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madimpossibledreamerI came back with a longer chapter! that's beta'd! (*note I do not guarantee this will continue; it's mostly a coming-back present)
Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Johan's crew follow up on the clue they'd found.
Word Count: 1780
Rating: Teen (Buffy's|Jojo gore)
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
“We don’t actually know the top speed for this species, but yeah. A lot of the vultures fly at fifteen to twenty miles per hour, which is, uh…” he pauses. Because yes, of course he’s a weird American still using whatever the weird American system is called, rather than metric. “Maximum would be about twenty kilometers per hour. Humans can run faster, if they’re Olympians or top athletes, but while I’m in shape, I wouldn’t say I’m quite at that level. I don’t know how being dead affects its speed—it doesn’t have the feathers for lift, but it’s also got less wind resistance, too.”
Fitz has a point. Jojo does in fact seem to be hiding his intelligence, though some of it might have to do with his Stand. The blond appears to be able to tell instantly when Jojo’s channeling someone else, too, which is fascinating.
The Captain reassesses her statement that everything’s fine fairly quickly, because out of nowhere Jojo pulls out The Pretender. She’s pleased to note that the rest follow suit with very little hesitation. They might not be trained, and certainly haven’t trained together, but a few fights alongside each other seem to have done the trick. They’re quick on the uptake.
A quick examination of the surroundings, however, finds nothing more suspicious than what they’ve already encountered.
Jojo smiles faintly, putting his hands in his pockets to appear more casual and indicate that he’s not ready for a fight. They’ve stopped in the middle of the street, which on one hand means that they’ve probably lost the undead bird. On the other hand, he’s right about the mathematics involved—if the speeds cited were entirely correct, unless the bird flies significantly slower than its living cousins, they’d have already lost it. “Sorry, I know I probably should have said something. I didn’t mean to startle anybody.” He has his Stand walk to the limit of its range, stopping in front of an old lady on the sidewalk, hobbling along slowly. “Just thought of a test for Stand Users that doesn’t involve looking for the gullible. It’s not foolproof, but it’s worth a try.”
Pretender draws back a fist and punches hard, with a loud cry of “Tora!” that is almost immediately drowned out by Darling’s scream.
“Jojo, what are you doing?” she asks, ready to cry, and in response he immediately looks a little guilty.
His posture changes, going back to the slouch he’d had before. It makes him look shorter and less intimidating, interestingly. “Right. Use my words. I really need to do that, even if it’s going to end up in me using way too many because I know me. Look closer.”
The fist has stopped right in front of the woman’s face, and she hasn’t even flinched.
“It wouldn’t work with Whisper, since he’s one of the Stands normal people can see, too, but most Stands can’t be seen by normal people. While Stand Users can pretend not to see a Stand, most would instinctively pull out their own Stand if they thought they were about to be attacked. I don’t think we’ll find the Stand User, if it is a Stand User, this way, but it’s worth a try while we pass.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I wouldn’t actually punch an old lady unless she was an enemy.” From the way his voice darkens at the end, he’s thinking about someone in particular.
Though Fitz might not be the only one who can tell the difference—it’s extremely uncharacteristic of Jojo to not even warn Darling first, since he’s usually so careful about accommodating the teenager’s concerns.
“Jojo!” Robin yells, and he winces slightly, shuffling his feet.
“Did I not say I’m sorry?” he asks, sounding semi-genuine, and it’s interesting if his own power interferes with that, too, his perception between intention and deed, or his understanding of reality.
But Robin shakes his head, pointing, and this time Captain Beefheart sees it, too. Vultures are usually unsettling enough—it’s why they have darker cultural associations, after all—when they’re living. They’re scavengers, which generally are considered bad omens in mythology, and their heads look like they’re living with their skulls exposed, which is an uncanny sight. But this is worse. It’s not even like seeing a skeleton of an animal is the problem on its own.
It’s the way it’s moving.
In a perverse way, it’d be better if it was moving like, say, the zombies they’d just fought. That would seem natural, that something dead wouldn’t move like something alive. Particularly when it’s just a skeleton. Instead, it moves like any other bird, if slightly more intelligent, cocking its head slightly to regard them with an empty eyesocket. It does appear more intelligent, but then, if it’s a demon or something, it certainly could be, and some types of birds are incredibly intelligent, aren’t they?
And then, flying in low over the buildings, another joins its friend, bones glinting slightly in the light of the street lamps. It perches in exactly the same way as a normal bird, too.
