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Mixed Up Muddled Up
Title: Mixed Up Muddled Up
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Buccellati, Giorno, Narancia, Fugo, Mista, Abbacchio
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Humor
Word Count: 725
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: If Passione had more women in it, this mission probably wouldn't go to the men, and there wouldn't be crossdressing. (But where would the fun in that be?)
Notes: I like gratuitous crossdressing.
Even after the message deleted itself, Buccellati and the others stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of it.
Mista was the first to break the silence. “So if the target carrying the documents was tracked down to a women’s gym… why are we getting this mission? Why not a team that had a woman on it?”
“Passione has always had very few women in it. I’ve heard there’s one in the drug team, but that’s the only one I’m sure of.” Buccellati stood up. “Besides me, one of you will have to go. My Sticky Fingers can bypass any lock, but I’ll need someone to guard the locker room while I retrieve it. Unfortunately, that’ll require dressing-”
“I’m not doing it,” Narancia said immediately.
“You’re the one who’s wearing a skirt already,” said Fugo.
Narancia whirled to glare at him. “That’s not the same! I’ve got my pride, and my pride says no!”
“I’ll do it.” Giorno spoke in an even tone. “I can’t do anything about my height, but the rest of you are even taller. If I let my hair down, that’ll be one less adjustment I’ll have to make to create the disguise.”
“Thank you, Giorno. This shouldn’t take very long.”
Buccellati hadn’t let the others take a look at the contents of their bags when they returned from their shopping trip, disappearing with Giorno into the back to get changed. The rest waited impatiently.
“How long is this gonna take?” Mista asked, at the door.
“If you have any skills applying makeup,” said Giorno, slightly muffled, “you’re welcome to help.”
“...Not really.” Mista stepped back.
Eventually, the door opened. Giorno was the first to step out, long blond hair flowing freely. He folded his arms underneath his ‘breasts’. “Well?”
“You’re not even wearing a skirt,” complained Mista. “And you’ve got nothing on top.”
“Who wears a skirt to the gym?” Giorno replied. “And I’m trying to look realistic, which means my breasts have to fit my frame. Buccellati’s are bigger.”
Buccellati followed Giorno out, looking mildly embarrassed. He’d opted for a wig the same color as his natural hair, but slightly longer.
“You’re wearing too much makeup,” Abbacchio said. “As for your height, it’s ridiculous. Those pants aren’t even in your correct size.”
Buccellati said, “There’s nothing I can do to shrink unless my Stand suddenly gains that power, the pants were the closest fit available, and better too much than too little. Now, we should be going. I want to spend as little time tucked in as possible.”
The other men in the group winced sympathetically.
“The locker room’s empty, good. Probably because it’s so late in the evening.” Buccellati called Sticky Fingers to unzip the first row of lockers. “Towels, wallets, purses… not in this row.”
Giorno leaned against the wall, keeping an eye out for anyone looking to come in.
Buccellati closed that zipper and moved on. “Second row… More of the same plus someone’s dirty underwear.”
“I’d say something about that,” said Giorno, “but I don’t want to get too into a woman’s mindset.”
“Good choice.” Unzipping the third row, Buccellati immediately homed in on a folder, looking too business-like for a gym’s locker room. He pulled it out and briefly glanced through it. “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”
They made it out of the gym and down the road before the sounds of wolf-whistling and cat-calls reached their ears from across the street.
“Are they whistling at us?” Giorno asked, only looking at the group of men from the corner of his eye. “I don’t see any other women out.”
“Just ignore them,” said Buccellati. “It’s not worth the…”
Giorno was already pulling off his shirt, stuffed bra and all. The whistling immediately stopped. “It was itching me,” he said to Buccellati.
Buccellati set the folder down on the table and pulled the wig off his head before shedding his shirt and bra.
“If you wanted to stare at my chest,” he told Mista, who was looking discontent, “you’ll have to wait until the next time we receive this kind of mission… assuming it’s not you wearing the disguise.”
Mista made a face. “Spare me. Would I have to dress up the Sex Pistols?”
