EVENT ★ WINTER WONDERLAND, THE RECKONING

[futurologists]

HAPPY (NONDENOMINATIONAL) HOLIDAYS When recruits arrive back at Oska, they'll find the place already full of other ALASTAIR teams visiting Oska, and the castle and grounds entirely decked out in festive cheer. The castle is draped in purple and white finery, with a light dusting of unmelting snow everywhere -- even inside, somehow. Don't worry, the indoor snow has been enchanted to be strangely warm. Dagny has taken it upon herself to add a little plant life in and around the castle: mistletoe, of course. It can be spotted growing in little sprigs out of chinks in castle walls, around from wooden doorframes, or even sprouting out of other, unrelated trees. You're never really safe from mistletoe. And what would the use of mistletoe be without the enchantment? Dagny has made sure that there are enough variant species of the mistletoe to offer something for everyone. Recruits may find themselves stuck under any manner of mistletoe, trapped until they fulfill the mistletoe geas. The Classic: This is the standard magical mistletoe, that traps people in a lightly shimmering sphere until they exchange a kiss. Any kind of kiss will do, just pucker up! The Papilion: This is similar to the classic, but its berries come in brilliant shades of orange and pink. It will only release its catch after a butterfly kiss. Clinging Merriment: This mistletoe is all wrapped up in itself, and climbs whatever surface it's on in twisting spirals. All it wants from its catch is a hug, but make it a good one! The Lively Stepper: This mistletoe seems to shiver in some unfelt breeze, and if you listen closely enough, there's a gentle chime of bells that fades when you lean away from it again. People stuck under this plant will have to dance together, to whatever music they can find or make. Whispering Mary: This mistletoe comes with deep purple leaves and seems to hide within itself. Only after a secret has been shared from each person trapped under it will it flower open and release them. Evening Gown: This mistletoe is a gaudy display, with brilliant green leaves and splendid white blossoms instead of berries. It will only release its catch after they compliment each other -- and the Evening Gown always knows when it hears a genuine compliment, and accepts no substitutions! Catflowers: Dagny didn't put this kind out, and has named them after the suspected perpetrators. She's been trying to take them down when she finds them, but there might be a few she's missed. This thorny sprig of mistletoe will only release its catch after they've punched each other. Sorry about that. THE WINTER BALL Exciting news, passed from recruit to recruit and team to team: the castle will host a ball soon! It's set to be on the second night of team Audentes's arrival in Oska, and it's going to be a truly extravagant affair. Nothing to wear? No fear! The wardrobes in each recruit's room will open upon an enormous display of fancy clothing in a multitude of styles. Once you've settled on one (and somehow, the wardrobe knows the difference between trying on and settling on), the rest of the outfits vanish the next time it's closed. The festivities start as soon as the sun begins to sink. Music filters through the air, growing louder to guide partygoers through the castle and into the dance hall, which was definitely not a room in existence until today. The music flows from no discernable source, sometimes swirling orchestral pieces, sometimes something with a heavier beat, for a different kind of dancing. The selection is as varied as the ALASTAIR teams tend to be. Listen long enough, and you might even hear something from your own home universe. A large glass flower shimmers in the center of the room, under which various recruits have taken to leaving presents for one another. Be sure to stop by and check the brightly wrapped parcels for your name! Team Audentes in particular gets a special gift. The north side of the room is decorated in an unmistakable Christmas theme, complete with an enormous, glittering tree. The care put into these decorations definitely has a personal touch, it might even outshine the rest of the hall's decor. Each member of the team has a lovingly wrapped box complete with a bow under this tree, and upon opening it will find a small, intricately detailed, never-melting ice sculpture of themselves -- very possibly in a ridiculous pose. Those who were acquainted with former teammate Nicholas St. North will find that their sculpture features two figures: themselves, and North himself. And of course, what party would be complete without the food? The kitchen has really outdone itself with its spread of delicious foods, suited to all appetites