"Hey Bucciarati, whaddaya think about death?"
Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best question to be asking when they were literally in the middle of a life or death situation and would be for who-knows-how-long, but still, it was on Mista's mind. There were just too many things that were too weird for him to not not think about it. More than normal, anyways.
First off, there was Giorno. Much as Mista was quickly coming to adore the pretty blond boy, it was just weird how he joined them, no matter how Mista thought about it. First he was Bucciarati's target and next he was working with them? The whole thing screamed sus.
Technically, Mista wasn't supposed to know that Giorno was the one who killed Luca, but the guy had told him himself while they were driving to Venezia, just the two of them. Guess it had been weighing on Giorno's mind, seeing as the blond described it as the first death he'd been responsible for. Mista had told him that it didn't matter; Luca was a dick anyway, and honestly, good fucking riddance, but while Giorno had smiled at that, he didn't seem like he felt any better about it.
For all the others knew, Giorno had been in the process of joining the gang for longer than a single day, and they didn't know how he'd met Bucciarati. How his dream had convinced the capo that his way was the right one- whatever the hell that meant.
Honestly? Mista was super fucking irritated that neither of them would tell him a single damn thing. Weren't they all on the same team? But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Giorno had his own agenda- one that Bucciarati agreed with. Still, wouldn't having more allies be a good thing? Just because he didn't really know what it was they were trying to accomplish didn't mean he wouldn't agree with it. Mista'd known him less than a week, but he was pretty sure he'd follow Giorno to the ends of the damn earth.
Still, it wasn't just that; there was something else that the both of 'em were hiding. Mista knew Bucciarati wasn't exactly the most open guy out there, and he didn't blame him for that. They'd all had sort of shit childhoods, but from what he'd heard, Bucciarati's was exceptionally bad. It didn't really make you wanna tell everyone everything.
But Mista also knew that secrets weren't always a good thing. He'd watched them tear families apart in the small suburb he was born in, watched as they would isolate and destroy someone from the inside out. Mista always tried to walk a balance when it came to being open and closing himself off.
And Mista couldn't help but feel like this secret was one'a those things that would come back to bite them in the ass.
There was too much going on now for him to avoid thinking about all this shit, even though thinking wasn't really his strong point. He much preferred just carrying out Bucciarati's orders and coasting through life. Plain and simple, that's how he liked to live. But simple seemed like a far-off dream and plain had gone out the window at the same time that gorgeous blond waltzed into his life.
And if there was one thing Mista had learned from all the movies he'd watched at the theater he grew up next to, it was that when things started happening, people started dying.
Which brought him back to his question.
"That's quite the open ended question," was the capo's blunt response, which yeah, Mista kinda supposed it was.
"Yeah but like," Mista couldn't really find a better way to phrase it so he just gestured wildly as he repeated, "whaddaya think about it?"
"…Are you asking if I believe in an afterlife?"
"Uh, not really? But let's start there." Bucciarati gave him a thoroughly confused look but Mista thought it was as fine a place to begin as any. He didn't really know what answer he was looking for, so maybe going through a buncha questions would help.
"I suppose if I had to say yes or no, I would say yes," the capo mused. "I believe Heaven is a place only achieved by the worthy, those who are kind and true. I also believe that all of us have signed away our right to step foot there, sealing Hell as our destiny."
"I don't really think anyone who joins the mafia expects to go to Heaven."
"And I think you're incorrect." Bucciarati's tone was ice cold, and Mista could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking of someone. He didn't know who though and it didn't really matter to him either.
"Hmm. Well then they're a dumbass," Mista replied coolly, settling back into the car seat as he tried to figure out what to ask next. "Okay so, say you got a guy who's dead, right? And he did some bad things but he did 'em for the right reasons. Where would he go?"
"What kind of things do you mean?"
"Uh… like he killed someone? But the guy he killed was a murderer too, a real bad dude, and the world is a better place 'cuz that asshole was dead."
