![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Battle Cries
Title: Battle Cries
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Mista, Abbacchio, Fugo, Giorno, Narancia, Buccellati
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 510
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Mista is missing something cool to shout.
Notes: Written on actual paper.
Mista has been watching some of the others train with their Stands when it occurs to him.
He was practicing with the rest, but his Pistols got hungry, and so he’s taking a break and watching Gold Experience and Sticky Fingers fight each other while Aerosmith shoots hastily set up targets, when he notices one thing they have in common.
He turns to the others on the sidelines: Fugo, not training because his Stand is too dangerous, and Abbacchio, who doesn’t fight enough to justify getting up from his seat and putting down his drink. “Doesn’t it ever bug you,” he asks, “that they have cool things to say while pummeling people and you don’t?”
Abbacchio doesn’t take long to consider it. “No, not at all.”
“If I have to punch someone with my Stand more than once, something’s gone terribly wrong,” says Fugo. “It never comes up.”
Mista makes a dissatisfied sound. “But Giorno with his ‘muda’, and Buccellati with his ‘ari’... Narancia with his ‘vola’, and even Trish with her ‘wannabe’, kind of… Doesn’t it feel like you’re missing something?”
“You shoot people, not punch them,” Fugo says like Mista has forgotten that completely obvious fact. “Even if you did hit them, you’re not obligated to have a battle cry.”
“It would be so much cooler to have one though!” says Mista. “What do you think, Pistols?”
His Sex Pistols pop out at the call. “Yeah, we want one!” “Make us one that sounds tough!” “We believe in you, Mista!”
Now that the Pistols are depending on him for something badass to say, Mista can’t let them down. He thinks hard, tapping his foot. “What would be a good one? Maybe ‘ora’-”
“Trademarked by the Joestar estate,” says Giorno. He and Buccellati have stopped practicing, Giorno entering the conversation while Buccellati picks up towels. “I’m afraid that’s the one nonsense word you can’t use, Mista.”
Mista has to raise an eyebrow at that. “...Really? I’ve heard of some weird stuff getting trademarked, but…”
“They have many lawyers courtesy of the Speedwagon Foundation. I wouldn’t risk a suit if I were you.” Giorno sounds serious, but he almost always sounds serious even when he’s making fun of someone.
Narancia stops shooting and dashes over. “You can still come up with a real word though! They haven’t copyrighted ‘shut up’ yet.”
Mista rolls his eyes. “That’s lame.”
Abbacchio speaks up. “If Trish doesn’t count as in the gang, and you pick up a battle cry, you realize that will make four of us, don’t you?”
“Shit. Just forget the whole idea.” Mista starts to sweat. “Wait, but if you do count Trish, that’s four of us now- but if I pick one that’s four of us in the gang-”
“Mista, if your Pistols are still hungry, I’ll make us all lunch,” says Buccellati, swooping in at the sign of distress. “Would you like to suggest the menu?”
The Sex Pistols hovering around him cheer and start making requests, and Mista is distracted enough to forget about the problem, for now.
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Mista, Abbacchio, Fugo, Giorno, Narancia, Buccellati
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 510
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Mista is missing something cool to shout.
Notes: Written on actual paper.
Mista has been watching some of the others train with their Stands when it occurs to him.
He was practicing with the rest, but his Pistols got hungry, and so he’s taking a break and watching Gold Experience and Sticky Fingers fight each other while Aerosmith shoots hastily set up targets, when he notices one thing they have in common.
He turns to the others on the sidelines: Fugo, not training because his Stand is too dangerous, and Abbacchio, who doesn’t fight enough to justify getting up from his seat and putting down his drink. “Doesn’t it ever bug you,” he asks, “that they have cool things to say while pummeling people and you don’t?”
Abbacchio doesn’t take long to consider it. “No, not at all.”
“If I have to punch someone with my Stand more than once, something’s gone terribly wrong,” says Fugo. “It never comes up.”
Mista makes a dissatisfied sound. “But Giorno with his ‘muda’, and Buccellati with his ‘ari’... Narancia with his ‘vola’, and even Trish with her ‘wannabe’, kind of… Doesn’t it feel like you’re missing something?”
“You shoot people, not punch them,” Fugo says like Mista has forgotten that completely obvious fact. “Even if you did hit them, you’re not obligated to have a battle cry.”
“It would be so much cooler to have one though!” says Mista. “What do you think, Pistols?”
His Sex Pistols pop out at the call. “Yeah, we want one!” “Make us one that sounds tough!” “We believe in you, Mista!”
Now that the Pistols are depending on him for something badass to say, Mista can’t let them down. He thinks hard, tapping his foot. “What would be a good one? Maybe ‘ora’-”
“Trademarked by the Joestar estate,” says Giorno. He and Buccellati have stopped practicing, Giorno entering the conversation while Buccellati picks up towels. “I’m afraid that’s the one nonsense word you can’t use, Mista.”
Mista has to raise an eyebrow at that. “...Really? I’ve heard of some weird stuff getting trademarked, but…”
“They have many lawyers courtesy of the Speedwagon Foundation. I wouldn’t risk a suit if I were you.” Giorno sounds serious, but he almost always sounds serious even when he’s making fun of someone.
Narancia stops shooting and dashes over. “You can still come up with a real word though! They haven’t copyrighted ‘shut up’ yet.”
Mista rolls his eyes. “That’s lame.”
Abbacchio speaks up. “If Trish doesn’t count as in the gang, and you pick up a battle cry, you realize that will make four of us, don’t you?”
“Shit. Just forget the whole idea.” Mista starts to sweat. “Wait, but if you do count Trish, that’s four of us now- but if I pick one that’s four of us in the gang-”
“Mista, if your Pistols are still hungry, I’ll make us all lunch,” says Buccellati, swooping in at the sign of distress. “Would you like to suggest the menu?”
The Sex Pistols hovering around him cheer and start making requests, and Mista is distracted enough to forget about the problem, for now.