and palates. From gently steaming roasted bird to strangely colored foreign piles of tiny quivering spheres, there's something for everyone. Including the alcoholics among us: the punch is delicately spiked with that incredibly strong drink of Nalawi, which leaves a pleasantly fruity aftertaste and an immediate alcoholic burn. (Any children partaking will find that their cups have somehow filtered out any alcohol and are strangely juice-only.) ICE MAZE Outside the castle, the courtyard has been transformed. Giant shimmering ice walls have sprung up seemingly overnight, forming endless, winding pathways: an ice maze. Stepping into this beautiful, gleaming maze immediately cuts off all sound from the castle life around, so loud just a moment ago. Inside the maze is only the crunch of light snow underfoot, the sound of one's own breathing, and the echoes that bounce faintly here and there. Throughout the maze one might find bits of warm, inviting clothing. A pair of bright red mittens, a puffy coat that fits perfectly to the wearer, a scarf woven in brightly colored, warm wool. If a maze-goer chooses to ignore and walk past this clothing, they might find that something begins to follow them. It starts as just an unsettling feeling, but put off accepting the clothing for long enough and it may turn into lurking shadows in the corner of an eye, a black shape that's there in one second and vanished in the next. A faint yowl may float down a corridor, vaguely feline if only it weren't so deep. Whatever that came from must have been large. Accepting and wearing just one of the offered clothing chases away this unwanted visitor immediately, and in just five minutes more the ice maze will finally bring you out the other side. Don't take any of its gifts, though, and the maze may just lead you to meet the Yuletide Cat instead. (Which just so happens to be Cherenkov and Crowley sharing a giant cat costume. Don't laugh, they worked hard on it.) THE VILLAGE Far outside the castle, the village has been brought back to warm, glowing life. Or at least, that seems to be the case. Team Hearthstone was recently on a mission to recover an item called the Time Catch, and has used it to temporarily, visually turn time back to a time when the village of Oska was populated and lively. Humanoid villagers, all in various shades of purple and blue, hurry to and fro, talking and laughing in a language that goes untranslated by the magitek jewelry. They don't react to any of the recruits, though, and trying to touch any of them will have your hands passing straight through them. Even the restored village around them is just an illusion. One can walk straight into one of the villager's houses and find the warmth of the fire and aroma of the roasted fowl to be completely believable -- but trying to take a seat at the set table will send you crashing straight to the ground to sit in the illusion-covered rubble. THE SQUIDGE PARK After the festivities wind down, you may want to visit the newest addition to the Oska grounds -- the brand new squidge park. After Audentes's success in its mission on Zeta-12, ALASTAIR has been gifted with a clutch of squidge eggs to look after. Audentes need not worry about the squidges in their absence; there will always be someone in Oska to make sure the jelly-like aliens are being nurtured properly. The squidge park is located off the greenhouses in the courtyard; it's an enclosure containing many artificial habitats so the squidges may interact with different environments to help them grow. Right now, they are just eggs, but with enough love and care, they may "hatch" (read: their amorphous blob selves will grow limbs and enter the larval stage) before Audentes even ships out again. OOC NOTES Blind date assignments for those working to complete the Lonely Hearts Club bounty can be found here. ICly, the match-ups are publicly posted in the ballroom for all to see. The other ALASTAIR teams present consist of everything from humanoids to strange creatures; feel free to handwave them in your threads! The only stipulation is that transferred characters (ex. those who have dropped) are not present. The party lasts for one night, and the following day the rest of the teams will pack up and leave Oska to Audentes. The ghostly village-that-isn't will revert back to ruins at this point, as well. However, all other winter amenities will remain for the holidays! Following the party, characters can expect to be in Oska for several more weeks, with the next mission starting in late January. A more detailed calendar for next month will be up soon! Questions about this log, Oska, or the game in general should be directed to the FAQ. You may submit mission ideas or player plots at any time.

