This is a collaboration between me and Eskarina.
As if he had been listening on the other side and decided that things were going South, Bruno was quick to knock on the door. In actuality, that really was what he had been doing. Giorno had informed him that just like how Donatello seemed to be enraptured around her, he himself had felt something strange when touching her during the healing process. That was why he asked Bruno to keep an eye on him and stay on guard.
It's not like Bruno was waiting behind the door eavesdropping on him, but considering how things were going, Giorno would have thanked him even if that were the case.
"Giorno, the captain would like to speak to you!" Bruno said cheerfully, entering without knocking. "Would you mind letting me chat with this lovely young lady for a while? It's time I show her the clothes I bought so that she can change. Since you're allergic to clothes from the mall, this won't interest you. So, please go."
If anyone could reassure the woman, it was, without a doubt, Bruno. Giorno doubted that it was even possible for anyone to not fall for his right-hand man's charms. Hence, he left knowing that he could not make the situation worse.
"So, you're a zombie and your boss is a vampire," he heard her say as he left. "Bitch, tell me you also have a werewolf."
Closing the door was a relief, but the plane was unfortunately not as well ventilated. Jolyne's scent was very strong. Of course everyone smelled very strong after several battles in succession, and even more so in Florida. It should have disgusted him... but the effect was the opposite. Joseph Joestar's spilled blood had made him a little hungry, but nowhere near the effect she had. He understood why a beast such as Donatello had lost control like that. For a short while, it seemed like he was going to go crazy when Jolyne disappeared but then he suddenly turned tail and ran away.
The man with the pink hair—Anasui, he believed that the other girl had called him—also seemed to lose his mind when he saw Jolyne disappear. He had even tried to attack Giorno before Requiem knocked him unconscious. He hadn't had enough time to explain much to the other girl, only that he had to take Jolyne away for her own safety, before the Speedwagon agents arrived to retrieve the disc.
The next task had been to get to the hotel, heal the woman, and shower while Bruno went to a nearby shopping center to buy some clothes she could change into when she woke up on the plane. They would ride as soon as Bucciarati returned. It had been a stressful couple of hours.
"Since you're here now, I take it that you've already messed things up," Abbacchio said to him, looking up from his book.
"Your powers of deduction are spot on, detective," Giorno replied with a grunt as he fell in a less graceful way than usual on the seat.
"Fuck you, I only got to patrol," he replied with an acidic smile. "So, it seems to affect you too, huh. Joestar blood gets you acting up like some horny teenager."
"I wish that that was all there was to it, but there's also... hunger. I desire her. I hate feeling like that, like something's taken control of me." He stopped to think about it for a few seconds. "And I think I tried to flirt with her in an absolutely horrible way."
"Boy, you need to get out more when this is all over." Leone closed his book. "And definitely learn to interact with women."
"And you're going to teach me? You?"
"I may be in love with my wonderful boyfriend now, but that does not mean that I did not successfully flirt with women before. Many more than you actually, even in my time of alcoholic disaster." He thought for a few seconds before adding, "You manage to be more scary dressed in Prada than I used to be when I was drunk in a corner. But enough laughing at you, do you think you can hold out well without attacking her?"
"I've cut off my own arm while pursuing a goal before. Feeling slightly aroused is not going to make me go crazy," he said firmly. Then he lowered his voice. "Or at least I hope so. I could never forgive myself for hurting someone innocent because of the impulses of a monster... As for the other impulses, I don't like it at all. Losing control, that is. I'll admit that she's beautiful and brave, but she's also rude and can't be that intelligent if she's openly admitting her plans to run away."
As he continued complaining, Leone pretended to lend him his ear, all the while reopening his book and muttering things like 'of course' even though they both knew they weren't paying much attention to each other. Their relationship worked better that way.
After a while, they heard laughter float out of the only bedroom on the plane. The rest were reclining seats comfortable enough to sleep without any problems, although neither Bruno nor Leone really needed to sleep. Jolyne sauntered out of the room, now adorned in a comfortable-looking dress that was two different shades of blue, with her buns and braid undone, hair flowing loose. She slipped into the small bathroom. Since she had been unconscious for much of the trip, she did not seem willing to sleep anymore.
It was obvious that Bruno had already adopted the girl, as he was trying to reproduce her previous hairstyle with his own hair. It was logical, as Giorno had asked him to take care of her, knowing that Bruno was the type of person who tended to pick up animals on the streets, not to mention petty mobsters.
