middaeg | baby you're a firework

[All told, things could have gone better. As disorienting and confusing as the dream was, he'd found Giorno, and that had made the ground under his feet feel steadier. Even having been told some of the basics, he hadn't been prepared to wake up from the dream and find himself away from Italy, and especially not alone. Narancia's known loneliness, of course; he'd felt it when his father walked away from him after that funeral, felt it when his friends abandoned him to juvie and through the year that followed, the time on the streets thereafter.

Somehow, though, being alone has a qualitatively different feeling after you've found your place in this world. It's terrifying to be uprooted from your foundations, from the people who you love more than your own life, and he takes it poorly. So poorly, in fact, that he misses Giorno at the mirror house altogether in his panic to find him and so gives off the impression that he never made it out of that dream at all. A sad twist of irony.

When morning comes, he still feels lost. The guy whose house he'd crashed in hadn't kicked him out even after getting threatened with a knife, which will not soon be forgotten, but Narancia hasn't had to make his own way in almost two years. He knows how to survive on his own, sure, but what does he do? Where does he go? The only thing he can think to do is find Giorno.

So he goes back outside to keep looking ... only to smack headlong into an entirely different blond.]

Hey!! Watch where you're--...Fugo?

[Fugo isn't paying attention. Not as much as he usually does. Not as much as he should. He's moving on autopilot, not so different from the way he lived in Milan. He didn't sleep well last night. To be honest, he didn't sleep at all. He sat up at his desk, pressed in by the walls around him and the words in front of him and the thick knot of Giorno's emotion hanging thick around his neck. And now he's here, on his way to class, because the thought of staying in his room for another minute was just suffocating. He can make it if he just puts one foot in front of the other.

Or at least he could have, if it weren't for some stupid asshole--]

Don't fucking touch me-- [He whirls around, one hand pushing his bag behind his back while the other reaches to grab a fistful of the shirt of whoever ran into him. His expression is wild, tight with anger until it clicks that the person who ran into him is no stranger. Just as quickly as his temper flared up, it dies out. He stares, eyes wide and disbelieving, face pale with shock.] Narancia?

[He'd been starting to get a little scared, in all honesty, that the dream was just a dream. A really weird, intensely vivid dream in which he met with a Giorno that looked a little older and reacted to things he said a little differently than he remembered and told him that he died six months before Giorno came to a new world and spent a whole year there. The more he looked and didn't find anyone, the more that cold reality seemed to be crawling up his spine that he was really all alone again.

The grab of his shirt has him reaching reflexively for his knife, but he's barely gripped the handle before they mutually recognize each other. In another circumstance--any other--he may have ridden out that wave, fallen into the familiar patterns of arguing and roughhousing with Fugo. He'd thought, in what moments he had to think about it, that his reunion with Fugo might go something like that after beating the Boss.

But even Narancia can feel the gravity of the air between them right now, the wide gulf between them where he'd swum onto that boat and Fugo had stayed behind. He's not...sure what to say. It's true what he said in the dream; he has no regrets. It's equally true that he screamed and cried after Abbacchio's death, and if his own has occurred than Fugo probably has feelings about it. About seeing him again. How would he feel if Abbacchio was here right now? He's not sure.]

Yeah.

[. . .]

....So the dream was true? You and Giorno have really been here a whole year?

[Despite the uncertainty of the atmosphere, he finds a reason for a small snicker--]

If it had been a little longer, you'd be older than me. Too bad.

[He's still the oldest!!!]

Edited (tenses!!!) 2020-04-11 01:47 (UTC)

Shut up.

[Head bowed, Fugo's grip in Narancia's shirt tightens; so tight that his knuckles are white against the dark fabric. A sudden headache pulses between his temples as his thoughts whirl around. He-- knew. Giorno told him about meeting Narancia in the dream, although not what they talked about. But this shouldn't be him. He shouldn't be the one]

Don't-- joke about it. I never wanted that. [He forces himself to let go. By the time he looks up, his expression is oddly flat-- but there's no mistaking the tension in his neck and shoulders. He is still very upset.] Giorno has been here longer than I have. I arrived in the fall. And now you're here.