Comments

[unholey]

[As Fugo straightens, Giorno curls further into his side. Fugo feels almost as if he's some kind of trellis and Giorno is strand of ivy that's wound itself around him for support. He's closer than most people like to get to him; more than that, he's staying there and his arm has snuck around his back to keep him in place. He wonders if the reason he doesn't feel that strange about it is because he's so tired.]

I'll be careful. [Fugo is always careful; he's cautious, oftentimes to a fault. But he'll be particularly careful with both his prickles and what he gives away to Kaz Brekker. It's not difficult for him to promise or even think about.

What's harder to hear about... ah, well. Giorno doesn't need to say it, but Fugo knows what he means. Jesper is like Mista. He's probably the sort of person with a winning, glowing smile that gets him out of trouble nine times out of ten. He probably laughs a lot. He probably makes other people laugh too, just by being his own aggravatingly charming self. Just thinking about Mista hurts because he's not here when he ought to be.]

... around both of them.

[digiorno]

Good.

[And that is going to have to be all for now. Maybe forever. He does and doesn't want to talk about how Jesper's easy smile is too familiar, or how the way he moves hurts the way thinking about home does. Whether they talk about it later or never, the point remains: it can't be now. They're both too damn tired.]

[Onward. Better things.]

There is a woman here. Ramir--Ana Ramir. She's from Italia. Sort of, ah--space Italia. From the future, or something. I think she's like us, in one way or another; definitely more trustworthy than most people here.

[He smiles a little, where his face is buried against Fugo's shoulder.]

I told her a story about Trish--no names, of course--and she gave me a blanket with a robot wolf on it. She has a boyfriend who has a cat. She has a pet spider.

[unholey]

[Space Italia, which is from the future, or something. It's an absurd combination of words that might have made him chuckle half a year ago. All it does today is make his shoulders jerk with a sharp sound that could have been a laugh, hah, if it hadn't died halfway up his throat.]

She sounds interesting. And as if she has good tastes. [Spiders are neat. Robot wolves silly, but the sort of thing Narancia would be into. Thinking about Trish, whose strength of personality registers on the higher end of the Beaufort wind force scale, makes him feel as if he's closed his hand around a shard of glass. It's frustrating, how much his own thoughts hurt him when he lets them. But this information is good; it hurts to think of Trish, but he's glad to know that there's someone Giorno trusted with her story, even though he kept her name out of it.] You like her.

[digiorno]

[It's better than nothing, that little chuckle that dies in Fugo's throat. Better than Giorno would have honestly expected. It makes him smile a little himself, fragile and unseen.]

I do. She's . . . [Ah, how to explain this.] I suppose I would say, kind in a believable way. I think she knows that sometimes kindness comes at a cost; I don't think she's an altruist. I believe in her and trust her in that I believe her motives are not civilian.

[And therefore understandable. Criminality is so much clearer as a concept than the idea of being a good citizen. It's more honest: the same ugliness without packaging.]

There is a spectrum here, I suppose, that I'm not used to anymore . . . of people who think like us to people who think like civilians. Mm--you and I are here. Kaz is here. Jesper is . . . here.

[He indicates three points in the air: one just to the left of Fugo's left shoulder, one slightly to the left of that, and then back in the original spot again. After a moment's pause, he moves his hand all the way to the right and taps the air there.]

At the other end of the scale you have Asher Millstone.

[unholey]

[Fugo nods, fingers absently tapping on Giorno's shoulder while he considers what Giorno means. He agrees with it, in so much that kindness is a choice that is not always easy, not always viable, and moreover is not always the good choice for people like them. Ramir chooses to be kind, within her means and as long as it doesn't run contrary to her methods. He can understand that.]

It's... difficult. [Fugo agrees, idly thinking back to his dreary and somewhat disastrous attempt to hide in plain sight among civilians. There was a woman at the coffee bar, who noticed and remembered him because of his habit of groggily rolling up to the bar late in the afternoon for his first espresso of the evening. Once she managed to ease it out of him that he worked in the evening and slept during the day, she started to save leftover cornettos for him. Her kindness had been very unsettling to him; in the end, despite its proximity to his apartment, he stopped visiting that establishment.] Trying to think like they do.

