CHAPTER 5 - AMERICAN STAR BAR PART 5
April 3, 2007
Cadiz, California
In her eyes, the man sitting across the desk looked like the punks she knew at San Bernardino Valley Community. Trying to posture about how they had superior minds, superior skills, superior tastes. Day in and out they stood to the class and parroted factoids and anecdotes, like that was going to get you ahead in life. While she held back and studied like a madwoman at home, they did all their work in public. And yet, where were they when it came to group projects? On big papers? On finals?
This is what quiet practice got her. A Bachelor's in Hospitality, Manga Cum Laude, and a bar to call her own. They dropped out, they took it easy, and they grabbed some cushy job in LA and another decade of pill popping and late nights living barely legal lives. They would live like scofflaws, like gnats tempted by the light trying to dodge the zapper.
Now, Bernadette was face to face with the life she left. The dude went on and on about how was tasked to find her after some other dude in New York kicked the bucket and left behind a journal of secrets. A family of warriors passed down over a century, the might of power inherited by this bloodline, fate, spirits, war. It was a modern age mythos, and honestly all too much to take in.
"So, let me get this straight. I'm the great-great-great granddaughter of a woman who fell in love with a dude from England on vacation. They get married, have a kid, and he went on to have another wife and kid? And no one knew about any of this until just this year?"
"Precisely. That's why I'm here. To let you know you could be targeted because you have the blood of the Joestars in your veins. Right now, as we speak, there are people across the globe who want nothing more than to become immortal and the Joestars stand in their way. It sounds farfetched, but the one known as DIO left a scar across time that won't be healed anytime soon."
Bernadette took a second to clear her thoughts. Rico was staring her down with such an intensity that his eyes cut through the teashade glasses on his nose. She could feel his presence, one of focus, and realized this was a rare instance. Out in the deserts of Cadiz, the men and women were often delirious travelers, minds cooked by the Sun and the road. Those around her made her comfortable because she was in control. This man was puny compared to her own stature, yet held like a precipice against the waves of an ocean.
"Well, how can I help?"
"Funny you ask that. I'm only here to report back to my supervisors. So, you have two options. One, you come with me to New York-"
"Nope."
"- or two, host me for a week. I can see what kind of power you possess, how well equipped you are to defend yourself in the event of an incident, and if we, The Speedwagon Foundation, should step in."
Bernadette softly blew wind out her nostrils at this thought. It was a distinct possibility that all of this was fake, and she had wasted a good night listening to this man spout off. On the other hand, he had known about the ghost she possessed...
"One last question. How do you know about my... powers?"
Rico sat up in his chair, the back creaking as he shuffled for comfort. "Because, like you, I too possess a Stand."
Holding his arms out like he was defending against an assailant, he commanded his Stand to materialize.
"JAZZ FUNERAL."
A length of paper shot out from the ether and coiled around his right arm. Bernadette jumped back in fear but when the paper halted at the fingertips, she halted frozen. This single strand of paper was much like her backpack and gloves, a non-living object that exuded great power and made Rico more commanding than before, chest tensed, arms rigid. Despite his pose, the paper moved and dance like an eel around his arm, curling and waving.
"This is what I used in that fight you had with Wallace. It is named Jazz Funeral, and it holds the ability to convert all I hear into weaponized energy. I manifested my Stand many years ago in a fit of realization and awakening. Because of this Stand, I have won many fights. Yet, I have become a target because of this power. Do you wish to see its true potential?"
Bernadette closed shop and exited her bar at 2:30 in the morning. Rico followed behind her, his Stand out of sight. She could feel the cold sweat that the California nights were infamous for, and she scanned the ground for the dangerous wildlife of the area. It was on this night she could feel her life suddenly losing focus, like the refracting glass of a old and weathered space telescope. She halted at a length away from the American Star, and about faced Rico.
