"We need to make a supply run."
At least Bucciarati had had the good foresight to wait until everyone was full and ready to relax before telling them they still had things they needed to do.
A chorus of groans rose from the trio of boys. After Mista had ran back upstairs to pull his sweater on, they'd proceeded to seat themselves around the kitchen table, eagerly discussing whatever they were planning to do later. And they were most certainly planning something, but no one would tell Giorno what, not even Mista. Which was especially odd.
Trish had retreated to the small sofa in the living area, curled up in the corner with a book that she'd brought down from her room but she closed it to listen to Bucciarati. Abbacchio was standing at his capo's side, glaring at everyone as if daring them to actually say no. Any excuse to take his anger out on them, Giorno supposed. Well, him specifically.
"There's no telling how long we'll still be on the run," the capo explained calmly. "We need to buy food, bottled water, and any other necessities."
"Like deodorant," Trish added, shooting a pointed glare at Mista.
"Hey! I smell great!" the brunet snapped indignantly, whipping around to look Giorno in the eye as he added, "Like a damn field'a roses, right Giorno?!"
"Hmm… a bit more like marigolds, I'd say."
"Ha!"
Trish scoffed and went back to her book, muttering, "Dumbass," under her breath with a roll of her eye. Clearly not satisfied, Mista looked at Giorno questioningly. The younger boy smiled innocently back, watching from the corner of his eye as Fugo tried to contain his laughter.
"Back to the matter at hand," Bucciarati said, clearing his throat and hiding his smirk behind his hand. "I will be going and I wanted to know if any of you would desire to go?"
Giorno thought about it for a few seconds. He wouldn't be doing much if he stayed here anyway, he thought, just maybe some laundry and then while it dried in the dun, prepare an afternoon snack? Read one of the many books in the library from last night? Possibly even nap in the sun if it seemed safe enough. How nice.
Still, Bucciarati probably needed a few more hands than his own and it certainly wasn't safe to leave the man alone, although he knew his capo would choose someone if it came down to that, but he had no qualms with going.
"Ah, if you want, I-"
"Y-You two should go!" Narancia exclaimed hurriedly, interrupting Giorno the same time as a hand slapped over his mouth.
The blond looked up to see Mista standing above him, shaking his head frantically and motioning for him to stay quiet as he drew his hand back. Giorno frowned in confusion. Why did he not want him to go?
Meanwhile, Narancia was still rambling on.
"-and you two can like, uh, go do something grody or whatever and, uh, we can all, um-"
"What he's trying to say is that we don't mind if you two go together," Fugo explained with a sigh and the shake of the head.
Giorno was continually impressed with the boy's translational skills.
Bucciarati and Abbacchio exchanged a look, some sort of unspoken agreement passing between them before the capo looked back and said, "While I'm alright with that, are you sure none of you wish to come?"
Giorno caught a glimpse of the look Abbacchio was giving him in particular and wondered if that was why Mista stopped him from speaking up. How nice to have someone fear for your safety.
"Nah, go enjoy your date or whatever," Narancia said flippantly, already turning back to whatever it was they'd all been looking at on the table.
Bucciarati seemed a bit shocked at that statement while Abbacchio's face gave nothing away at all, but that pretty much confirmed it for Giorno. He'd wondered if perhaps that was why the man had been so hostile towards him, and he supposed it made sense, although he saw Bucciarati as nothing more than a figure worthy of respect and admiration. Maybe he should make that clear to Abbacchio? But pissing him off was so much fun…
"Really Bucciarati, you deserve it," Fugo added kindly, grinning at the older man. "Go and try to have a nice time. If someone attacks you guys, we'll kill 'em, yeah?"
Their capo looked at them for a few seconds longer before he sighed. Crossing his arms over his chest in quite an imposing manner, he began to list, "No creating trouble, alright? No destroying the safehouse. No using Stands for the hell of it. No running, no breaking, no fighting, no fire, no-"
"We get it, good Lord," Mista groaned. "And you tell us not to call you mom when you say shit like that, c'mon dude."
Bucciarati just shook his head, a fond smile on his face.