[When it comes down to it, civilians are those who believe that people are better than they really are. They believe the police will protect them, because isn't that what they're there for? They trust that the law will be on their side, because why else would it be written? To civilians, violence is something that happens to other people on the television and in the newspaper. It could never happen to them, because they're decent people living in a good neighborhood.]

There's a civilian here? [Giorno can't see it, but there's a tight frown on Fugo's face and between his eyebrows. There's a world of difference between people who think like civilians, because that's what they used to be, and people who are civilians.]

[digiorno]

Mm.

[It's not quite a surefire assent, but--he has to take a minute to clarify. He doesn't even need to look at Fugo directly to know he's frowning. Genuinely upset. That's Bruno's fingerprints all over them, he thinks, and it's funny in that thinking about Bruno is a little less painful with Fugo here beside him than it was on his own.]

[That wound isn't ever going to heal, anyway. If this is a safe place to reopen it . . . why not let it ooze?]

At least one. I don't know for sure, but--I do think I'm right. It was very unsettling. I . . . think I understand him better now. I don't believe he's lying. But he expects--

[Giorno's fingers flex, frustrated, against Fugo's shirt.]

Openness. Trust. Honesty. Care. As though they're rights, not things to be earned and guarded. I've never understood that.

[unholey]

[Fugo doesn't have a word for how he feels. But there is a phrase that seems appropriate: it doesn't sit well with him. Buccellati wouldn't have liked it. He didn't like it when civilians were pulled into Passione's conflicts; although there were times when it couldn't be avoided, Buccellati took a lot more care to nudge displaced non-combatants back out of Napoli's violent backstreets and alleyways and into their comfortable, safe lives.]

I don't either. It's always seemed strange to me, how easy it can be for others. [It's an ugly thing to admit, but it's true. All of those things are so dangerous to give away. And in so many ways, Fugo simply cannot. He stumbled out of his grandfather's house with these facts clenched tightly in his hands: life wasn't fair, people were mostly indifferent but often cruel, and being honest was the quickest way to to be left alone and without resources in an unforgiving world.] But it's not something that can't be worked around.

[Fugo knows how to go through the motions, at least. The optical illusion of standing in line with everyone else while holding himself back, watching and waiting for invisible signs that only he could see that things were going poorly. Conditional trust.

Giorno Giovanna is the first person Fugo has trusted unconditionally in a very long time. In many ways, it took losing everything to gain the ability to place his trust in someone else's hands.]

[digiorno]

No. It's not.

[He's quiet for a time, focusing on the slight movements of Fugo's hands and shoulders, the in-and-out of his breathing. It's grounding, he finds, touching someone and monitoring their movements, their warmth, the way that they react to closeness. It calms him down. He's experienced this a few times now, mostly with Mista and Trish, who are touchy people, but it's still surprising. And it's been months now since he's seen them.]

[It's been months now since he's seen them. He rubs his cheek against Fugo's shirt. He smells like laundry and snow and paper.]

He is confusing. But harmless, I think, except in that way. That way that--he's genuine, it's easy to be caught off-balance.

He cares about people a lot. That's how I first talked to him, actually. There was someone--Kung Jin--who got himself hurt and I had to fix him. They're close [a teensy tinge of sarcasm], and Jin wanted me to call Asher so--I did. And he was all upset that Jin got himself in trouble again.

It reminded me of me, a little. All that worry.

[unholey]

[Fugo is not used to being touched. He's never been afraid of it. Puzzled, yes. Worried and uncertain-- very. He's used to the occasional hand on his shoulder, gingerly patting what Fugo has come to think as the one-two-I'm-proud-of-you; someone grabbing his arm in a fight and pulling him back. He learned to tolerate Abbacchio swinging his legs his lap on the couch, but never quite managed to get over feeling at least concerned whenever Mista put his arm around his shoulders. He's not used to being held or, for that matter, holding anyone at all.