They aren’t running away anymore, or flying away, rather. Just sit there, staring, waiting.
“I think we’re being invited to a party, Jojo,” Robin states, admirably calm even as he fits an arrow to the bow pointed directly at them.
“Well, it’d be rude not to go. It’s not like we’ve got anything else planned for Friday night,” Jojo replies, just as casually.
“As long as it’s not another tea party,” Darling adds with a shiver and reaches out for Jojo’s hand. Probably wise, considering that out of all of them she was the most likely to be left behind. This time, he takes it carefully.
“I doubt it’ll be a tea party, but I think they’d understand your circumstances,” Fitz replies, amused.
And then, as one, they take off and begin lazy circles around, like they’re waiting for the slaughter. Someone has certainly studied their horror tropes at this point. Fairly effective.
“I’m such a nerd,” Jojo mutters under his breath before more loudly addressing the skeletons. “Take us to your leader!”
Fitz rolls his eyes and tries not to smile. “You’re such an embarrassment.”
“Your protests are ineffective,” Beefheart retorts, because at this point it’s so transparently obvious. The blond falls silent.
The birds don’t respond right away, waiting for them to finish arguing before taking off at a slower pace. Slow enough for them to follow. Jojo gentlemantly motions for her to go first, and she’d protest, but it’s probably best to keep Darling further back. Robin takes up the rear, bow and arrow loosely held. Von Stroheim knows from experience that if needed, in a mere second he could pull it back up and fire.
It takes them a bit to find a comfortable arrangement, Fitz as always at Jojo’s side, albeit on the other side, this time. They’re walking a bit slower until they find their stride, and while the vultures got a little far ahead, they turn back and circle until the group has caught up, proving that they’re indeed being led somewhere. “Something about all this—I think I remember reading about this, but it’s not jogging my memory.”
“There are a few urban legends…” Fitz begins, but soon enough he’s interrupted by Darling tugging at Jojo’s sleeve.
“Jojo, look!” she whispers, and he nods.
A wolf skeleton, lurking in the shadow of a storefront. “I see it. Guess it’s not just birds.”
“We’ve got several more,” Robin reports quietly. They’re not doing anything now, but Captain Beefheart feels the spike of adrenaline and readies herself for a fight anyway.
The next change is the slightest whiff of a smell. Jojo stiffens almost immediately, and Darling shrinks in response, drawing in closer.
“What is it?” she barks, seeking information, and he seems reluctant. “Jojo…”
“Which one?” he replies, voice still lowered. “That metallic smell is exactly what you think it is. The sickly-sweet putrid odor of decay is exactly what you think it is. Darling, I’d tell you to hide, but…”
“But nowhere here is probably safe, and they’re not attacking for now.” Her voice is shaking, but she manages a brave smile, sincere if scared. “I’m okay.”
“I’ll try to keep you safe,” he responds, squeezing her hand.
They start to see the signs—something over there, right in front of one of the doors, red and fuzzy and appearing like roadkill, if roadkill came in dog-sized form. The smell’s certainly getting stronger now, cloying, like a terrifying wall of mist of its own. The bird skeletons don’t dive. A live bird would do so, because there is something that could be described as a feast.
And then she steps, and there’s a squish. Another step, another squish. She swallows.
“It’s either manipulating our perceptions or the environment. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, and don’t look down.” Fitz narrates tightly, and Beefheart forces down the amateurish urge to hurl and just keeps walking, following the birds.
A loud rattle. It’d be easy to mistake it for a band of maracas, but given the setting and the number of bone-creatures watching them…
And then a large wolf, different than the others, since it still appears to have fur and muscles and all, with a muzzle painted like a mask, and with matted, bloodstained fur just sort of…fades into view before them. It stinks worse than the rest, even, with the added smell of ‘wet dog’ added to the potent mix. The sound apparently came from a belt of bones dangling about its middle. It grins malevolently. “Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.” It’s definitely the wolf speaking, with a bone-dry voice that doesn’t match the appearance. Though, to be fair, if asked, the Captain would have said that wolves shouldn’t have a particular tone of voice because they probably shouldn’t be speaking, in the real world.
It turns and trots away, and of all things Jojo still looks frustrated, like remembering what he’s forgotten is of more importance than standing in gore. Then again, with how soon he’d recognized it, maybe he was used to this sort of thing.
“If that’s not an invitation, I don’t know what is,” he states after a moment, and nods for Robin to proceed.
Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Johan's crew follow up on the clue they'd found.
