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Vento Aureo SBR AU: Golden Blood
Chapter 4: American Idiot(s)
Somewhere in the middle of Manhattan sits a Religious Organization created to break away from the one in Rome. Established in 1850, The Covenant of Eboracum Novum (New York) has been fighting a Semipolitical War with the Vatican in Rome since the end of the Steel Ball Run race, in which one of the Vatican's representatives failed to collect the Saint's Corpse Parts. Their location for each meeting is not only secret, but frequently changed. Today, there is a meeting occurring, where a messenger from the Vatican personally visited the Covenant, to speak with the High Priest.
"I do not care if Pope Pius calls us heretics. You are going to travel back to the Vatican to tell him personally, that the Catholic Church has no jurisdiction in Eboracum Novum, and tell him, if he sends the Swiss Guard after us, not only will we kill them, but Roma will burn just like it did in 1901." The High Priest spoke with venom dripping from his tongue. Covered in a thick red cloak, the upper part of his head and his eyes were covered; only his mouth was visible.
The young messenger looked undeterred, if there wasn't such an audience around him, he will continue to argue with the High Priest of the Covenant. However, he felt the weight of the eyes that looked upon him; hundreds of violent eyes ready to strike him if he so much as raises his voice at the High Priest, so he relented.
"This meeting… is dismissed. Leave."
The people surrounding the High Priest and the Messenger rose from their wooden chairs, moving to exit the premises, the Messenger only glared at the High Priest before turning to leave himself. That is, until a man in a similar but this time black cloak entered the room, holding a yellow folder.
"My Lord. I apologize for the intrusion, but I have something that may interest you…" The Cloaked Man spoke.
The High Priest held out his hand, causing everyone to stop walking and turn to him. The Messenger looked around, and after seeing everyone suddenly stop and turn, he did the same, looking at The High Priest as he is handed the folder. The High Priest looked at the contents held within the folder, beginning the chuckle as he read it, reaching a crescendo of laughter, sending a chill down the Messenger's spine. Something about it, makes The High Priest seem less than gracious as heads of Churches should be. Although to be completely fair, he admitted that the Catholic Church itself had Popes who were… less than desirable. Alexander VI, Stephen VI, Boniface VIII, Leo X just to name a few. The Messenger looked around and noticed the faces of the crowd was that of confusion and fear, as if they had never seen their High Priest laugh this hard before or… laugh at all.
The High Priest's laugh suddenly ended as if he flipped a switch inside of himself, putting the folder on his lap and extending his hands to his side. "Reconvene."
The words had an authority to them that the Messenger cannot comprehend, as everyone began to sit down once again. He turned to the High Priest, realizing that he was staring at him under the red hood. "Yes boy, you too…" Slowly the Messenger walked back to his original position, right in front of The High Priest.
"What is it that the Catholic Church do to Heretics?" The High Priest asked him.
"We excommunicate them, like we did to your pathetic excuse for a chu-" The Messenger was cut off by the sound of rifles being loaded, multiple M1903 Springfield rifles, now all pointed at him. The High Priest raised his hand, the Messenger heard more clicking of rifles, they were now docile via the High Priest's command.
"Do you recognize a former Nun by the name of… Hot Pants?" The Messenger gasped as the name was spoken. Hot Pants, the Covenant-Catholic representative that was sent to retrieve the Saint's Corpse during the Steel Ball Run. However, she failed her mission, and never returned. It was assumed that she had died, causing the final division between the Catholics and the Covenant. "Well… What if I told you that she survived the Steel Ball Run?"
The silence in the room was already deafening, but as the High Priest spoke, the silence increased tenfold, not only would you be able to hear a pin drop, but also the twitching of a muscle, the movement of an ant.