The worst of the betrayals came when, after hearing Bruno complain about not having makeup to finish getting ready, Abbacchio got up and offered them his own bag of cosmetics. That hurt, because shortly after meeting him one day, Giorno had asked only for a little hand cream but was told to get it from the store himself. However, Abbacchio had known Jolyne for only a few hours, yet he was already putting makeup on her.
He knew he was being childish. Those two may be the closest thing he had to father figures, but they were only comforting a girl who had just been abducted. It was a bit like Trish's situation. Well, he couldn't imagine Trish getting covered in dirt and still continuing to fight, but the situation was similar. Better to focus on the childish feelings than the fact that she smelled too good and looked delicious in that dress.
Giorno told himself that it was best to try to be useful and went to work on all the reports that Fugo had packed for him to work on in his spare time. Blessed Fugo and his habit of drowning him in work.
Later, when he peeked through the open door of her room, he spied the girl and Abbacchio chatting about something, so focused and immersed in their conversation that they didn't even notice his hulking presence by the door. Or maybe they had but just couldn't be bothered to acknowledge him. Whatever they were talking about, it drew a laugh out of Jolyne, whose back was to him. He couldn't see her face, but her shoulders shook from the movement.
Just when he was again marveling at Bruno's fast progress, he paused when noticing the genuine smile that played across Abbacchio's lips, whose face was visible from the doorway. The man listened to her with rapt attention, something Giorno could only ever dream about even after all this time. Recalling Abbachhio's cold treatment toward him when he first joined Bruno's team, he could hardly believe it. Spurred by curiosity, he waited till they paused for a breath before inquiring about their topic of conversation.
"RuPaul's Drag Race?" he parroted once they told him.
"You've never heard of it?" Jolyne asked, looking at him from over her shoulder.
Giorno had heard of it. Apparently, it was some kind of show that involved makeup, dress, and other super queer stuff, but admittedly, he found such shows to be a waste of time. Before Giorno could reply, Abbacchio said, "The boss is not one for that kind of good stuff. He calls it 'junk television'."
Jolyne gasped and fully twisted her body around to face him. Abbacchio smirked at him from behind her at his betrayed look.
"The drag race isn't junk, it's art!" she exclaimed, not seeming at all like someone who planned to escape.
"An Emmy Award winner too, if I recall," Abbacchio added.
"Right!"
Giorno's eyes flicked back and forth between them, barely able to keep up. What started out as a rant about his "ignorance" eventually flowed right into gushing about their favorite queens. He gave up trying to listen when it became apparent they were no longer even paying attention to him. He instead just elected to stare at Abbacchio's smiling face, dazed.
When he felt a pair of golden eyes on him, he realized he'd been caught staring. He quickly fixed his gaze on the next most interesting thing. Jolyne's back was to him again, but his gaze lingered on her braid, which was neat and expertly done.
"Bruno's quite talented," he muttered. He'd nailed such a complicated hairstyle after only a few hours. Just one look at her hairdo was enough to tell him that it was no simple task that could be finished with a single pair of hands.
"You think so?" he heard Jolyne say, not realizing he'd been loud. She played with the ends of her hair, which were also tied together intricately instead of just having the ends stick out. She let her hand drop before meeting his gaze. "Actually, Leone here is the one who helped me with it."
Abbacchio assented, looking pleased with his handiwork. Giorno felt something tighten in his chest.
Not long after, they arrived at the Rome airport. Giorno almost expected Jolyne to bolt as soon as they alighted the plane; he took extra care to watch her every step as they stepped out into the sunlight. However, she seemed calm as she talked to the goth, probably about more junk television, while walking side by side with him like an intimate pair.
"They look like a couple," Giorno whispered to Bruno for no reason.
Bruno Bucciarati was not a jealous man, but that did not mean that Giorno did not get smacked with one of the suitcases.
Jolyne was surprisingly well-behaved, polite, and kind to the few people she met. It was late when they took her to her new bedroom and told her to rest. Since she was in need of new clothes, Abbacchio told her that he was going to introduce her the next day to someone with whom she was going to enjoy burning Giorno's credit cards.
"Looking forward to it," she said simply, scanning her new bedroom.
