[If most people ask, Giorno isn't going to say where he went. If most people ask, Giorno isn't going to say anything about his motivations for going to the mall today other than, It sounds like fun! Come with me, won't you?]

[As it turns out, this is a pretty persuasive argument for at least a couple of people. It's a totally genuine sentiment, as well: Giorno isn't feigning how much he wants to go out and just have fun, doing enjoyable things with His People and making them have a nice time whether they want to or not. For much of the afternoon, he can be found linked arm-in-arm with someone or other--anyone he's even vaguely familiar with, really, could get roped into this, even you--a pair of designer-for-the-90s sunglasses pushed up on top of his head, looking for all the world like nothing bad is happening or has ever happened.]

[But when the shit hits the fan, it's notable that he doesn't look too surprised. Annoyed, maybe, because he was hopeful that his nice time might last a little longer, but--]

Nothing gold can stay, [he murmurs wryly, looking towards the exits--sort of speaking to whoever he's closest to, sort of to himself. It's a joke, ish.] Best try to keep casualties low, but--I wonder how they'll handle this.

[There is a point at which Giorno loses his patience. He hasn't quite reached it, not quite, but he's getting close. It's been a while, and he's getting hungry; getting hungry makes him anxious, and anxiety makes him tense. His jaw's clenched tight, eyes narrowed as he spends a few minutes around the turn of midnight deciding whether to keep still, or . . .]

[Or do what he's better at doing. Action is easier by far than inaction. Besides, this is all just containment, and he's nothing if not good at that. Gold Experience Requiem, he's often thought, is the ultimate defensive Stand; in deference to his own nature, and in an effort to remain as calmly neutral towards civilians as possible, he keeps himself to restraint.]

[Well. Restraint and other things. Sure, he spends most of his time whipping vines out of nowhere and wrapping them so tightly and securely about the infected that they've got no chance of getting away--but there comes a time when his patience just snaps at the sound of the infected pushing at the barricades, and he moves forward, chin tipped up purposefully.]

I'll need you to get out of the way, darling.

[Is he about to do something incredibly weird but also helpful? For sure. Is he effectively making that clear? Nope. He's literally not even trying.]

[Giorno has a number of complaints. None of them are actually petty, although sleep would admittedly be nice. No, what he's infuriated about is the lack of external support--not for himself, or for his teammates, but for the civilians inside this mall. The city infrastructure has totally failed them, and he's pissed about it.]

[So maybe he's brusquer than he needs to be. Again, the lack of sleep doesn't help. He's never outright rude, but he does frequently drop what is (to him) the illusion of teamwork amongst people who haven't earned it from him. And then again: isn't he the decision-maker here? Of course he is. Anyone who doesn't recognize that is a fool.]

[He's willing to talk about whether or not to kill the known infected. That, he will listen to arguments on, although he might not be swayed by any. But as for those who've been attacked, he doesn't even consider it in question.]

Contain them. They aren't to leave here until we have somewhere to keep them.