Day Off Curse

[madimpossibledreamer]

The fight is ridiculously short, which is kinda realistic, mostly because it's not the point of the fic.  Also, yeah, Calabrese and Backstreet Boy are back (not for long, but honestly, I just love them).
Fic Features: The Number Four.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Summary: Mista receives a summons.
Word Count: 1916
Spoilers for the end of Vento Aureo/Golden Wind.  Like canon, ambiguously shippy, though less than the others (mostly because Mista still has no idea he's actually in love with Giorno. he's a bit oblivious that way)

           Mista’s enjoying his day off, glancing through the volumes of comics and manga on sale (he’d finally gotten to read Narancia’s volumes of Pink Dark Boy after his untimely death, though he’d skipped volume 4 on principle), when a sparrow comes in with the newest customer and lands on his shoulder.
           He instantly knows what it is.  It jumps up and down on his shoulder for a few moments.  “Look, set these aside.  I’ll come back for them later.  If you sell them before then, I’ll be really upset.”  And yes, they know who he is, so they know that ticking off a high-ranking member of the Passione is a terrible idea.
           He heads into the shelves, and the sparrow hops around for a bit longer before turning into a piece of paper. Honestly, he was expecting the change, though of course he had to get Giorno’s message out of the way of the civilians.  If it wasn’t the Don he would’ve been mad about an interruption on a day off, but he knows Giogio wouldn’t summon him for anything less than an emergency.
           The intersection between Via Padre Rocco and Via Guiseppe Moscati.  Bring your gun. is all it says in familiar, perfect handwriting.
           He gulps, thankful he only goes places without his gun when Giorno specifically requests it.  The fact that a time is not specified suggests it’s urgent.  If his boss was injured…well, it’s not like he wasn’t going to shoot anyone anyway, but he’s going to make it hurt a whole lot more.
           The situation when he arrives looks vaguely like a fairytale—there’s a wall of thorns in a circle around a spot—probably Giorno’s hiding place.  One of the attackers has a Stand out, but Mista doesn’t recognize her.  That’s possibly a good thing because it means there’s no insurrection occuring today.
           It takes a single moment to summon his Stand, Pistols unusually silent at the moment (well, they know how to be professional, on occasion).  Usually these kinds of numbers wouldn’t worry him, but a move like that wall of thorns means Giorno’s on the defensive, which takes some doing.  A-and there are f-four…
           He feels himself freeze up.  No wonder, he thinks numbly, no wonder an exceptional man like the Don couldn’t prevail against such odds.  He’s still stuck in the shock when out of seemingly nowhere a Stand vaguely resembling a panther lopes past and rips a man’s throat out.  As if that had served as some kind of signal, the next instant the thorns wither away, revealing a very ticked-off looking Giorno behind.  He’s accompanied by a man with a hat.  It’s less cool than Mista’s own, and now there are only three attackers, which is a much better number.
           “Jotaro-san!” someone yells from somewhere nearby, which makes Hat Guy glance up.  A weird teen with a…pompadour—who even has that hairstyle anymore?—charges in, followed by a really pink Stand.
           “What, you’re going to let the fifties kid show you up?” a woman asks derisively, and Mista snaps out of the place he’d been.  He’s not about to let one of the new recruits show him up, even if it had been out of his own control.
           There’s also a short Japanese kid.  But he doesn’t have time to study the surroundings or other people too much, because Giovanna’s calling “Gold Experience!” and charging.
           It’s rare for Giorno to step in himself—not that he’s not capable, or some weakling afraid to get his hands dirty, but just that between his control over a situation and the role he chose mean he usually doesn’t have to.  It’s even rarer to see him angry, or upset.  He’s not sure if Grappa noticed, but he certainly had—Giorno’s angry now.  There’s a little blood marring one of his magnificent shoulders, and his blank, deadpan stare suggests he’s stuck in a cold rage.
           Mista catches a glimpse of the bodies and understands.  There are civilians that have been killed—he recognizes the cousin of the bookstore’s owner, and the daughter of that one caffè owner.  He doesn’t remember their names, though.  Of course.  If there’s anything that could piss Don Giovanna off, it was civilian casualties. 
           He’s seen the crazy, death-defying stunts Giorno’s been capable of when he’s calm, but he has very rarely seen him when he’s angry, besides—maybe—when he’d faced Diavolo.  An angry Giorno is an unpredictable thing.  Usually he’s protecting other people from Don Giovanna, as his bodyguard, but in this case, he might actually be protecting his boss.
           Interestingly, the enemy Stand Users, who seem to have realized the danger, all rush the Don.  Gold Experience flies out with a flurry of Muda, and the pink Stand attacks with a flurry of Dora, all on one individual, who passes out.  Giorno doesn’t seem to notice the Stand User behind him, though.  Six bullets might be overkill, but no one touches the Don.  The last falls without obvious cause, though he seems knocked out, not dead.  Which, actually, is probably a good thing, because it means they’ve got someone to interrogate later.  Which he’s looking forward to, because this is a huge disaster.
           Giorno focuses on breathing for a total of three seconds before he pulls himself together.  “Is everyone all right?” he asks calmly, and repeats himself in a language Mista doesn’t understand.