It's a little bit funny.

[Ironically, there's a childish pout to his voice as he says that, but he doesn't pursue it. Fugo is upset. It's not the same as when he gets annoyed and jabs him with keys or a fork or they get in pointless arguments about nothing. He's hurt, for real, and Narancia has to think about what to say. Everyone in Bruno's group was hurt, in some way or another; that's why they were all there, after all. They were people who had nowhere else to go. But it's not something they talked about -- what was the point, after all? They couldn't change any of those things that had happened to them.

But something beyond them both has changed this. Narancia was dead, and Fugo's mourned him, but now he's alive.]

...He told me, you know. What happened to me.

[He might as well rip off that bandaid now and get it over with, before it poisons the air between them as if Purple Haze were still here.]

He also told me Trish was okay. So I don't have any regrets, Fugo.

[He's quiet a moment, uncharacteristically. It's not often that they talk like this, about the serious things that matter. So much was always just understand, ever since that day Fugo introduced him to Passione. He's not really sure how to say what he needs now...so he just follows his heart. It's always been what's led him before, after all, and it brought him to the gang.]

....I don't think I was ever really alive, until you took me to the restaurant that day. It's like I was sleepwalking my whole life, just moving and breathing and waiting to stop. Buccellati changed that. He changed me.

[He knows, if he were given the chance to do it all over, he wouldn't even hesitate.]

So it's okay. I'm okay with it.

Like hell it's okay!

[And just like that, the tenuous grip Fugo has on his temper snaps. He's not just angry, he's furious. He's not speaking-- he's yelling now, loud enough that it startles some of the other student Witches on their way to classes at the Coven. He draws himself up to his full height, which isn't much, but it's more than what Narancia has. His free hand clenches into a fist, trembling at his side.]

You were murdered. You died because the rest of-- [His throat works. No, he doesn't get to say "the rest of us". After all, he left; he stayed behind. He gave up any right to call himself a member of Buccellati's team when he refused to get on the boat. But he can't say "the rest of them" either. He has no right to blame Narancia's death on the complacency of the others. He wasn't there. He wasn't there.] There was nothing noble about the way you died. You didn't die "for" anything.

[But who cares, right? Narancia's "okay" with it. He's just fine about dying, so Trish Una can jetset across Europe and give interviews about how she just needed to "see the sights" of Italy to get over the death of her stupid, dumbass mother who couldn't think of anything better than handing her daughter over to the mob. In search of a father who, in the end, just wanted to see her dead. It's so-- stupid, and awful, and unfair. That someone like him survived and Narancia, who had dreams and a future, died.]

[He can't accept it. He won't accept it.]

[Fugo is yelling at him. In itself, this wouldn't be an unusual circumstance; he's used to yelling with Fugo, bickering loudly and aggressively. But this is different. This feels more like the time Buccellati yelled at him in the hospital, the first time he said he wanted to join his gang. Fugo is angry in that same way, the kind that had inspired him so much the first time, and he understands that it's because he cares about him. Because he's sad, the way Narancia had been sad when he'd screamed and yelled and threatened to kill Giorno if he didn't fix Abbacchio, when he had to be physically restrained to stop the tantrum he threw about it as Buccellati ordered them to escape the area.

He's briefly stunned into silence, at first, like he was that first time in the hospital, and then stays quiet on purpose, lets Fugo yell at him until he's finished, instead of yelling back.]

I didn't say it was noble. I died because I wanted to protect Trish. Just like I joined Passione because I wanted to work for Buccellati.

[His hands settle on his hips.]

It sucks that I didn't come back. That's not what I mean. I'm just not sorry I got on the boat.

Edited (i keep fussing with the wording orz ) 2020-04-12 07:24 (UTC)

[Trish would hate Narancia for saying that. Fugo doesn't know her, or even how he really feels about her, well at all; he sees her only in glimpses, their lives brought within seeing distance only because they're both caught in Giorno's inescapable orbit. But even so. He thinks she'd hate Narancia for saying that.