Word Count: 1780
Rating: Teen (Buffy's|Jojo gore)
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
Jojo takes off running, with only the consideration not to lose them. It looks like Fitz had been expecting that, because there’s no hesitation and he falls immediately in step with his friend. “Vultures have a high top flight speed, don’t they?” he asks, almost conversationally, despite their rush, and that draws a smile from Jojo.
“We don’t actually know the top speed for this species, but yeah. A lot of the vultures fly at fifteen to twenty miles per hour, which is, uh…” he pauses. Because yes, of course he’s a weird American still using whatever the weird American system is called, rather than metric. “Maximum would be about twenty kilometers per hour. Humans can run faster, if they’re Olympians or top athletes, but while I’m in shape, I wouldn’t say I’m quite at that level. I don’t know how being dead affects its speed—it doesn’t have the feathers for lift, but it’s also got less wind resistance, too.”
Fitz has a point. Jojo does in fact seem to be hiding his intelligence, though some of it might have to do with his Stand. The blond appears to be able to tell instantly when Jojo’s channeling someone else, too, which is fascinating.
The Captain reassesses her statement that everything’s fine fairly quickly, because out of nowhere Jojo pulls out The Pretender. She’s pleased to note that the rest follow suit with very little hesitation. They might not be trained, and certainly haven’t trained together, but a few fights alongside each other seem to have done the trick. They’re quick on the uptake.
A quick examination of the surroundings, however, finds nothing more suspicious than what they’ve already encountered.
Jojo smiles faintly, putting his hands in his pockets to appear more casual and indicate that he’s not ready for a fight. They’ve stopped in the middle of the street, which on one hand means that they’ve probably lost the undead bird. On the other hand, he’s right about the mathematics involved—if the speeds cited were entirely correct, unless the bird flies significantly slower than its living cousins, they’d have already lost it. “Sorry, I know I probably should have said something. I didn’t mean to startle anybody.” He has his Stand walk to the limit of its range, stopping in front of an old lady on the sidewalk, hobbling along slowly. “Just thought of a test for Stand Users that doesn’t involve looking for the gullible. It’s not foolproof, but it’s worth a try.”
Pretender draws back a fist and punches hard, with a loud cry of “Tora!” that is almost immediately drowned out by Darling’s scream.
“Jojo, what are you doing?” she asks, ready to cry, and in response he immediately looks a little guilty.
His posture changes, going back to the slouch he’d had before. It makes him look shorter and less intimidating, interestingly. “Right. Use my words. I really need to do that, even if it’s going to end up in me using way too many because I know me. Look closer.”
The fist has stopped right in front of the woman’s face, and she hasn’t even flinched.
“It wouldn’t work with Whisper, since he’s one of the Stands normal people can see, too, but most Stands can’t be seen by normal people. While Stand Users can pretend not to see a Stand, most would instinctively pull out their own Stand if they thought they were about to be attacked. I don’t think we’ll find the Stand User, if it is a Stand User, this way, but it’s worth a try while we pass.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I wouldn’t actually punch an old lady unless she was an enemy.” From the way his voice darkens at the end, he’s thinking about someone in particular.
Though Fitz might not be the only one who can tell the difference—it’s extremely uncharacteristic of Jojo to not even warn Darling first, since he’s usually so careful about accommodating the teenager’s concerns.
“Jojo!” Robin yells, and he winces slightly, shuffling his feet.
“Did I not say I’m sorry?” he asks, sounding semi-genuine, and it’s interesting if his own power interferes with that, too, his perception between intention and deed, or his understanding of reality.
But Robin shakes his head, pointing, and this time Captain Beefheart sees it, too. Vultures are usually unsettling enough—it’s why they have darker cultural associations, after all—when they’re living. They’re scavengers, which generally are considered bad omens in mythology, and their heads look like they’re living with their skulls exposed, which is an uncanny sight. But this is worse. It’s not even like seeing a skeleton of an animal is the problem on its own.
It’s the way it’s moving.
In a perverse way, it’d be better if it was moving like, say, the zombies they’d just fought. That would seem natural, that something dead wouldn’t move like something alive. Particularly when it’s just a skeleton. Instead, it moves like any other bird, if slightly more intelligent, cocking its head slightly to regard them with an empty eyesocket. It does appear more intelligent, but then, if it’s a demon or something, it certainly could be, and some types of birds are incredibly intelligent, aren’t they?
And then, flying in low over the buildings, another joins its friend, bones glinting slightly in the light of the street lamps. It perches in exactly the same way as a normal bird, too.
