems people might have with things.
... Yeah, fuck it, why not. You were gonna do it anyway, eventually. Besides, you could do with the backup on this. Someone who can back you up on this as well as, hopefully, providing their own proof to the mix would be great. You look at them, and immediately, your eyes settle on Daria first.
... Ah. You immediately realise what it is you've decided to do and that giving both of them this right away would be... pretty chaotic.
The twin's ability to turn anything into a contest is almost legendary, even outside of your gang. It always starts with a silent look, and suddenly they're trying to outdo each other on something. You still have no idea what triggers it, or what caused it in the first place, but it's near pathological. Giving them both Stands right away would... definitely be a bad idea.
Stagger it. Give one of them a Stand, convince everyone else, then give the other a Stand with the others.
Ok. Yeah. That's a plan. You can work with that.
... Except you would be handing the one you decide to give it to probably one of the biggest wins they'd ever get. 'I got jabbed first.'
They could hold that over the other's head for years, it's like Daria being out the goddamn womb first like honestly it's been 15 years, let it go.
No, if you want to do this, you need to obfuscate it, somehow.
How? You could just flip a coin, except you don't have any spare change on you, just the 100k in Lire from Wallet Douche's wallet, unless one of them pinched it, in which case you're so dumping a bucket of water on them in their sleep.
... You suppose you could logically think about it, or consider which one needs the win most, but they're kind of looking at you and waiting for an answer and-
FUCK IT.
"I'm thinking of a number between one and ten." You blurt out, immediately picking one yourself.
They catch on immediately.
"Nine!" Cesare shouts immediately.
"Five!" Daria shouts a second later.
"Ha! I was faster!"
"It was two, so she was closer. Daria, you get yours first, Cesare, you wait until I do the others."
"YES!"
"DAMMIT!"
You admit, as cruel as this is on some level, the sheer difference in their faces right now is almost cute. Daria is practically dancing in her seat, grinning like a loon. Cesare, by contrast, looks like a sad clown. Well, even more like a sad clown than usual.
"Yeah, yeah, rub it in his face later. C'mon, gimme your finger." You say, leaning forward and feeling incredibly light for it. Almost nothing hurts to move now, all that's left is some of the deeper injuries that should heal with time. As long as they didn't burst one of your kidneys or something, you should be alright.
Damn but these two know how to fix someone up.
She leans forward, while Cesare actually manages to drag himself out of his pit of bitterness to watch what happens next.
"So... it's a needle, right?" Daria asks.
"Yeah, but not like, a syringe. It's like that thing diabetics use to check their blood sugars." You take her hand, and rest the opening against her middle finger, like Beedle did for you, and resting your thumb against the button on the side. "Ok, on the count of three?"
She nods enthusiastically, and you can't help but smile a little.
"Alright then. One-"
Click.
Daria yelps and jerks away, and you see The Needle's done its job- blood is slowly welling up at the edge of her fingertip, just barely staining her finger before she pops it in her mouth. She shoots you a dirty look, and you snort a little. That was mean. Funny, yeah, but mean.
Even Cesare's smiling a little, now.
After a moment, Daria removes her finger from her mouth, now clean of blood, and after some breathing, it's healed up, leaving behind a barely visible mark on her fingertip. It's nothing compared to the variety show of scabs and divots on her brother's hands, but it's a start.
She stares at it for a second.
"... Is... is something meant to happen?"
"He said it takes anywhere between 3 and 24 hours to manifest unprovoked. I was, obviously, provoked, so I got mine a little early."
You move to get off your bed, at least, you presume it's your bed, you never, actually checked, you don't think. Anyway, you move to get off it and move towards the doorway. Your ankle twinges slightly, but it's more like the echoes of an ache than a sprain.
"... But?"
"But, the way I knew it worked, was because I saw his Stand. He called it Black Crown. So, if it worked, and I don't see any reason to see why it wouldn't, then you should be able to see my Stand."
"... Pearly Gates, right?"
You smile. Yeah.
「Pearly Gates.」 That's its name.
"JESU-MMPH!" She yells before Cesare manages to clamp a hand over her mouth. You can see a certain shock in her eyes, but not like fear.
"Indoor voice, sis! We don't need anyone else here right now!" He hisses at her under his breath.
When she's no longer at risk of screaming house-shaking blasphemies, she tries to look at your Stand again. This time, she actually keeps looking at it. Processing what it looks like.
"... What? It's not that bad, is it?"
"I... didn't expect a half-crystal ball, half woman, four armed... jointless, thing." She finishes lamely.
"Hey, glass houses! Yours probably isn't gonna look much better!"
Your Stand isn't that bad.
... You like it.
"Either way," you say, moving on, "I'm going to go and talk to the others, get them to gather in the dining room or something. Can you come along in, like, half an hour?"
Yes. As fun as messing with the twins is, you really should get things moving. You move out into the... foyer, you suppose. You move up to the balcony, laying your hand against the bannister for support on your ankle, and move away from your room.
"So what did it look like?"
"I genuinely have no idea how to explain it. Like, the head was..."
Well, at least they have something to talk about now.
Perhaps, I should explain your accommodations a little better. Il Casa Laguardia, as you call it to piss off Finch, is an old-ass hotel, that was abandoned... goodness knows how long ago. It's not large, only ten rooms on the first floor, with a lobby cum lounging area on the ground floor, kitchen through the back with a little dining room- really, it's a glorified bed and breakfast. It took Achille about a year to fix the place up, using the money he got from...
... You... don't, think you actually ever asked.
Before you consider how you would go about doing that, you remember that you came out here for a reason dammit Gioia focus for twenty fucking seconds-
Right! It's time to start gathering people and talk to them! About the thing! The thing you're going to be doing! The grand larceny! That thing! And Stands! Those too! Now it's just a matter of who first.
[] Achille- Daria said he was outside smoking. That was about 20 minutes ago. Achille is a creature of habit and potential lung cancer. He's probably still outside smoking. You should go talk to him.
[] Finch- Ugh. Ugh. As much as you hate to admit it, you should probably go and tell Finch about this. He... is a part of the gang, and will at the very worst serve as extra manpower... UGH. Come on, keep it together, Gioia. You can do this.
[] Vittoria- ... You should check on Vittoria.
Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Apr 10, 2017 at 10:52 AM, finished with 240 posts and 9 votes.
[X] Achille- Daria said he was outside smoking. That was about 20 minutes ago. Achille is a creature of habit and potential lung cancer. He's probably still outside smoking. You should go talk to him.
Adhoc vote count started by Prok on Apr 11, 2017 at 5:00 AM, finished with 244 posts and 10 votes.
[X] Achille- Daria said he was outside smoking. That was about 20 minutes ago. Achille is a creature of habit and potential lung cancer. He's probably still outside smoking. You should go talk to him.