Because it didn't happen like that. Because it's not okay. Because it wasn't-- could never be-- a fair trade.]

[He doesn't know how he feels about it. A thick, choking sensation knots itself around his chest and throat; heavy on his shoulders, stabbing at his temples. Something thick and sour bubbles in his gut. But he's not angry anymore. The flare of anger has burnt itself out.]

Whatever. Show me where you stayed last night. I'll pass the information along to Giorno. You'll see him when the sun sets.

When the sun sets?

[That seems oddly specific. It's not weird that Giorno might be too busy to see him immediately; he would assume Giorno would come find him when he was ready. But what did the sun have to do with anything?

Well, whatever. It doesn't really matter when, as long as he sees him.]

It's this way. A guy called Lavi let me crash with him.

[Even after getting threatened with a knife after Narancia assumed the house was abandoned. He owes him one, probably.]

...Are you going to stay until then?

[Surely there must be a phone in this house, right. It looked fancy enough. Now that he's run into Fugo after such a long night alone in this strange new place, Narancia doesn't want him to leave so soon.]

[Fugo follows in step when Narancia turns to guide the two of them back to the house where he stayed. He's quiet as they walk. Even though Narancia obviously has questions about why Giorno won't be able to see him until after the sun sets, Fugo can't bring himself to immediately explain. He knows he's going to have to. But he just-- can't.

He can't. Because he has to force himself to take a step. And then another, then a third, then a fourth, however many steps it's going to take to get to whatever house Narancia broke into. He has to hold onto his bag. He can't run into anyone, or drop his things, or stumble on the curb. And, most importantly, he has to keep his mouth shut. He feels attached to his own body by a kite string; he's too preoccupied with keeping all of the ugliness bubbling up inside of him down to pay attention to much else.]

I'll stay as long as it's necessary. [Which isn't an answer. But it's not a fair question, in his opinion. Or maybe he's the one being unfair. He probably shouldn't be reacting like this. He should be happy-- relieved, grateful, excited. Not angry. Not this.] If you have any questions about what happened or about the city, I'll do my best to answer them.

[As long as it's necessary? What's that supposed to mean? He glances back over at Fugo, walking just a step behind him, unable to read his expression now that the inflamed anger of before has burned out. For his own part, he looks a little--disappointed, maybe. They're on the same shore again at last, but Narancia can feel the distance between them. The consequences of getting on that boat have created a gap, and he's not sure how to bridge it. The last time he'd done something foolish and dangerous against the wishes of another had been joining Passione in the first place, after all, and Fugo had been the one who helped him do it, back then. It's strange to be in the position where Fugo's the one upset about his decision--or the ultimate result of it, at least.

He chooses not to push it, for the time being. Partly because he expects if he does, Fugo will leave. Instead:]

Mm, I didn't really get any of the stuff the lady said.

[Mostly because he wasn't listening....]

What's the most important to know?

[Normally, this is where Fugo would chide Narancia for not paying attention. He doesn't. Instead he grimly moves forward with an abbreviated explanation.]

When you're brought here through the mirrors, you lose something. In your case, that's Aerosmith. But you've been-- [Here, just for a moment, his voice is very bitter.] --"given" something in return.

You either have the magical potential to become a Witch, or your body will begin changing from human to a different species-- they're called "Monsters" here.

[Giorno had mentioned that there wasn't anything like Stands here, so it's not entirely shocking to hear that Aerosmith is gone, even though it brings up an instinctual nervousness at the vulnerability of being without it. The bitterness in Fugo's tone catches Narancia's notice, though, and he pauses in his step for a moment, watching Fugo's face and body language for a possible clue where it comes from. No answers present themselves, and as Fugo closes that momentary gap between them, he starts moving again.]

Huh....how do you know which one you are?