But Giorno has settled onto his shoulders as neatly as one puzzle piece connecting with the next, perfectly comfortable in the Giorno-shaped circle between his arms. His breathing is steady and easy. Giorno rubs his cheek against his shirt, a gesture that's more powerful than any vow in communicating just how much Giorno trusts him. Fugo shifts underneath him, his posture solid but slowly becoming more relaxed, and his arm briefly, carefully, tightens around Giorno's shoulders; enough to be noticeable as a hopefully-comforting gesture, but hopefully far away from being restricting or painful.]

I'll try to remember that if I speak with him. [Fugo doesn't know how many people are on this patched-together team; if it's big, he might never speak with Asher. But if it's small enough, it's inevitable that they'll run into each other. Knowing he's genuine will make it easier to talk to him.]

[Asher and someone else named Kung Jin are... close? But it annoys Giorno. Fugo blinks, thoughts fuzzy around the edges through the creeping sense of exhaustion, as he tries to make sense of what Giorno means. And then a comparison, while imperfect, clicks into place: Asher reminds Giorno of himself, because they both hate it when their people get themselves hurt for no reason. Briefly, he wonders if Asher is as careless with himself as Giorno can be or if he's just projecting onto this person he's never met before.]

That is like you. [Two weeks after the restaurant, Fugo has finally put something together: the reason why Giorno healed him before saying anything. Oh, it was certainly a display of power; a demonstration of Don Giovanna's skill with Gold Experience, to be able to heal him completely and painlessly between one ragged breath and the next. But it was an in the heat of the moment decision made by Giorno, who can't stand to see his people in pain.] Tell me about what Kung Jin is like. Other than reckless and trouble-prone.

[digiorno]

[His lips go taut. Irritated, obviously; it spreads to the set of his jaw where it leans against Fugo's shoulder and the tension of his own shoulders. There's no question that Fugo will be able to feel it, and it's very clear from what he says next exactly where that irritation comes from.]

Disrespectful.

[Which, to someone like Giorno, is intolerable. His mouth twists, and he rolls his eyes ceilingward.]

He's the kind of person who's so intent to prove himself that he forgets about everything else. His relationships, his safety, even his own train of thought. He's prone to speaking without thinking and sticking his foot in his mouth. He's also prone to letting out a string of contradictory statements and then being affronted when you can't follow them.

[A beat. Then, sweetly:]

He started being more respectful after I slapped him, though.

[unholey]

[Giorno's posture tightens against his shoulder and under his arm and Fugo, ever worried, can't help but tense in response until Giorno makes it abundantly clear what he's frustrated about. Ah. Disrespect. That is a problem. He relaxes again. Giorno is tolerant of a great many things, from the ridiculous to the silly, but one thing he will not stand for is disrespect directed towards himself, the work he does, or his people.

So, Kung Jin is a disrespectful person. He's probably deeply sarcastic. The sort of person who pokes and prods, then holds his hands up and claims no big deal with a lazy, lopsided grin. He doesn't respect others. Or himself, probably, if he's that careless with his relationships and personal safety.]

I would hope so. [Fugo... doesn't particularly feel sorry for him, though. On the contrary, he thinks it's lucky that Kung Jin made the mistake of disrespecting Giorno Giovanna in a world that's not his own. He wouldn't have gotten away with just a slap in Napoli.] You didn't say he was an idiot. If it's escalated that far he'd have to be a moron to misunderstand you.

[digiorno]

[Oh. That's . . . nice. It's something he knows, but it's also something he's missed hearing--and more than that, something he's missed people understanding. It shocks him how warm it makes him feel--how important it is to be understood. He'd already forgotten a little, after just a couple of months, because--it's so typical. So standard. Status quo, to stand removed from everyone else.]

[Turning, he lifts his head and looks at Fugo. Fugo, who believes in him without hesitation or even the slightest inkling of doubt. Fugo, who understands exactly how dangerous he is and admires him for it, who sees it as an intrinsic part of who he is.]

