Doppio whipped around, eyes wide as he stares into the eyes of a stand. Human shaped, with a tight mask, bright green body and eyes narrowed.
"Looks like the boss' lackeys aren't so inattentive afterall." There is mirth in the stands. It reaches back to prepare a strike.
Doppio flinches hard enough that he knocks himself off balance. As he falls he flails his arms upward.
The stand barely misses his head and instead slashes his arm, causing blood to spray outward. Doppio cries out pulling his arm close to stem the bleeding. Cannolo and Mista whip around, seeing Doppio
"What the hell? What happened?" Mista asks staring at the blood that sprayed across the wall.
"Stand. There was a stand." Doppio stutters.
Mista whips out his pistol eyeing around. "Well, where is it?"
Doppio stand shakily, clutching his arm. "I don't know, it disappeared."
Murolo narrowed his eyes as the cards scatter looking around.
The three stood back to back to back, looking around warily. Eventually the cards returned and whispered to Murolo.
"There's no one in the rooms close by…" he reports, face twisted in confusion.
"Must have been a stand," Mista snorts. "Let's go ask around."
"Um…" Doppio who had been holding the cut closed, not wanting to be vulnerable with a stand around, but he's starting to feel light headed. "My arm…"
Mista snorts and leans toward him. "It can't be that bad, let me see."
Shakily Doppio lifts his hand.
Oh… oh god he's going to throw up.
The cut went deep, deep enough that he can see individual veins and arteries, they pulse blood with his heart. He feels his eyes go wide and his heart speeds up at the sight. The blood spurts faster. The tissue around the blood vessels are a sick shade of yellow, skin or fat, maybe.
Doppio begins to giggle hysterically. He isn't sure what, but something is hilarious about seeing his insides lay bare. He feels giddy and relieved, like he'd just completed a mission and the boss praises him.
Sure it hurts, but there's a pleasure about the pain, something indescribable, something soothing. He moves his finger to poke the exposed tissue a huge grin on his face. What will it feel like? It's clearly squishy, but will it be soft? Will he be able to feel the holes that were cut open by the stand?
Before he can touch it, fabric and a firm hand claps down on the wound. Doppio inhales sharply.
"We don't need it getting infected. We need to get you to Giorno." Murolo mutters, clearly frustrated.
The odd flutter in his chest drops like a stone. Take the pain away? They can't. He just god it and it feels so good! So… addicting… like he can't get enough.
"T-that's fine. I'll be fine, really."
He glanced up to see Murolo has taken the jacket off his own back to staunch the bleeding. He's wearing suspenders, and they suit him somehow.
"Don't be ridiculous, boy, you at the least need stitches, trust me, I'm an old hand at injuries. Keep pressure here, ok?" Murolo waits for him to comply, before determinedly marching toward the closest exit.
"Oh gee! Look at all that blood he's going to bleed out at this rate! That's… another one huh, Mista?"
Doppio starts and looks at Mista only to have his gaze drawn downward. 6 bright yellow figures, each with numbers on their head are floating around the boy.
"W-what?"
"Oh shut it, I don't count this asshole as one of my friends, and anyway, he ain't gonna bleed out! Giorno will save his sorry ass."
"How can you have more than one stand?" Doppio gapes.
"I'll explain when your life isn't at risk." Mista snorts and reaches out to shove him. Without thinking Doppio flinches hard, colliding with the wall. He feels his heart jump in his throat, and he shoves the side of his face into the wall. Since he's tensing every part of him, without thinking he squeezes his injured arm.
At the same time, flood of relief and pain courses through him. He feels someone grab his arm and pull until he stumbles after them, but honestly, he doesn't care, as long as he keeps get to squeeze his arm, he doesn't care what happens to him.
Giorno makes short work of the injury, if Doppio had more spine he'd ask him to heal it part of the way, but leave a little of the injury left, if only to ease himself.
But he doesn't though, so he remains silent. He watches mournfully as Golden Experience Requiem makes the cut disappear without even a scar in its place.
Murolo is looking around nervously, and Mista is scowling as together they make their report. Doppio stares out a window and wishes he could lose time like he used to.
"Psst, Mista."
He grumbles and moves his arm over his ear.
"Mista!" A sharp poke in his side.
He *knows* he who it is, and what they want. He knows he should get up, and take care of their needs.
Instead he doesn't open his eyes and swipes at his side.
For a moment he thinks he's going to go back to sleep when he feels a nip at his bare side.
He yelps shoots straight up holding the culprit in his hands.
"What did I tell you about biting me?" He growls.
Number 7 grins. "Not to do it."
"And yet…" Mista grits out.