Giorno followed her gaze. He had specially instructed the servants to tidy up this guest room in preparation for her arrival. Just because she was a self-proclaimed prisoner, didn't mean she had to live like one. Her room was the size and design of a 5-star hotel suite. Lush carpets covered the floor and valuable paintings adorned the cream-colored wall. The queen bed was especially appealing to anyone who had had to suffer through sleeping in plane seats.
Not once had this guest room ever been used by anyone before during his time living in this palazzo; there were plenty of other rooms that would, in fact, probably never be occupied in Giorno's lifetime. His family was not big enough for that.
He was the last to go after Bruno and Abbacchio wished her good night, heading off to their own shared bedroom. He lingered in the doorway, leaning to one side with his arms crossed as he watched her inspect one of the abstract paintings by her bedside. He waited.
A moment later, as if having her fill, Jolyne finally plopped onto the bed, removing her shoes and socks one after another, keeping each in her grip. The shoe mat was placed by the door entrance where he stood. He was about to open his mouth and say she could simply toss them on the carpet or wherever since the servants could clean it later, but in the next second, a pair of shoes sailed through the air toward him. Just when he thought they were going to smack into his face, his eyes rounding, arms uncrossing and ready to slap them away, they dropped down loudy but precisely on the mat near his feet. A pair of socks joined in a few seconds later.
His eyes lifted from the mat and met hers from where she sat on the bed. Gone was the same mirth she had when conversing with Abbacchio or joking with Bruno. She was all business now.
"Do you need something?" she asked.
She hadn't asked to be here. Of course, she wouldn't have any nice words for him.
Giorno straightened, arms dropping to his side. Standing at his full height, his head touched past the top of the door frame.
"Yes," he said in a calm manner. "You're a protected guest here, Miss Kujo, and I would like for you to think of yourself as one. My home will be a sanctuary for you from any and all threats, including Donatello and any other minions the priest might send. You will remain here until those certain threats have been vanquished."
Jolyne lifted her legs onto the bed and wrapped her arms around them, knees tucked under her chin. He was distracted by the cracked green nail polish on her bare toes for a second.
"But in order for this to work, we need to come to an understanding. First, some ground rules should be placed."
He then went on to list some generic and basic restrictions that were mainly there to steer her from leaving the premises of the palazzo at her own whims. He tried to maintain eye contact to show his seriousness, but Jolyne, showing no care for decorum, switched from her curled position to outright lying across the bed, one leg dangling off the side. Like this, she looked completely and utterly defenseless.
He had tried to ignore it, but her fresh scent assailed his nostrils. He fought the urge to pinch his nose, fearing she would misunderstand and become further upset. The words that spilled off his tongue were mindless now, useless, as she didn't even seem to be listening to him. He felt something pool in his stomach.
His words abruptly stopped. Noticing, she lifted her head to look at him, but he was already turning and making his way past the door at a brisk pace.
Giorno had someone else watch her bedroom for an hour or so. The night servants were to report to him if anything seemed amiss or out of place, but so far, they claimed there wasn't so much of a stir that could be heard inside her bedroom. Perhaps she had finally given into her own exhaustion and fallen asleep. He wanted to confirm and have someone check on her, stomping down the feeling of ridiculousness at his own stalkerish actions toward a girl he had kidnapped. It's not like he was left with many choices, he told himself. She had made it clear to him that she had no intention to comply with his plans, even though they were for her own safety.
When nothing came from the continued monitoring a while later, he concluded that perhaps her hostility was only aimed at him and she was agreeable with everyone else. They weren't the ones caging her here, after all. He showered and readied himself to sleep when one of the garden sensors turned on. No one entered those gardens without his notice.
The gardens were old Roman-style, a large landmass covered in trees, plants, ponds, and different rock architecture. There were even some herbs and flowers dotting one side that he personally liked to tend to on some days. Visitors in his palazzo couldn't help but be awed and exclaim at the beauty of it all. Tonight, however, he wasn't in any mood to appreciate it.
Using his Stand to search for the presence of life in the garden, it took him almost an hour under the pitch-black sky to find her. He thereafter called on a sleepy-faced Abbacchio, who had been rudely awoken, to follow her with Moody Blues. He swore he could see traces of disappointment mixed in with the man's scowl.
They watched with Moody Blues how she had used her Stand to get past all the security measures. Apparently, she had noticed many things when entering and had asked many more seemingly innocent questions that had given her clues on how to escape. He had to admit that he was wrong; apparently, she was quite intelligent.
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