Bucciarati was quiet for a few seconds before murmuring softly, "I don't believe God forgives murder, no matter the circumstances. A life was still stolen."
"Yeah but he helped people by killing that guy!" Mista protested, even though he thought Bucciarati did sort of have a point.
"Two wrongs do not make a right, Mista. I'm sure the man who was killed also had a family, people who would mourn for him."
"Guys like that don't deserve anything like grief."
"While I personally agree, God is different." Bucciarati's voice softened as he added, "He does not judge someone based on details, only one's actions."
"So you think the person would go to Hell then?"
"I suppose so. Although," Bucciarati mused, "I would like to think that the person would receive a chance to repent first. If his mind was in the right place at the time, I think it would become more of an issue of morality."
Mista had no clue what the hell that meant, but he nodded anyways. "So maybe not then? You think it would depend?"
"Yes, it would depend." Bucciarati shot him a look as he asked, "Does that answer your question, Mista?"
"I got one more for you, and I saw this one in one'a Fugo's old textbooks!" Mista winced internally at the reminder of the blond boy, but shook it off as he said, "If death is inevitable, what's the point?"
"The point in doing things?"
"Yeah, that." It was sort of a longshot, but maybe this last one would get Bucciarati to reveal something. That, or it would make the capo think Mista was smarter than he actually was. It was a win-win, really.
"If there is nothing waiting for us but death, we may as well live our lives to the fullest. I'm sure you think so as well, Mista, or you wouldn't have helped that girl."
"Yeah but we ain't talking about me," Mista drawled. "We're talking about you."
"Mista, I have a question for you. Is it better to live with uncertainty or die with determination?"
"Uh…" Mista hadn't really been expecting Bucciarati to ask a question back, but it wasn't that surprising if he thought about it. His answer wasn't surprising either. "Death."
"Then you know what my answer is." Mista waited for Bucciarati to continue, to elaborate just enough that he actually could know the answer because he really had no clue, but the prolonged silence made it clear the older man was done with answering him.
Somehow, he thought Giorno would probably know.
Unsatisfied, Mista couldn't help but blurt out, "Why keep fighting?"
Bucciarati's blue eyes felt like they were boring holes into him as he stared straight at his subordinate before finally murmuring softly, "Because giving up is the same as accepting death."
Mista didn't have a response to that. It was supposed to be the kinda moment where he'd normally crack some sort of stupid joke and lighten the mood and everyone would laugh at him but he wouldn't care because it meant that they weren't thinking about such dark shit anymore. But he couldn't do that, not when he felt like he'd just learned far more than he wanted to- even though he still didn't really know anything.
Bucciarati's voice cut through the silence that had come to settle between them. "You're being quite the philosopher today, Mista."
"Heh, call me Play-doh," Mista chuckled nervously.
"Do you mean Plato?"
"Yeah, that guy. Who names their kid after clay of all things?"
It was kind of reaching as far as jokes went but Bucciarati chuckled and that was good enough for him. The quiet felt a little more bearable, which was good because he was pretty sure they still had at least two hours to go before reaching Rusellae.
"Mista," Bucciarati's voice sounded reserved but Mista could hear the concern in capo's words as he asked, "You aren't planning on dying, are you?"
"Course not," Mista answered instantly. "Who'd be there to fuck with you guys if I died?"
"I thought you only wanted to fuck one of us."
It took a second for Mista to realize that Bucciarati had just made a dirty joke - about him and Giorno, of all things! - and his face heated up as he groaned. Feeling the same type of shame as if his mom caught him reading porn under the covers of his bed, he whined, "Bucciarati, stoooop, not you too!"
The capo just laughed in response, and Mista felt like it had been a lifetime since he'd heard that, though it probably just been a few days. He wondered how many more times he'd get to hear it in the future.
"...You aren't planning on dying either, right Bucciarati?"
Bucciarati just hummed softly in response.