Rico stood and gazed at the full moon, unpolluted by the light of a city. Breathing in and out purpose, he took a fighting stance and commanded, once again, his Stand to manifest. The paper shot out, now bathed in a iridescent glow of yellows and oranges that lit up Rico's face. He held out his arm and two fingers upwards into the night. Without warning, a bolt of lightning appeared from his fingertips and cracked out in an arc. The lightning ejected away the Stand User and danced away into the night. Bernadette was stunned by this impossible display of power and let out a quiet whistle.
"Well, you got me. That was something else."
"Hold that thought."
As he said this, a sudden thunderclap ricocheted through the desert. Bernadette turned to see a mass of light the size of a basketball, hovering like a firework suspended in time. It began to grow smaller and smaller, fading away into the stars. Just as quickly as the light had appeared, it detonated in a flash, dispersed among the valley. Rico trudged over to the stunned Bernadette. She could notice his Stand was no longer glowing. The only light for miles was the neon of the bar.
"That is the power of my Stand. Now, I would never summon all of my accrued energy at once, but for this demonstration, it was necessary. Normally, I can control my energy into short bursts, like our fight against Wallace earlier. It may take some time for me to summon the energy again to fight, but I am confident that should the need rise, your Stand will protect those around you."
"That's something I wanted to ask you. You said your... Stand had a name."
"Correct. My Stand is called Jazz Funeral. A fitting name."
"Just so you know, I never named mine."
"Really? That's... different. Normally, the Stand Users I meet in my travels are than willing to provide a name."
"Truth be told, I just thought they were superpowers. DC, Marvel, and all that."
Rico clasped his hands in thought. "This is a momentous occasion. I... I need to ask you something. May I be the one to name your Stand?"
Bernadette was perplexed by the idea. "Why would you name it? It's my power."
"Yes, yes, yes, and you will technically be naming it, but I can help you draw out from your heart a name of great significance. You see, of the many people who have come into contact with the Joestar family, I took interest in a fortune teller named Muhammad Avdol. It was he who created the name Star Platinum, a mythic spirit belonging to Jotaro Kujo, one of the many Joestars. The Speedwagon Foundation took great care to chronicle his life following his tragic death at the hands of a foe. To follow in his footsteps would be an honor not often afforded."
Bernadette thought about this with a stern reluctance. There was a feeling in the beck of her mind that this was an opportunity, but she didn't know how to respond. This decision could affect how she saw her Stand. At some point, he bent down on his knees in the dirt and was near begging.
"Alright, alright. Don't kid yourself. I may be your pet project, but just know I'm no one special." She grabbed his arm and hoisted him with such force his glasses flew up his face. "So, what's the plan?"
Rico rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Well, I have to do something to Jazz Funeral first."
Returning to a focused stance, Rico reach out his arm to Jazz Funeral.
"PUTTIN' ON THE HITS"
The piece of paper began to morph and twist into a new form. With a puff of smoke, Jazz Funeral tumbled to the ground. It had suddenly become a standard record player, with an intricate wood trim around the body of the device. A vinyl disc ejected from the front which Rico grabbed in a calm haste. He eyed the disc and then Bernadette. She was now as confused as the moment Rico began his spiel in her office.
"Jazz Funeral has a unique ability I named Puttin' on the Hits. This disc, this record, possesses the song that lies on your heart at this very moment. This is what will determine your Stand's name."
Rico cradled the disc gingerly on the turntable and lifted the needle. The record began to turn. In the three seconds she had before the song began, Bernadette felt the cold night creep into her.
A clicking and mechanical guitar emanated from the record. Suddenly, a chorus of haunting voices joined in the song. A piano struck a death toll in the background. A groaning and raspy voice welled from the pits of Gehenna itself to deliver a passionate cry. The lyrics stung Bernadette, her life unfolding, her exodus from violence laid out before her. Suddenly the song went quiet, and a single voice began to develop a cappella. It cried, it screamed, it tore through the night like a missile. She shook from fear.
And from the corner of her eye, Bernadette felt a single warm tear forced out. She could hear her mother crying. She could hear herself crying. All those years ago, racing to meet her, trampling her before turning away like an illusion, her past a filmstrip drowned in acid. A poison had left her that night, and from this roared calm.