"But Mista! We're hungry! You had an early dinner and now we're famished." Number 3 puts its eyes wide in the attempt to beg.
"That sounds like a personal problem." Mista says, eyes narrowed.
5 wails. "I'm so hungry Mista! Why are you so mean! My stomach hurts so bad! Giorno would never be this mean!"
He growls and gets up and goes to the fridge. Nothing. He feels around the table and counters, trying to both find food and avoid turning on the light.
One of the pistols flips on the light.
He hisses and covers his eyes. "That's exactly what I was trying not to do!" He shouts.
"But we're hungry!" Whines 2.
Mista sighs and rubs his eyes, before glancing around. Ah shit.
"There's no food!" Cries 6.
"I noticed." Mista groans, as he begins to dress. He throws on a low hanging tank top and some sweatpants, relieved with the change of clothes, he pulls beanie on his head grabs some cash and shoes, before makes his way out of the hotel. He was sure there was a cornerstone around here somewhere and they're usually open 24 hours.
"So what do you think of the new guy, Mista?" One of the pistols asks.
"Completely useless. He's going to get me or him killed one of these days."
"Aww don't be so hard, he seems nice." Says another one.
"Yeh well he also got my friends killed, so…" He leaves the statement hanging in the air. So he's as good as dead to me.
"You're always so judgemental Mista, you should try to be more understanding."
Mista grunts.
"Don't say that! Doppio was helping the boss! Don't you care about Buccelletti or Abbacchio or Narancia?"
Mista sighs at the wailing noise that ensues. "Leave 5 alone."
"You're no fun." Says one of them.
Mista groans. It's too early for this it's around midnight and he's tired. He goes and gestures for the Pistols to each choose an item, hopefully these will last longer, then the last bunch. He yawns and stretches, letting them browse, when he hears something metal hit the floor.
"Goddamnit." He glances at the cashier, gives an apologetic smile, before looking for the noise. Of course the Sex pistols can't…
Something both humanoid, yet very not human spots him and dashes to the left.
Ah shit. It matches the description of the stand Doppio saw. Mista dodges behind an aisle.
"Sex pistols, to me!" While they come to him he peaks around the aisle. Perfect. He moves and takes aim, using number 1 to shoot the bottom can in a pyramid of cans, the stand smiles, not seeming to realize Mista wasn't aiming for it, before the tower topples. The Stand hisses and scrambles while Mista gives chase.
The Stand moves to open the employee room door. Perfect a dead end. He lines up a shot.
But then the door opens and a crazy degree of wind is let out of the door. What the fuck? The wind seems to be pulling him towards the door, like a vacuum. He flails and barely manages to catch the door frame. Think Mista! He glances around wildly for a way to climb out of the door way, as his body is being held horizontal in the air by the force of the wind. He glances behind him. It's like a tornado you see in movies! It's grey and whipping around everything!
He grits his teeth. Searching wildly, but everything is either bolted to the floor out out of reach or had already flown out the door. Wait. The light! There's wires in the lights! All he needs to do is shoot them out and he's got a way out. Let's hope they hold my weight. He holds and aims number 2 at the light and fires.
The forces of the wind is so much that for a moment the bullet freezes in mid-air, thankfully the sex pistols aren't beholden to physics so he rides the bullet into the light. It shatters and the whole fixture is loosed giving him lots of room to crawl out. He vehemently slams the door shuts and when it closes he drops to the floor, panting.
When he glanced up the stand is there and he fires his remaining four shots into it. The stand dissipates and Mista groans in relief, letting his head hit the floor. Oh dear god, that was close. He stands stiffly. Practically all the food from the shelves went out the door. He awkwardly walks to the cash register scratching the back of his head, not sure what to say, when he sees the stand standing behind the man. Mista aims at it and pulls the trigger, only to realize he's out of ammo and didn't bring extra. As he's glancing around, hoping against hope there's a convenient shelf full of rounds, he hears something has started beeping, he focuses on the stand. Who is holding a lighter to the fire alarm. Mista feels thee first drop of sprinklers before he sprints, he does not want to get wet. He throws the entrance open and darts out into the night.
Or… he should. He glances around, it's too dark, no starry sky, no lights, and it's pleasantly warm, no chilly bite.
A light turns on and only for him to train his pistol at the culprit. Only to meet eyes with a bleary eyed Giorno.
"Mista? What's wrong? How did you get in?"
Mista eases the gun away from his boss. What? What happened? They could have killed him, put him right back in that hurricane but they didn't. Instead… instead this wasn't an attack, this was a warning.
"Stay here." Mista says, and bolts out the door until he gets to Doppio's door, he slams on it.
Fuck