"Hot Pants Joestar has been living here in Manhattan for over 16 years… And she committed a sin comparable to the 7. She bore a child, not with an ordinary man, but with a man who claimed himself to be God. Diego Brando… The name of the spawn is 'Giorno…'" The High Priest stayed quiet for a second before closing the folder with a snap. "When the time is right, we will execute the Heretic and her Spawn. Having a child with a False God is comparable to the birth of the Anti-Christ. You will deliver our intentions back to the Vatican, and warn them, if they meddle with our plans, we will massacre everyone in the Church. Understood?"
The Messenger gulped hard before nodding his head slightly.
"Good. It is a fortunate thing that Brando died during the Steel Ball Run, he will not have to see his entire family burn. I am sure they will see him in Hell. This meeting is dismissed. Leave."
"Jesus Christ, Fugo. What the hell is this?" A dark-skinned boy with an orange bandana and blue overalls over a black shirt asked, pointing at a Grade School Equation on a piece of paper written in pencil.
A teenage boy with pale skin and dirty blonde hair cupped his face with both of his hands in frustration. He inhaled sharply before clasping his hands together, pointing at the Dark-Skinned Boy with a tired look on his face.
"Narancia… That's a division sign." Fugo responded.
"Che diavolo? What the hell is this, first 'multiplication' and now we are doing 'division?' Who the hell invented math? Tell me so I can beat their ass!" Narancia yelled in annoyance with Fugo.
"Division is literally just the opposite of multiplication. We find the two numbers that make the bigger number." Fugo tried to explain, tapping his fingers on the table hard.
"Ugh. This shit is too hard. Why couldn't Mista teach me math?"
"That's a terrible idea!" Another boy, equally dark as Narancia responded after taking a sip from a cup of tea, ignoring the waiter who brought in four slices of chocolate cake. "I am stupid if I do say so myself. I am a goddamn imbicile. This isn't even a joke- I am a dense son of a bitch…"
Guido Mista was wearing a red train conductor's hat with goggles wrapped around it, above the brim. The sides of the cap flow down in a white boarder diamond pattern. He also wore a light blue long sleeved shirt with a darker blue vest.
"ABBA…" Narancia whined to the Gangster who sat across from him.
"Don't even think about it Orange Boy… You wanted to get tutored by Fugo first, and you're getting tutored by him now…" ABBA said, shaking their head.
ABBA turned to the chocolate cakes that were on the cart. Each slice was individually served on a silver dish. Turning they tried to grab one, but as they lifted the dish to serve themself, another tanner hand grabbed to the same dish. ABBA looked up, confused, only to find Mista holding onto the plate with a determined look in his eyes.
"The Hell do you think you are doing, ABBA?" He spoke in a dangerously low tone, a far cry from his cheerful, upbeat tone when conducting his own self-deprecating humor.
"Getting a slice- What the hell is with you, Mista?" ABBA responded, furrowing their eyebrows in confusion and frustration.
"I'm taking the first slice. Look, there is 4 slices of cake, I will always take the first thing that is arranged in a group of four." Mista responded, putting up 4 of his fingers.
ABBA scoffed, before letting the plate go, opening their hands and floating them by their head. "Fine! Fine, I'll get another one then... you damn weird shit…"
"C'mon Narancia, this is literally the easiest question I can give to your dumbass. Now, what is… 2 divided by 2." Fugo clenched his jaw, Mista and ABBA realized that there was a vein jutting out of his forehead. "You can figure this out…"
"What are you going to do if I don't? Call 'Sheila E' on me because you need your imaginary girlfriend to fight your battles for you? 'Oh! It's okay, Fugo, my beloved prince. I will handle this situation for you. Kiss, kiss, kiss.'" Narancia made a mocking female voice to further agitate Fugo, letting out a hearty laugh.
Welp, here we go… Mista and ABBA thought in unison as they witness Fugo's rage reach critical mass.
"Bastardo…" Fugo spoke in a hush tone at first, physically shaking with rage. "BASTARDO!" He finally exploded in fury.
