[He doesn't know what it is. He doesn't know how to stop it. He's trying as hard as he possibly can to keep it in, to tamp it down, but it keeps coming out. His hands won't stop shaking. He's cold all over, almost as cold as when he was a vampire, or at least it feels that way. Time stretches and splits, snarling around him and catching on his blooming buds.]
[As much as he's in the habit of keeping up with the news, he doesn't now. It's irresponsible, and he hates himself for it, but he can't do it. When he tries, he drifts, and it's a struggle to return. The one time he gets brave and tries, he gets one minute in, and then a temporary anchor is telling the camera with false confidence that his colleague has taken a brief leave of absence for personal reasons.]
[He shatters the small television in a cabinet in his room with a single blow before he even realizes he's moved. He doesn't bother cleaning it up, and he doesn't bother fixing his hand. Sap-green blood stays on his knuckles, although he sheds the glass shards on the floor before he passes his bedroom door.]
[The children aren't well. He knows this, and he's careful with them, keeping a respectful distance unless they approach him. Today, Naga is the only one to do so as he carries out his variety of duties at the orphanage. The child doesn't do anything in particular, not really; just says hi and then sits next to him quietly for a while before asking for help up a tree. Giorno looks down at them, surprised, and when they look back he sees something deliberate and purposeful in their eyes, something that makes his heart twist as much as it did talking to Sonic. This isn't right. This is too much responsibility for someone so young to take on. And he'd do exactly the same thing.]
[With a dry mouth, he helps Naga up the tree, making supports out of his vines and his hands. When they reach the branch they're aiming for, they sit, kicking their feet and surveying the area proudly. Giorno asks the tree to offer a branch to them for a high-five, and it does, and Naga laughs. Which helps. But not enough.]
[When he leaves for the evening, his coat wrapped securely around him, he intends to go straight home. He doesn't, though, and he can't even say why. Maybe it's because he doesn't feel like he belongs there right now, although honestly, he feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. His roots carry him treacherously back to the cafe he visited not long before, the place he came with Atem. The place he shouldn't have come. The store is locked, the employees, still shaken, quickly cleaning up and getting ready to go home.]
[He goes around the building, because something tells him he should. By the back door, there's a small, dark alcove that casts long shadows in the early night. And in that shadow, a figure, back pressed to the outer wall, the handle of a knife just barely showing through the gap in a long coat.]
[Vines are around the man's neck before he can even register movement. With a single, constrictive movement, Giorno snaps it. And by the time the two young women in the cafe clock out and leave for home, whispering covertly to each other in the oppressive dark, there are no monsters or humans to be seen.]
∞
[Somewhat later, on the other side of midnight, Fugo receives a message.]
i have a body. i'm afraid i wasn't thinking much for making maximum use of it. could you help me salvage it?
[It's a farce. Fugo will have noticed he's missing by now. He'll have found the television, and the blood. But right now, this is the best he has.]
action; post-broadcast, pre-superhell, cw dissociation, strangulation
[He doesn't know what it is. He doesn't know how to stop it. He's trying as hard as he possibly can to keep it in, to tamp it down, but it keeps coming out. His hands won't stop shaking. He's cold all over, almost as cold as when he was a vampire, or at least it feels that way. Time stretches and splits, snarling around him and catching on his blooming buds.]
[As much as he's in the habit of keeping up with the news, he doesn't now. It's irresponsible, and he hates himself for it, but he can't do it. When he tries, he drifts, and it's a struggle to return. The one time he gets brave and tries, he gets one minute in, and then a temporary anchor is telling the camera with false confidence that his colleague has taken a brief leave of absence for personal reasons.]
[He shatters the small television in a cabinet in his room with a single blow before he even realizes he's moved. He doesn't bother cleaning it up, and he doesn't bother fixing his hand. Sap-green blood stays on his knuckles, although he sheds the glass shards on the floor before he passes his bedroom door.]
[The children aren't well. He knows this, and he's careful with them, keeping a respectful distance unless they approach him. Today, Naga is the only one to do so as he carries out his variety of duties at the orphanage. The child doesn't do anything in particular, not really; just says hi and then sits next to him quietly for a while before asking for help up a tree. Giorno looks down at them, surprised, and when they look back he sees something deliberate and purposeful in their eyes, something that makes his heart twist as much as it did talking to Sonic. This isn't right. This is too much responsibility for someone so young to take on. And he'd do exactly the same thing.]
[With a dry mouth, he helps Naga up the tree, making supports out of his vines and his hands. When they reach the branch they're aiming for, they sit, kicking their feet and surveying the area proudly. Giorno asks the tree to offer a branch to them for a high-five, and it does, and Naga laughs. Which helps. But not enough.]
[When he leaves for the evening, his coat wrapped securely around him, he intends to go straight home. He doesn't, though, and he can't even say why. Maybe it's because he doesn't feel like he belongs there right now, although honestly, he feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. His roots carry him treacherously back to the cafe he visited not long before, the place he came with Atem. The place he shouldn't have come. The store is locked, the employees, still shaken, quickly cleaning up and getting ready to go home.]
[He goes around the building, because something tells him he should. By the back door, there's a small, dark alcove that casts long shadows in the early night. And in that shadow, a figure, back pressed to the outer wall, the handle of a knife just barely showing through the gap in a long coat.]
[Vines are around the man's neck before he can even register movement. With a single, constrictive movement, Giorno snaps it. And by the time the two young women in the cafe clock out and leave for home, whispering covertly to each other in the oppressive dark, there are no monsters or humans to be seen.]
[Somewhat later, on the other side of midnight, Fugo receives a message.]
i have a body. i'm afraid i wasn't thinking much for making maximum use of it. could you help me salvage it?
[It's a farce. Fugo will have noticed he's missing by now. He'll have found the television, and the blood. But right now, this is the best he has.]
[Pathetic.]