"Does anyone need any-"
"Pantyhose and lip balm."
"A copy of La Spagna di rima by Sostegno di Zanobi."
"Sausage."
"Pizza!"
"-anything essential."
Glances were exchanged around the room before Narancia looked up hesitantly and asked, "…Pizza?"
"Why do I bother?" Bucciarati muttered as he shook his head. "Pizza! Fine, alright, I suppose we can treat ourselves this one time. But that's it, do you hear me?"
Narancia nodded his head so quick Giorno was mildly surprised it didn't fly off.
"Mista, will you be satisfied if there's sausage on one of the pizzas?"
"Yeah, I mean, it ain't for me, it's for Pistols," he explained. "They're missin' their favorite food and I kinda wanna give 'em something special, y'know? Since they've been working so hard."
How cute, Giorno thought. He'd make a wonderful father one day - although Giorno also thought he didn't particularly want to see that future. Not anymore.
"Fugo, I don't even know what book that is, but have you looked in the library?" Bucciarati suggested. "There's likely something to interest you there."
"Do you have any Leopardi or Gioberti? Maybe even Pellico?"
"…There's probably some Dante."
"That'll do," Fugo agreed with a sigh.
Hmm. Giorno hadn't thought anyone else would have known of Pellico. He'd have to talk to Fugo about it some time; the idea of debating the themes of Ester d'Engaddi excited him. No one else seemed to know of it, although he supposed Silvio Pellico had lived in obscurity and persecution most of his life.
"I'm not sure if they'll have pantyhose at the small stores in town, but we'll look," Bucciarati said to trish. "I'm sure they at least have some lip balm for you."
"Labello, pink grapefruit or passion fruit," she added flippantly with a wave of her hand. "I won't accept anything else."
Abbacchio looked like he was gonna blow a gasket but Bucciarti quickly just nodded. "Of course. I'll see what we can do."
She glanced at the man briefly before nodding, averting her gaze as she muttered a soft, "Thank you."
"Now that that's settled, we'll be preparing to leave. There is only one car, so you all will have to stay here in the safehouse. It's secluded enough that it should be alright to go outside, but if you, stay vigilant. There's no telling when or where we might be attacked from next."
They all nodded in agreement, listening patiently to Bucciarati explain things he'd already said a million times. Giorno enjoyed it; he'd never had someone worry like that over him before, even if it was in the whole group and not personally. Although he refused to ever say it aloud or even acknowledge it fully, this attention and respect Bucciarati was willing to give… it was nice. It felt nice.
"We should be back within a few hours," Bucciarati reasoned. "If it reaches nightfall and we aren't, assume the worst. If we aren't back by midnight, leave without us. Go anywhere, I don't care, but don't tell neither Leone nor I. If we don't know where you are and we're attacked, it will be harder for the enemy to track you. Remember, Trish's safety is our highest priority."
"Right! We know!" Narancia said, sounding far too happy about such a morbid order. "Don't worry Trish, you're safe with us! We'll die for you!"
"…That doesn't make me feel much better," she said uncomfortably. Giorno pitied her; to be on the receiving end of Narancia's strange enthusiasm was not a pleasant position to be in.
"Everything'll be fine, stop worrying." Mista slung an arm around Giorno, jerking the blond out of his thoughts. "We're all badasses here, we'll kick those dude's butts so hard they won't be able to walk straight for a month!"
"…One can only hope," Bucciarati sighed. "Fugo, you're in charge until I get back."
The blond nodded, sticking a thumbs up in agreement. Giorno noted the faintest hint of relief and pride swelling in the boy's facial expression and he was glad for him. It hadn't been pleasant to see these people who were so close argue and split apart from one another. While he didn't know Fugo that well, he seemed to have a noble character but was prone to overthinking and internal philosophical dilemmas.
"…And if you need to make any decisions," Bucciarati continued, fixing Giorno with a stare that gave the blond a bad feeling. "You should consult with Giorno first before the others."
While the capo's decision to put Fugo in charge was unsurprising, this new order drew some surprised faces. Giorno's own included. In fact, everyone looked confused except Bucciarati himself and - and Mista.