They aren’t running away anymore, or flying away, rather. Just sit there, staring, waiting.
“I think we’re being invited to a party, Jojo,” Robin states, admirably calm even as he fits an arrow to the bow pointed directly at them.
“Well, it’d be rude not to go. It’s not like we’ve got anything else planned for Friday night,” Jojo replies, just as casually.
“As long as it’s not another tea party,” Darling adds with a shiver and reaches out for Jojo’s hand. Probably wise, considering that out of all of them she was the most likely to be left behind. This time, he takes it carefully.
“I doubt it’ll be a tea party, but I think they’d understand your circumstances,” Fitz replies, amused.
And then, as one, they take off and begin lazy circles around, like they’re waiting for the slaughter. Someone has certainly studied their horror tropes at this point. Fairly effective.
“I’m such a nerd,” Jojo mutters under his breath before more loudly addressing the skeletons. “Take us to your leader!”
Fitz rolls his eyes and tries not to smile. “You’re such an embarrassment.”
“Your protests are ineffective,” Beefheart retorts, because at this point it’s so transparently obvious. The blond falls silent.
The birds don’t respond right away, waiting for them to finish arguing before taking off at a slower pace. Slow enough for them to follow. Jojo gentlemantly motions for her to go first, and she’d protest, but it’s probably best to keep Darling further back. Robin takes up the rear, bow and arrow loosely held. Von Stroheim knows from experience that if needed, in a mere second he could pull it back up and fire.
It takes them a bit to find a comfortable arrangement, Fitz as always at Jojo’s side, albeit on the other side, this time. They’re walking a bit slower until they find their stride, and while the vultures got a little far ahead, they turn back and circle until the group has caught up, proving that they’re indeed being led somewhere. “Something about all this—I think I remember reading about this, but it’s not jogging my memory.”
“There are a few urban legends…” Fitz begins, but soon enough he’s interrupted by Darling tugging at Jojo’s sleeve.
“Jojo, look!” she whispers, and he nods.
A wolf skeleton, lurking in the shadow of a storefront. “I see it. Guess it’s not just birds.”
“We’ve got several more,” Robin reports quietly. They’re not doing anything now, but Captain Beefheart feels the spike of adrenaline and readies herself for a fight anyway.
The next change is the slightest whiff of a smell. Jojo stiffens almost immediately, and Darling shrinks in response, drawing in closer.
“What is it?” she barks, seeking information, and he seems reluctant. “Jojo…”
“Which one?” he replies, voice still lowered. “That metallic smell is exactly what you think it is. The sickly-sweet putrid odor of decay is exactly what you think it is. Darling, I’d tell you to hide, but…”
“But nowhere here is probably safe, and they’re not attacking for now.” Her voice is shaking, but she manages a brave smile, sincere if scared. “I’m okay.”
“I’ll try to keep you safe,” he responds, squeezing her hand.
They start to see the signs—something over there, right in front of one of the doors, red and fuzzy and appearing like roadkill, if roadkill came in dog-sized form. The smell’s certainly getting stronger now, cloying, like a terrifying wall of mist of its own. The bird skeletons don’t dive. A live bird would do so, because there is something that could be described as a feast.
And then she steps, and there’s a squish. Another step, another squish. She swallows.
“It’s either manipulating our perceptions or the environment. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, and don’t look down.” Fitz narrates tightly, and Beefheart forces down the amateurish urge to hurl and just keeps walking, following the birds.
A loud rattle. It’d be easy to mistake it for a band of maracas, but given the setting and the number of bone-creatures watching them…
And then a large wolf, different than the others, since it still appears to have fur and muscles and all, with a muzzle painted like a mask, and with matted, bloodstained fur just sort of…fades into view before them. It stinks worse than the rest, even, with the added smell of ‘wet dog’ added to the potent mix. The sound apparently came from a belt of bones dangling about its middle. It grins malevolently. “Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.” It’s definitely the wolf speaking, with a bone-dry voice that doesn’t match the appearance. Though, to be fair, if asked, the Captain would have said that wolves shouldn’t have a particular tone of voice because they probably shouldn’t be speaking, in the real world.
It turns and trots away, and of all things Jojo still looks frustrated, like remembering what he’s forgotten is of more importance than standing in gore. Then again, with how soon he’d recognized it, maybe he was used to this sort of thing.
“If that’s not an invitation, I don’t know what is,” he states after a moment, and nods for Robin to proceed.