Narancia's laugh quickly dissipated as he watched Fugo lunge at him. "Wait, Fugo- WOAH!"
Fugo pounced on Narancia, screaming obscenities in Italian and English, wrapping his hands and firmly grasping the smaller boy's neck, only to receive a hard punch to the cheek, causing a shift of balance that Narancia immediately capitalized on, rolling his body on top of Fugo's, both exchanging punches as they rolled on the floor.
"Should we stop 'em?" Mista asked ABBA, as both began to disassociate…
"Nah." ABBA responded bluntly.
Suddenly the door to the room that they were all sitting in slammed wide open with a loud bang as if someone dropped kicked the door.
"SHUT THE HELL UP, I CAN HEAR YOUR ASSES FROM ALL THE WAY OUTSIDE!" Bucciarati angerly yelled into the room, causing everyone but ABBA to jump in fright.
Fugo and Narancia immediately got off of each other and sat down by the table, pretending that nothing happened, even though Fugo was scratched on the cheek and Narancia's nose was bleeding from getting socked. Bucciarati's face warped into an unreadable expression before pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something. Maybe a prayer to God… to please give him the strength to exist for 5 minutes.
Fugo and Narancia quietly made up for the previous ordeal of beating the living crap out of each other as they were now pouring tea into each other's cups like gentlemen.
"Sigh… Okay boys. I brought someone who I would like you to meet. He is exactly like all of you. Another kid I turned away from the Organization because he was far too young, far too in over his head for his own good. And just like you he is willing to kill to see drugs get off the streets of Manhattan once and for all. Now, without a further ado…" He gestures at someone who was standing by the door. "Giorno, you can come in now…"
On cue, a skinny boy wearing a dark blue sailor's outfit with a ladybug brooch on one side of his chest and a horseshoe on the other walked in. His most defining feature was his long, flowing strawberry pink hair with three victory rolls on top. He nodded at Bucciarati and ABBA before turning his crystal blue eyes towards the group of three.
"Hello!" He spoke in a cheery tone, flashing a great big smile. "My name is Giorno Joestar-"
Before Giorno could even finish his name, Fugo ejected the hot tea that he was drinking, shooting out like a geyser through his nostrils. He groaned loudly in pain, the feeling of hot liquid going through your nose after you have been punched there wasn't a great feeling to have. Everyone looked at him, confused, all quirking eyebrows. Fugo, after taking a few deep breaths to recompose himself, shot a horrific murderous glare at the pink haired boy before standing up and walking out the door.
Giorno looked back at Bucciarati, just as confused as the gangster was. The bowl cut man only shrugged before ABBA sighed.
"I'll go and talk to him." They said, about to stand before Bucciarati put his hand up, stopping them.
"No, no. I'll talk to him. Giorno, introduce yourself to the other two." Was all Bucciarati said before walking out the entrance.
Giorno turned around, clearing his throat. "Anyways. I'm Giorno Joestar. What are your names?"
"Narancia Ghirga! I am from Sicilia, but I came here to America with my parents when the war started."
"Guido Mister! Yes, Mister. But you can call me Mista because Bucciarati seems to trust you enough to let you join us. I was born here in Manhattan and my dad participated in the Steel Ball Run race! Isn't that cool?"
"Oh! The Steel Ball Run? Hey! My Mom partook in that!" Giorno leaned in before stepping back a bit, looking up at the roof in contemplation before counting on his fingers. "Actually, now that I think about it, so did my father… And my Uncle Johnny! Oh, and my Uncle Steven sponsored the thing."
Mista's jaw was unhinged from his skull, eyes popping out of their sockets. "Holy shit… YOU HAVE FOUR FAMILY MEMBERS WHO WERE IN THE STEEL BALL RUN? YOU'RE SO COOL!" Mista yelled out in pure, unadulterated astonishment.
"Hehe… Uh… Thank you?" Giorno honestly didn't know ow to respond to that, and he had a response to everything.