[They're very close. So Fugo will be able to see, in great detail, the precise transition between wonder and the small, warm smile that Giorno's expression resolves into.]

That's true, isn't it. Mmhm. You're right as always.

[It means thank you, and also, I missed you so much.]

[unholey]

[There's something in his chest that's bothering him; a sort of tight and funny feeling, cinched around his lungs. It started when Giorno turns up and around to face him, a smile slowly unfurling like a flower facing the sun. What ... did he say? He doesn't understand which one of those statements could have prompted a response like this.]

I'm... [Fugo looks-- somewhere else, anywhere else, because if he looks any longer at that small and careful smile, he won't be able to breathe. The very tips of his ears are pink.] "Usually". I'm right only most of the time. "Usually" is the more accurate term.

[Trish, after all, is the one who's Right At All Times, So Don't Even Bother Arguing.]

[digiorno]

[Fugo's ears are pink. The temptation to tease him is powerful. It's been a long time since he was this close to one of his people, his people; he's been lonely and sad and broken, and now here is Fugo, who is starting to go red because Giorno smiled at him.]

[Giorno thinks he might be happy. He's pretty sure that's what this is.]

Almost always. [It's true: he's not Trish. But he's very clever. Very clever, and looking away, with his ears pink.] That's all right, though. When you're not right, I am. And when I'm not, you are. We complement each other, you and me.

[The line between happy and giddy is thin. He's grinning, now. A little wicked, like there's a punchline somewhere that only he can hear.]

[unholey]

[Fugo isn't sure how he feels. Everything is such a mess. But relieved might be a good start, because this smile is a few steps closer to the one Fugo last saw before he turned a corner and tripped into another universe. A part of him thinks that, maybe, he should try returning it. Ah, but if he did, it would probably wind up looking thin and strange. It's better not to.]

... I'll do my best for you. [When Giorno says we complement each other, it feels like another way of saying we'll meet each other half way. Fugo shifts in place, a little nervous, and then lets his eyes flick back to Giorno. Which is probably a mistake, given how close they are and how sharp Giorno's smile is. But if he can't smile back for Giorno, it would be even worse if he couldn't look him in the eye.] Let's aim for a high percentage.

[digiorno]

[That's such a dumb, cute thing to say. It's also totally genuine, because it's Fugo, but nonetheless, it's very cute and dumb. Giorno squeezes Fugo's hand and bumps his shoulder a little. Too bad his hands are occupied or he'd pat his cheek.]

Let's do. I'm sure we'll surprise ourselves with how efficient we are.

[Only Giorno could make that sound flirty. It's fine.]

Mm. Where did I leave off . . . ? [SOMEHOW, HE IS DISTRACTED]

[unholey]

[Giorno is, sadly, rewarded for his nonsense by Fugo's ears going a little redder. Why did he have to say it like that?]

We've discussed Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, and Ana Ramir. And now Asher Millstone and Kung Jin. We haven't talked about Stands or living arrangements.

[digiorno]

Yes, that's right. There are a few more--

[But he stops midsentence. A beat. Wait. Something wasn't right there. What was it--ah. Yes.]

[He gives Fugo a puzzled, quizzical look.]

What do we need to talk about living arrangements for? You're staying with me.

[Just another fact of life. The sun is bright, grass is green, the ocean is salty, snow is terrible, Fugo is staying with Giorno.]

[unholey]

Oh. [It's amazing what a single word, a single exhalation, can convey. Surprise, but also relief. Self-consciousness over asking something that Giorno sees as so simple. But then his thoughts catch up with his heart and he remembers.

Fugo looks down at their hands; without realizing it, his grip on Giorno's hand has gone tight enough that his knuckles are white.]

Giorno. [His shoulders curl. He doesn't want to say it, but he has to.] There aren't any windows here, or in any of these rooms. [He looked. He opened door after door, trying to find one with even the smallest of glimpses to the outside.] And I haven't been sleeping well, lately.

