[The surroundings have Giorno off-kilter. He doesn't know how to cope with . . . all of this, things that he'd ordinarily find very pleasant when he's feeling so awful. So Mettaton's party is even more of a touchstone than it would've been already. And when he arrives, he feels so comforted by the familiar absurdity of this ostentatious pampering that he breaks away from Fugo to give the host one rare Actual Hug.]
[The rest of the night is a whirlwind. He throws himself into the films, sinking in the delicious escapism of the first trio. West Side Story grips him in a baffled homesick sort of way, but it's Les Mis that leaves him openly and silently weeping. It's clear he's familiar with the storyline, although not this version; by the end of it, he's visibly drained.]
[The second trio is just as enjoyable, once he's calmed down and surreptitiously cleaned himself up. He's reached the middle-of-the-night snacking hour, and also peak mischievousness, as he is among the first to pick up a glitter pen and begin to decorate the unsuspecting sleepers with Glamor. Somewhere in here, he also passes the host a handkerchief.]
[And then there are the wee hours--and murder, and so on. Which is just as fascinating as love and revolution and happy endings to Giorno, albeit much more familiar. He's quick to lean close and whisper fiercely about the realism or lack thereof of this prison or that asylum, and by the time the playbill rolls around to the last two films he's mostly just giggly to the point of needing to lean against someone most of the time. Sleep is for the weak. Although anyone who wakes up Fugo will receive a horse head sometime, probably.]
ota hmu
[The rest of the night is a whirlwind. He throws himself into the films, sinking in the delicious escapism of the first trio. West Side Story grips him in a baffled homesick sort of way, but it's Les Mis that leaves him openly and silently weeping. It's clear he's familiar with the storyline, although not this version; by the end of it, he's visibly drained.]
[The second trio is just as enjoyable, once he's calmed down and surreptitiously cleaned himself up. He's reached the middle-of-the-night snacking hour, and also peak mischievousness, as he is among the first to pick up a glitter pen and begin to decorate the unsuspecting sleepers with Glamor. Somewhere in here, he also passes the host a handkerchief.]
[And then there are the wee hours--and murder, and so on. Which is just as fascinating as love and revolution and happy endings to Giorno, albeit much more familiar. He's quick to lean close and whisper fiercely about the realism or lack thereof of this prison or that asylum, and by the time the playbill rolls around to the last two films he's mostly just giggly to the point of needing to lean against someone most of the time. Sleep is for the weak. Although anyone who wakes up Fugo will receive a horse head sometime, probably.]