"Bucciarati, we shouldn't leave anything in that guy's hands," Abbacchio glowered at him. "He ain't trustworthy enough. And he hasn't been with us long enough either. It's just plain stupid to do that, Fugo should consult with everyone at the same time, that way-"
"Nah, it's cool, let's just leave it to those two."
This interjection came from Mista, who had tightened his hold around Giorno's shoulders ever since Abbacchio had protested. Such protectiveness was strange - although it likely wasn't that, Giorno was getting ahead of himself again. Analyzing such minute details of body language was useless when it came to understanding the underlying reasons for things and useless things were useless. He hated that.
"Of course you'd say that," Abbacchio sneered.
"Don't be a dick," Mista said with a roll of his eyes. "All I'm sayin' is that Giorno kinda got us into all this, yeah? Not that that's a bad thing!" he added quickly when he felt Giorno stiffen beside him, "But like, he knows about what's going on as much as all of us? And he's been talkin' with you a lot, Bucciarati, and we all know that you respect him a whole bunch. And it's thanks to Gold Experience that we're all still in such good shape. Hell, his quick thinking has saved all'a us by now! The kid obviously knows what he's doing."
The others seemed to consider this for a few seconds. Abbacchio looked like he was ready to argue again but Fugo stopped him.
"If that's what Bucciarati says, then that's what I'll do," he said simply. His violet eyes turned to look at Giorno as he smiled. "Plus you seem like you got a good had on your shoulders, which is sorely lacking with these buffoons. Can't speak for everyone but I trust you."
"I don't care, let's just hurry and finish, I got stuff I wanna do!" Narancia bemoaned. He paused before he turned to glare at Fugo. "And I'm not a baboon!"
"Congratulations, you managed to insult yourself even worse than I did," Fugo said, clapping his hands as a sardonic grin stretched across his face. "You played yourself."
"I- what?"
"Nothing, my little monkey, nothing at all." Fugo ruffled Narancia's hair so hard that it looked like it would've hurt. Giorno thought it was a good thing Narancia had a thick skull.
"See Bucc," Mista said, "Got it all figured out for ya!"
Giorno hadn't even had a chance to weigh in and yet the decision seemed to be made. It was a bit unsettling; where did Mista's unwavering faith in him come from? All he'd done was get the gunman hurt through his impulsive decisions or own inabilities, that wasn't deserving of this trust, this reliance.
And yet when he looked at the smile Mista was giving him, he couldn't help but trust in it as well.
"Well, now that that's settled," Bucciarati said as Narancia tried to grab Fugo's hand so he could attempt to bite it off. "Leone, you and I should be going. Be careful everyone."
The sentiment was echoed back throughout the room as the pair left, a disgruntled Abbacchio following behind Bucciarati to send Giorno one last death glare before they were gone for a while. God forbid Giorno start to think he maybe didn't hate him, just despised him a little.
As the room settled back into comfortable silence, Giorno wondered what he should do now. Trish was reading again, flipping through the pages of the book so quickly that he wondered if she just wanted to look busy. Mista, Fugo, and Narancia were back to whispering over something about the kitchen table, sneaking furtive glances at both himself and Trish every once in a while.
He had a bad feeling about whatever they were planning.
Deciding that if nothing else, he'd like to wear some clean clothes, he stood. Bucciarati had mentioned there was a small washing machine at the end of the hall in the closet across from the office but no dryer, so he'd have to hang them outside. That was alright, it was an unnaturally warm day for April, around 20° C, and sunny. It would be nice to get some fresh air.
He paused in the doorway, thinking he should offer to the others as well.
"Would anyone like to do their laundry?"
Four hands shot up.
"I'm going to do mine now, so you can use the machine after me. I'll let you know when my clothes are done so you can do the next cycle." When confused faces looked at him, he frowned. "…Or would you like me to do your laundry for you?"
Once again, four hands shot up.
Giorno sighed. So they all couldn't do laundry. Really, what was the mafia teaching kids these days?