Bucciarati looked through a window, sitting right beside a pair of large, birch doors. Through it, he can see Fugo putting a cigarette in his mouth, trying to light a match on a stone pillar. Usually, he smokes after a high stress situation, so him smoking now was definitely worrying for the gangster. He was about to grab the handle to the door, before being stopped by a man wearing a waiter's uniform, tapping on the gangster's shoulder. He had an equally worried look on his face, but not because of Fugo smoking.
"Mr. Bucciarati… There is a call for you." The waiter said.
"Give me a moment, I need to talk with Fug-"
"No, sir, you don't understand. This is urgent. It is the boss…"
Bucciarati's heart dropped all the way to his stomach. Usually, he gets phone calls from fellow gangsters attempting to persuade him into participating in jobs with them, but he deemed those gangsters "less important than his group" often ignoring them in favor of the boys. But to have the Boss… The one at the very top of the Passione food chain, THE Lady Madonna, was a whole other affair, something that Bucciarati cannot ignore. Slowly he was led to the phone, picking up the receiver and putting it to his ear with a shaky hand.
"Bon giorno…" He spoke.
There was silence on the other end of the line, until a woman with a tone equivalent to someone with absolute authority began to speak.
"Bruno… When was the last time you spoke to Polpo? Tell me the exact time."
"Uh…" He faltered, for he forgot when exactly he last spoke to Polpo, but he knew it was yesterday. "Yesterday at… 8 PM… Why?"
"Oh well because he's dead." Lady Madonna responded bluntly, a little too bluntly.
The news knocked the wind out of Bucciarati, his knees began to buckle under him, as he let out a devastated sound from his mouth. He grabbed a chair that was nearby, and sat down on it, his hand slapped the top of his head, thinking about what the Boss just said.
"D-Dead… How. What happened?" He managed to choke out.
"Well, it appears he killed himself. It's such a shame too, he was such a reliable guy, I liked him, always calling me "The beautiful Lady Madonna.". Ahem, he put a shotgun in his mouth and blew his own brains out. Not a pretty sight. The entire wall behind him is caked with him. Where the hell had he been hiding that shotgun this entire time? And how did he even manage to reach the trigger to do so? I don't know, but he is… oh, was, a big guy, I think I was supposed to be impressed with his flexibility."
As Lady Madonna began to trail off, Bucciarati became more and more sick to his stomach. He wanted her nonchalant talking to stop, he wanted to hang up the phone, he wanted to tell Lady Madonna to stop, but he knew… there will be Hell to pay if he did… He just wanted Lady Madonna to stop talking. And soon she did.
"Well. That is all. I thought I should personally deliver this message to you. Oh, and you should know that since you were Polpo's number two and Luca was smoked like a cheap cigar, you are now in charge of the Little Italy District. Have a nice day, ta-ta!" She ended off with a cheery tone, cheery for what? Because Polpo killed himself? Because Bucciarati had just been promoted to Lieutenant?
The receiver cut out, indicating the end of the call. Bucciarati kept the receiver jammed into his ear, unmoving, thinking that if he did, he'd vomit everywhere. After a few more minutes of continued silence, he finally mustered enough strength to stand. There was something he needed to do.
"OH, OH! What about a Bat?" Mista laughed as he and Narancia tested what animals Giorno could change into using [Golden Years].
"What type of Bat?" Giorno, who was currently an Emperor Penguin, asked.
"Man- I don't know… A… A vampire bat!" Mista responded.
The Penguin Giorno just shrugged before he instantly turned into a small, brown bat, fluttering about in the room. Mista and Narancia cheered as they tracked the sporadic flying of the bat. ABBA let out a sharp breath, a faint laugh, smiling at the boys (aside from Fugo for some reason) getting along with Giorno, having fun with each other. Because that's what kids are supposed to do at this age, have fun! Not worrying about whether "today might be their last day alive" because they were gangsters, this is the exact thing the Bucciarati was trying to do… to keep them as kids.