           “Yeah, but you’re not,” Mista speaks over the foreigners.  Cavalo, he speaks the same language as these guys?  Wait, no, this is Giogio, of course he does.  He probably speaks twelve languages or something.  The Don’s kind of ridiculous with his obsessive need to speak every language, but it’s entirely useful.  Still, honestly it doesn’t matter how the others are.  Giorno’s hurt.  He moves closer and motions at the wound, a few of his Pistols (Due and Sei, if he’s not mistaken, but it’s a little hard to tell when they’re moving around that quickly) buzzing around and exclaiming about how someone as perfect as Giorno shouldn’t get hurt like that.  There’s also offers from the others to shoot the offenders again, as well as clamoring for food, since they’d done a good job (even if they hadn’t done much at all).  It’s really kind of embarrassing, but he’s gotten used to them being a pain in the butt.
           Giogio glances down distantly and smiles faintly, growing a little in strength as he watches the Pistols fuss over him.  “I wouldn’t worry about that.  According to what I’ve learned, Josuke’s Stand can heal that right up.”  He holds up a hand, dismissing the concern, and then changes the subject smoothly.  “Mista, did you consider that four might have been bad luck for them, not you?”
           That…actually kind of blows his mind.  No, he hadn’t thought about that.  That doesn’t mean that Don Giovanna is getting away with trying to escape the problem.  Giovanna’s not allowed to let himself get hurt.  He glances at the others, realizing that, oh yeah, he probably doesn’t know whatever language they speak, but everybody knows a little English, right?  “Heal him.  Now.”  He’s pleased that his tone of voice still manages to be businesslike, even when he’s pretty sure his accent is pretty heavy.
           Hat Guy glances over and glares.  Then again, he seems the type to glare at everything, just like Abbachio.  “You’re a bossy little bastard, aren’t you?”
           He shrugs and starts to reload his gun, just to show off.  Shrugs his shoulders casually.  “Don Giovanna,” he states casually, as if it explains everything.  Which honestly it does.
           “Yare yare daze,” the man replies.  He’s not sure what it means.
           Giorno responds apparently in the same language, tone still quiet and polite.  “Mista, don’t worry—Higashikata-san’s Stand heals more efficiently than mine.”
           It’s unfortunately not giving much time for him to process it, since the very next second the pink Stand socks Giorno in the arm with a loud “DORA!”, but by the point in time he realizes he’s pointing his gun at the pompadour guy, Giorno’s shoulder is…back to normal.  Without screaming or pain.  That’s definitely useful.  Maybe they can borrow this foreigner all the time?
           “Mista.”  There’s a hand putting slight pressure on his gun, urging him to lower it.  Giorno’s fast when he wants to be.  He realizes, too, that his hands are shaking, just slightly.  Giogio notices—of course he does—but he also doesn’t say anything about it, allowing him to regain his dignity in peace.
           “Sorry, I—”  It’s all hitting him at once, the four attackers (which, for future reference, is a terrible mistake on their part, he should’ve known), Giorno being hurt.  It was over so quickly he can’t quite decide if the Don was actually in any danger or not, considering how fast it went—but then, Calabrese’s Stand is a lot more deadly than Giorno’s.  “I’ll get myself together, Don.”
           The blond smiles—a small smile, but it’s genuine.  “I know you will.  After all, there’s still one alive to interrogate.”  Apparently, he’d been angry enough he’d forgotten that that could even be useful.  It’s a good thing Mista didn’t kill the last one.  He really should keep an eye on Giorno when he gets angry, but then, it doesn’t really happen enough for it to be a problem.  The Don turns back to Calabrese.  “I apologize for making you miss your warm-up.  Please, continue to your concert with my most heartfelt blessings.”
           She laughs in response.  “You’re so polite, Don Giovanna,” but she waves and starts walking away to where one of their taxis is probably waiting.
           “Mista, let me introduce you.”  He’s actually somewhat surprised.  Not that Giorno’s bad at letting him know what he needs to when he needs to, but he also isn’t always the most forthcoming, either.  “These are the representatives of the Speedwagon Foundation.”  He’s not sure why a charity branch of an oil company is important, but he does vaguely remember some conversation about them with the various other Capos and some notes about them somewhere in Don Giovanna’s papers.  “The one with the pompadour is Josuke Higashikata, the one with the hat is Dr. Jotaro Kujo, and the short one is Koichi Hirose.  I’m actually related to the first two, though how is a conversation for later.  Hirose saved my life, and helped keep us safe from Diavolo through his silence.”  Oh.  Oh?  He glances at the other two and doesn’t find too many similarities.  Given the names, and now that he’s looking closer, he’s pretty sure they’re Japanese, but they’re huge.  They’re taller than Giorno, even, and while Giorno has a slim, wiry strength, these others are beefy.  Giorno’s golden, a wiry, surprising strength that’s easy to underestimate.  These others aren’t like that.
           As for the short one…he’d saved Giorno?  They definitely all deserve thanks, then.
           Giorno adds a few words in Japanese, and Pompadour—sorry, Josuke—gets excited and bows energetically.  Mista feels awkward and waves, then tries to do a bow.  Giorno hides his face with his hand, so he’s probably giggling about it, but is trying to be polite.  It’s kind of cool when he can actually make him laugh, even if it’s because he’s being dumb.  Giogio doesn’t laugh enough.
           “Good to meet you,” he manages, his English still fairly poor.  “Thank you for help Giovanna.”
           “Welcome,” Josuke responds with an accent almost as thick.
           “Let us head to the villa,” Giorno suggests, and repeats the suggestion in Japanese.