[He doesn't ask Giorno if he's sure. He knows that Giorno's certain in what he wants to do. But he has to say this. Sharing a room with him isn't just annoying, given his insomnia, his habit of leaving the door open behind him, and his inability to sleep in the dark. It's dangerous, considering Purple Haze.]

[digiorno]

[Fugo's grip is so tight it hurts. That's just the truth of it: it hurts. But Giorno doesn't mind. If Fugo needs in this moment to cling so hard it hurts, he won't begrudge him that.]

[He wears a soft and playful smile. At least at first.]

Purple Haze? You know he's a friend of mine, don't you?

[But it wouldn't do to tease Fugo too much about his fears, especially when they're so terribly valid. His smile morphs into something more somber, serious. He's thought about this. Of course he has.]

Fugo.

[He doesn't let go Fugo's hand. Of course he doesn't. But the hand that's been looped around Fugo's waist comes up to card softly through the hair at the nape of his neck, brush his bangs out of his face. Gestures both possessive and reassuring. You are mine, and I know you, and I will take care of you always.]

I will find us a room with windows, Fugo. If I have to construct a whole new castle, I will. But in the meantime, I am the best defense against Purple Haze. In this castle, in this world, in any world.

I know you don't want to hurt anyone. I know you. So let me help. Let me meet you this way, so you don't have to carry your fear alone.

[unholey]

[Two weeks ago, Fugo hesitated on the edge of a ruin he later learned was the Temple of Apollo and desperately tried to think of a way to kill Massimo Volpe when he could barely stand and couldn't see through the black spots in his vision. But he could feel stone underneath his hands. And so he remembered another ruin, the look of dawning horror and disgust on Illuso's face when he realized that Giorno had somehow convinced Purple Haze to give him him a capsule, hidden it in the palm of his hand, and let it shatter when Illuso's Man In the Mirror grabbed him.

On the drive back from Pompeii, when Fugo had anxiously pressed Giorno about his method of retrieving the capsule all Giorno said in explanation was this: I asked him and he gave it to me.]

[Purple Haze doesn't have friends. He can't recognize them in his fury, or tell them apart from enemies. But if anyone in the world could call the hideous monster that is Pannacotta Fugo's Stand his friend, it would be Giorno Giovanna-- who reached out with gentle hands and pried out one of the unbroken capsules from Purple Haze's too-long, spidery fingers and lived to tell the tale. Giorno knows, intimately, the pain it brings to the infected: after all, he turned himself into a vector to force Illuso back into the real world and trapped him in a corner he couldn't escape from with Purple Haze.]

[Fugo closes his eyes, just for a moment, to the light in the room. He's so tired. But so afraid to sleep, because he knows that all the awfulness he's been trying to keep an arm's length will catch up with him. And if his dreams are especially bad, he'll wake up in a cold sweat to the sound of teeth grinding and acid sizzling in the corner-- because, second only after anger, Purple Haze is drawn to and reacts swiftest to his fear.

Giorno has reached out to touch him. His fingers are light on the back of his neck and then on the border of his hairline; the touch is both comforting and entirely foreign. His skin prickles while Giorno builds off of the foundation of their promises-- half of a step and if grief anchors your feet-- and reaches out as far as he can to meet him. It's not an order. It's an offer; a request. Let me help, Giorno asks him.

Giorno knows him. Giorno trusts him.]

[Fugo opens his eyes, stares at Giorno's face, and swallows-- before nodding stiffly, throat closed up with a tangled emotion he's too tired to work through to speak properly. His fingers twitch around Giorno's and slowly, slowly he forces them to relax. With his other hand, he reaches up to stubbornly push at the corners of his eyes.]

Okay. [And then:] Sorry.

[For being so tired. For all the good nights of sleep he's going to ruin. For the inevitable annoyances that will come from living so closely together. For all the ugly parts of him, including but not limited to Purple Haze, that are so difficult to live with and work around.]