"HOLY SHIT! THAT'S SUCH AN AWESOME STAND ABILITY!" Narancia yelled out, just oozing joy.
"Thanks! Pant, pant. You're also stand users, right? What are your abilities? Pant, pant." Bat Giorno asked, as he continued to flutter around the room.
"Oh yeah, my stand is called-" Narancia was about to describe his stand before Bucciarati walked back in, with an extremely dark look on his face.
The mood of the room turned ice cold. Giorno also notice this, as he turned back into his human form in midair, landing on his feet behind Mista. Everyone had their gaze on Bucciarati, who just ignored it and walked to the other side of the room.
"Bruno… What's wrong?" ABBA asked, worry slowly crawling up their face.
Bucciarati ignored his partner, looking at a framed photograph in front of him that is hung on a mostly blank wall. It was a photo of him, Luca, Polpo and ABBA, and two other people… they were all the higherups of the Little Italy district. He remained unmoving, only [Between Button]'s arm manifested from his shoulder, reeling back its fist to make the wall intangible in front of him, before Bucciarati decided to punch the framed photo with his physical fist, shattering it, sending shards of glass into his knuckles. The searing pain didn't stop him from punching the wall a second time, at full force, splattering blood on the wall. Bucciarati punched the photograph a fourth time, this time it fell to the floor, shattering the glass all over it, denting the drywall behind it. At the sixth punch, his entire fist went through the wall with an audible crack.
Giorno didn't know if that crack was from Bucciarati's hand, or something behind the wall. He stood still, he has seen Bucciarati enraged before, but when he turned back, he saw Narancia and Mista pressing their backs against the wall with ABBA furrowing their eyebrows, still sitting down but with a shocked look on their face.
"No…" ABBA whispered aloud.
"Yes… Unfortunately." Bucciarati reached into the hole in the wall that he just made, using the same hand.
"This bottle of wine wasn't supposed to be opened until either Luca or I took Polpo's position after his death. And today Lady Madonna herself called me saying that he killed himself." He said as he got out a glass of wine for himself and ABBA. Inspecting his hand, it was bleeding from his knuckles, and he thinks that he broke his middle finger.
Giorno carefully walked up to Bucciarati, as the gangster tried to pour himself a glass of wine with a broken finger The Pink Haired boy grabbed Bucciarati's shaking hand, and pressing down on the broken middle finger, Giorno and Bucciarati's hands began to glow a golden color. As Giorno let go Bucciarati inspected his hand again, fully healed, capable of full articulation. He finally poured himself a glass without once glancing at Giorno, and toasted ABBA.
"To you being a caporegime." ABBA said before downing the glass.
"Mazel tov…" Bucciarati replied.
Silence filled the room as the three boys try to figure out why there was so much weight to Bucciarati's words.
"Can I try some wine?" Narancia broke the silence only to receive an immediate "no" from ABBA and a slap to the back of the head by Mista.
After a few minutes of sulking silence Bucciarati was about to pour himself another glass before stopping. ABBA looked into Bucciarati's eye, and saw that he was in deep thought, eyes darting around, thinking, but his head stayed firmly in place. He put down the wine, standing up, with a brighter look on his face than before.
"Wait… Wait! Now I remember…" Bucciarati put his fist in his hand, with a slight smile on his face, before pointing a finger at ABBA. "ABBA, remember when Polpo told me and Luca that there was approximately $1,000,000 stashed somewhere in Little Italy, and it would be ours after he died?"
"Ho-ly Shit… $1,000,000? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Narancia cheered.
Mista began sweating at the amount of money just said, and Giorno, although staring quiet, had his mouth agape.
"Yeah… Where is it at?" ABBA responded in a stoic tone (although deep down they're excited at the prospect.)
"The Old Shoe Factory, bordering Chinatown!" Bucciarati responded.