Giorno chuckled. “As funny as that would be, no, I think you could get by without that.”
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Buccellati, Giorno, Narancia, Fugo, Mista, Abbacchio
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Humor
Word Count: 725
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: If Passione had more women in it, this mission probably wouldn't go to the men, and there wouldn't be crossdressing. (But where would the fun in that be?)
Notes: I like gratuitous crossdressing.
Even after the message deleted itself, Buccellati and the others stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of it.
Mista was the first to break the silence. “So if the target carrying the documents was tracked down to a women’s gym… why are we getting this mission? Why not a team that had a woman on it?”
“Passione has always had very few women in it. I’ve heard there’s one in the drug team, but that’s the only one I’m sure of.” Buccellati stood up. “Besides me, one of you will have to go. My Sticky Fingers can bypass any lock, but I’ll need someone to guard the locker room while I retrieve it. Unfortunately, that’ll require dressing-”
“I’m not doing it,” Narancia said immediately.
“You’re the one who’s wearing a skirt already,” said Fugo.
Narancia whirled to glare at him. “That’s not the same! I’ve got my pride, and my pride says no!”
“I’ll do it.” Giorno spoke in an even tone. “I can’t do anything about my height, but the rest of you are even taller. If I let my hair down, that’ll be one less adjustment I’ll have to make to create the disguise.”
“Thank you, Giorno. This shouldn’t take very long.”
Buccellati hadn’t let the others take a look at the contents of their bags when they returned from their shopping trip, disappearing with Giorno into the back to get changed. The rest waited impatiently.
“How long is this gonna take?” Mista asked, at the door.
“If you have any skills applying makeup,” said Giorno, slightly muffled, “you’re welcome to help.”
“...Not really.” Mista stepped back.
Eventually, the door opened. Giorno was the first to step out, long blond hair flowing freely. He folded his arms underneath his ‘breasts’. “Well?”
“You’re not even wearing a skirt,” complained Mista. “And you’ve got nothing on top.”
“Who wears a skirt to the gym?” Giorno replied. “And I’m trying to look realistic, which means my breasts have to fit my frame. Buccellati’s are bigger.”
Buccellati followed Giorno out, looking mildly embarrassed. He’d opted for a wig the same color as his natural hair, but slightly longer.
“You’re wearing too much makeup,” Abbacchio said. “As for your height, it’s ridiculous. Those pants aren’t even in your correct size.”
Buccellati said, “There’s nothing I can do to shrink unless my Stand suddenly gains that power, the pants were the closest fit available, and better too much than too little. Now, we should be going. I want to spend as little time tucked in as possible.”
The other men in the group winced sympathetically.
“The locker room’s empty, good. Probably because it’s so late in the evening.” Buccellati called Sticky Fingers to unzip the first row of lockers. “Towels, wallets, purses… not in this row.”
Giorno leaned against the wall, keeping an eye out for anyone looking to come in.
Buccellati closed that zipper and moved on. “Second row… More of the same plus someone’s dirty underwear.”
“I’d say something about that,” said Giorno, “but I don’t want to get too into a woman’s mindset.”
“Good choice.” Unzipping the third row, Buccellati immediately homed in on a folder, looking too business-like for a gym’s locker room. He pulled it out and briefly glanced through it. “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”
They made it out of the gym and down the road before the sounds of wolf-whistling and cat-calls reached their ears from across the street.
“Are they whistling at us?” Giorno asked, only looking at the group of men from the corner of his eye. “I don’t see any other women out.”
“Just ignore them,” said Buccellati. “It’s not worth the…”
Giorno was already pulling off his shirt, stuffed bra and all. The whistling immediately stopped. “It was itching me,” he said to Buccellati.
Buccellati set the folder down on the table and pulled the wig off his head before shedding his shirt and bra.
“If you wanted to stare at my chest,” he told Mista, who was looking discontent, “you’ll have to wait until the next time we receive this kind of mission… assuming it’s not you wearing the disguise.”
Mista made a face. “Spare me. Would I have to dress up the Sex Pistols?”
Giorno chuckled. “As funny as that would be, no, I think you could get by without that.”