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Entry tags:
Facts of Life
Title: Facts of Life
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Diavolo, Giorno, Doppio
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 505
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: “I spoke to your daughter, the other day.” Giorno’s words are precise, delicate like the way he sips his tea.
Notes: I'd like to finish this series someday, and maybe I even will!
There is another figure beside Giorno Giovanna. A crowned, golden figure. Diavolo doesn’t think it’s that similar to the red one following him around, but then again it’s not that different. He hasn’t hallucinated enough to compare.
Focus, he reminds himself. He’s settled down enough around Giorno that he’s not likely to be sick on him again, but the terror, the unshakable belief that if he makes a wrong step he’ll be killed, still remains.
He clears his throat. Work. Focus on work. “On the subject of Buccellati’s division, the work they’ve been producing has been-”
“I spoke to your daughter, the other day.” Giorno’s words are precise, delicate like the way he sips his tea.
For a moment, Diavolo has no answer, before he recovers enough to ask, “Is that so?”
“I’ve spoken to many people with hallucinations. Some have believed me, some haven’t. With most I haven’t even tried. But Trish deserves to know,” Giorno says. “As bad as her situation is here, it was much worse before.”
The red figure that follows Diavolo around twitches at the same moment Diavolo does. The golden figure across the table from them smiles, thin and dangerous, exactly the way Giorno smiles.
“I see.” Diavolo thinks he should be more unsettled, maybe even protective of his daughter when he recognizes that Giorno is his natural enemy, but Trish Una is someone he’s only seen a handful of times in his life, and not his problem. “What does this have to do with our company?”
“Nothing at all. I apologize for getting off topic.” Giorno takes another sip of tea. “Then you’re not interested in how she’s doing?”
Diavolo rubs his forehead. He can feel a headache coming on that will last long after Giorno is gone. “She has my genes, but otherwise, she is the same as any other person in the world to me. I don’t care for her and I don’t hate her.”
“That’s a bit of a relief.” Giorno smiles, and it triggers slightly less fear in him than usual. Diavolo can never tell if Giorno is being honest or not, but this time, he thinks he is.
He clears his throat. “We came to discuss our work, Giovanna. This is an expensive restaurant and I assume you’d like to have the company pay for our meal.”
The meeting goes smoothly enough after that.
Diavolo returns home, where Doppio is there to greet him. “How did it go?” he asks, full of nervous energy. Diavolo can’t blame him: his meetings with Giorno can rarely be described as ‘going well’.
“It went strangely. He brought up Trish,” says Diavolo, sinking into a chair at the first opportunity. “...Doppio.”
“Yes?”
“Suppose that I wasn’t hallucinating. What would I call this?” he asks, glancing at the figure behind him.
“You know I still can’t see it,” says Doppio. “But I guess it’s yours, so you can call it anything you want.”
Diavolo considers that. “It’s red, and it’s mine. I believe I’ll call it… King Crimson.”
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo
Character(s): Diavolo, Giorno, Doppio
Pairing(s): None
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 505
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: “I spoke to your daughter, the other day.” Giorno’s words are precise, delicate like the way he sips his tea.
Notes: I'd like to finish this series someday, and maybe I even will!
There is another figure beside Giorno Giovanna. A crowned, golden figure. Diavolo doesn’t think it’s that similar to the red one following him around, but then again it’s not that different. He hasn’t hallucinated enough to compare.
Focus, he reminds himself. He’s settled down enough around Giorno that he’s not likely to be sick on him again, but the terror, the unshakable belief that if he makes a wrong step he’ll be killed, still remains.
He clears his throat. Work. Focus on work. “On the subject of Buccellati’s division, the work they’ve been producing has been-”
“I spoke to your daughter, the other day.” Giorno’s words are precise, delicate like the way he sips his tea.
For a moment, Diavolo has no answer, before he recovers enough to ask, “Is that so?”
“I’ve spoken to many people with hallucinations. Some have believed me, some haven’t. With most I haven’t even tried. But Trish deserves to know,” Giorno says. “As bad as her situation is here, it was much worse before.”
The red figure that follows Diavolo around twitches at the same moment Diavolo does. The golden figure across the table from them smiles, thin and dangerous, exactly the way Giorno smiles.
“I see.” Diavolo thinks he should be more unsettled, maybe even protective of his daughter when he recognizes that Giorno is his natural enemy, but Trish Una is someone he’s only seen a handful of times in his life, and not his problem. “What does this have to do with our company?”
“Nothing at all. I apologize for getting off topic.” Giorno takes another sip of tea. “Then you’re not interested in how she’s doing?”
Diavolo rubs his forehead. He can feel a headache coming on that will last long after Giorno is gone. “She has my genes, but otherwise, she is the same as any other person in the world to me. I don’t care for her and I don’t hate her.”
“That’s a bit of a relief.” Giorno smiles, and it triggers slightly less fear in him than usual. Diavolo can never tell if Giorno is being honest or not, but this time, he thinks he is.
He clears his throat. “We came to discuss our work, Giovanna. This is an expensive restaurant and I assume you’d like to have the company pay for our meal.”
The meeting goes smoothly enough after that.
Diavolo returns home, where Doppio is there to greet him. “How did it go?” he asks, full of nervous energy. Diavolo can’t blame him: his meetings with Giorno can rarely be described as ‘going well’.
“It went strangely. He brought up Trish,” says Diavolo, sinking into a chair at the first opportunity. “...Doppio.”
“Yes?”
“Suppose that I wasn’t hallucinating. What would I call this?” he asks, glancing at the figure behind him.
“You know I still can’t see it,” says Doppio. “But I guess it’s yours, so you can call it anything you want.”
Diavolo considers that. “It’s red, and it’s mine. I believe I’ll call it… King Crimson.”