"Alright! To Chinatown!" Mista cheered before being shot confused looks by Bucciarati and ABBA.
"You're not coming with us…" ABBA said with authority causing Mista and Narancia to sputter. "This is gangster business. Narancia, take Fugo home, Mista and Giorno, go home as well. Don't try to get involved with this."
That was the end of that conversation as far as Bucciarati and ABBA were concerned. Soon both gangsters decided to walk out without another word, Bucciarati forgot that he had to speak with Fugo completely.
Silence fell in the room as Narancia looked out the window, watching as the two gangsters disappear into the city. Slowly he turned back to Giorno and Mista, the ladder tapping his fingers on the table he sat by. Narancia formed a mischievous, smug smirk on his face.
"You wanna go tail 'em, Mista?" Narancia said to his friend.
Mista hit his fist on the table twice before standing up, revealing a revolver in his back pocket. "Hell yeah! Let's take Fugo and this new kid, make it a (lucky number) four-man group!" He said, smiling.
"But I thought Bucciarati didn't want us to get involved with Mob activity!" Giorno tried to reason with the other two, only to be met with blank looks.
"I thought you wanted to join the gang, but Bucciarati turned you down, right? You wouldn't be here if Bucciarati didn't want you here. So, you're stuck with us! I think you're that type of guy to get himself into trouble… right?"
Giorno thought back into his very mischievous past. Aside from constantly being chased by the police for many things like pickpocketing, shoplifting, petty theft; he had escaped from his Uncle Johnny's and Aunt Rina's care multiple times, he kicked the crap out of a few kids who dared tried to insult his Aunt Lucy or his mom. He even mauled some guy as a wolf for trying to sexually assault his Aunt Lucy. So really, he has no room to try and reason with a bunch of equally mischievous kids. They were just like him.
"Ah screw it, let's go!" Giorno finally relented.
"You might need a gun." Narancia said, pulling out his Mauser c96.
Giorno paused before thinking to himself, snapping his fingers before pointing at Narancia. "I know where one is!"
Soon after, the trio were out the door, Giorno leading the charge as he needed to get a gun, Mista and Narancia followed him, running into Fugo as he finished his smoke.
"Where the hell are you all going?" Fugo asked as he crushed the cigarette under his foot.
"Polpo is dead, Bucciarati and ABBA are looking for a shit ton of money, we're gonna follow them, but Giorno needs a gun. No time to explain, LETS GO!" Narancia said at a rapid-fire pace.
"What? Do I really have to follow the Joestar?" Fugo argued but received no response.
Fugo wanted to follow Narancia and Mista, but not Giorno… He gritted his teeth and began to run after them before they got too far away. After a few minutes of walking, Giorno disappears into an alley before coming out with a very dirty looking revolver with an ivory white handle, the revolver belonged to Luca DiMaggio prior to his death.
"Ah shit…" Bucciarati cursed as he noticed that there was a puddle on the floor in front of the old, abandoned shoe factory. But it wasn't the puddle itself that Bucciarati worried about, it was the trail of freshly made, wet footprints that led out of it that caught his attention. "Someone is already here… Merda."
Bucciarati and ABBA soon drew their weapons, looking around to see if there was any vantage point where they would be ambushed from.
"Accidenti! We have no clue where the enemy is." ABBA yelled out.
"My stand can help with that!" Narancia said, appearing next to the Purple Haired Gangster.
"Oh, thank you, Narancia…" ABBA responded absentmindedly, before their face got cold. They looked at Narancia, who had a big, idiotic grin on his face. ABBA holstered their gun before gripping Narancia's neck with both hands, shaking him in anger. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? DIDN'T BUCCIARATI TELL YOU NOT TO GET INVOLVED WITH SHIT LIKE THIS?"
"ACK! I'm not the only one here…" Narancia wheezed through ABBA's grasp, pointing his thumb behind him. "I brought the others…"
ABBA and Bucciarati looked behind him, seeing Mista and Giorno standing a few feet away, with Fugo all the way at the back, trying to keep his distance from Giorno. ABBA let go of Narancia, letting him drop to the floor before inhaling sharply, clasping their hands together in front of their face.
"I told you all to go home…" Bucciarati snarled at them, tilting his head down slightly to darken his face.
"Well by the sounds of things you might need my help, Bucciarati." Giorno transformed into a bloodhound before walking up to the set of tracks, sniffing them before transforming back into his human form, with a puzzled look on his face.
"Stronzo! You stole my gimmick!" Narancia yelled, angry at Giorno.
Giorno ignored Narancia, pointing at the direction of Fugo, quirking an eyebrow. "Uh… I can smell 2 more scents. And they're… Behind us?"
Everyone turned to look at Fugo, who had his arms crosse and looking back at the group with an equally confused look.
"What are you all looking at- WAH!" Suddenly Fugo seemed to flatten and instantly sinking and disappearing into the floor.
"FUGO!" Narancia yelled, running towards the last area where Fugo was standing on before disappearing, but as he ran, he suddenly flattened and disappeared into the wall beside him, in the same, instantaneous fashion as Fugo.
"SHIT! NARANCIA!" Mista made an attempt to repeat what Narancia did, however, he was stopped by Giorno putting up his arm.
"Mista! Don't break away from the group! Whoever is attacking us are inside the walls, everyone GET INSIDE!" Giorno yelled.
Bucciarati, ABBA, Giorno, and Mista all entered the factory, but as they look up, they see on a metal catwalk, two people standing, staring menacingly at them.
"Well… If it isn't Bruno Bucciarati, ABBA and their entourage of dumbasses…" A woman said, looking down on the group with a man close by. "Did you come here to try and reap Polpo's fortune as well?"
"Peppa and Sale Zucchero… What an unpleasant surprise…" Bucciarati groaned.
The woman, Peppa Zucchero, had short green hair, and looks generally masculine if her voice and chest didn't give her away as one. The man beside her had short, bright brown hair with many longer strands coming from the side of his head.
"Who are these people Bucciarati?" Mista whispered into Bucciarati's ear.
"These are Peppa and Sale Zucchero, husband and wife and Luca's former assistants…" Bucciarati thought back to the photo frame that he punched into oblivion, they were beside Luca an Polpo in the photo. "They're also Stand users…"
"That's right. And using [Softworks], we're going to find the money first. If you try to stop us, we will kill you…" Sale explained before both he and his wife disappeared in the same spaghetti fashion as Narancia and Fugo.
"Fuck. We are going to need to split up. I know where the money is stashed, so me and ABBA will go look for it." Bucciarati whispered to the group, he then pointed with two fingers at Mista. "Mista, take Giorno and look for Fugo and Narancia. They can't be far."
"Yes Bucciarati!" Mista saluted, before taking Giorno and walking away without asking Bucciarati what they were going up against. "C'mon newbie, I have a couple of women that I'd like you to meet." Mista pulled out a simple 9mm Bullet, showing it to Giorno before the two groups finally split.
End of Chapter 4
Jesus Christ I am pumping out these Chapters like crazy, hm? I have been so hyperfixated on this that I feel like I am neglecting my other works. Oh well… I hope you liked this chapter, this is so far the longest. I'll see you next time as I try to figure out a way to explain [Softworks]'s ability. *opens a Trans-Dimensional Theory Book*
Title: Based on the 2004 Green Day Album, "American Idiot"
Stands and Music References seen in this chapter (the following are creations of vanillaprinces):
Lady Madonna: Named after the 1968 Beatles song by the same name.
(The following are my ideas, and not previously mentioned by vanillaprinces)
[Softworks]: Named after an alternative name that the band "Soft Machine" used between 2002 and 2004
For more information about this AU, follow vanillaprinces on Tumblr.