[Heeeee ... definitely didn't stick around long enough for the part where newbies are tested for magical potential ha ha whoops,,,]

How do you-- [Fugo repeats this, incredulous, before forcing himself to take a breath and then sharply exhale through his nose. There's no helping it. There's no point in getting angry. It's already happened. And, most importantly: it can be fixed.] There was a test. I don't know how you managed to avoid it, but whatever. Go to the Coven-- sooner rather than later, don't screw around and put it off, this is important. One of the Witches there will get it done for you. I don't know the spell, so I can't.

...Ohhh was it at the welcome thing? I kind of didn't go after I couldn't find Giorno at that mirror place.

[And then ran around the city like a madman looking for him until he got too tired to continue and then snuck into a stranger's house through his unlocked window to sleep. It's been a Night, Fugo.

There's. A beat. Narancia fidgets, with all the air of a child hiding a stolen cookie behind their back.]

Ummm. Can anyone at the Coven do it, or do I have to ask the main lady who to go to?

[Just asking! For a friend. That is him. There is no particular reason for this. Nothing to be suspicious about. All is good.]

[Fugo is frustrated. It's written all over his everything, from his pinched expression and terse tone of voice to his tense shoulders and tight grip on the bag he's carrying.]

Her name is Nerissa Bell. [But he doesn't express it. He doesn't chastise Narancia for not paying attention, or ditching the Coven's orientation, or nag him to listen closely to his exclamation so he doesn't forget it later. Just like he doggedly moves forward by putting one foot in front of the other, he pushes through the conversation by answering one question after another.] No, I doubt she's the only one who can cast that spell. I'm sure any of the teachers there could take care of it.

Okay. I'll ask someone else, then.

[For reasons that aren't sketchy at all. It's fine.

The lack of nagging or scolding is noticed. It kind of makes Narancia want to annoy him more, to get a real reaction, but he holds it back. Something in him tells him it's a bad idea to push Fugo too hard right now, as much as he craves a return to normalcy, to the way they were a bare week ago. He changes the subject instead.]

Do they have pizza here?

[He's still really craving one tbh. Even if it won't be the same as what you can get in Italy.]

Of course they don't. [In Fugo's opinion, Italy is the only country in the world where real pizza is made and it's best in Napoli. Even if some Mirrorbound opened up a restaurant and tried to serve pizza, it wouldn't be right. It's not a real margherita if it's not made in Napoli. At least there's something out there Fugo isn't shy about sharing his (strong) opinion on.] The food here is more English than anything else. It's pretty disgusting.

[He sticks his tongue out, making an expression of disgust to match Fugo's words.]

Blech. English food is the worst.

[Meat should not go in pies! It's just wrong ok!]

Does the music suck too....

[There is a distinct whine to his voice, like he's already expecting the answer to be yes. If they don't have good taste in food how can he expect them to have good taste in ANYTHING.]

Edited (words!!) 2020-05-13 04:19 (UTC)

[Fugo misses the gesture. He isn't looking at Narancia. He isn't looking at anything, really, beyond the ground in front of his feet. The noose around his chest tightens, further and further, with every exchange.]

I don't know how to answer that.

[And just like that, it's back to flat. He really doesn't know what to say, or why Narancia brought it up. Whatever. It doesn't matter. He just-- has to make it to wherever the hell Narancia is staying. One step. And then one step more, until he gets there.]

[Another brick wall. In Narancia's mind, it was a normal question--once the information about Witches and Monsters was covered, it seemed natural to move onto food and music, basic things about living in a new place.

But things aren't normal, are they. He's aware of that, to a certain extent, but he also thought he could act normal until it became so again. It hits Narancia all at once as he sees the sign for the last street before he reaches the house he crashed in with Lavi, and he hesitates. He's never particularly felt an urge for deception in his life, but suddenly he's tempted to go the wrong way so he has an excuse to keep walking with Fugo. He doesn't. Instead, he just...stops. He's silent at first, staring at the street sign. He keeps his back to Fugo, pushing back an anxiety that hasn't found him since the day he realized he was framed for that assault, that his friends weren't coming back.]

Are you mad at me, Fugo?

[He doesn't really feel scared about having died. Maybe that'll change, in time, when he's gotten used to Aefenglom and how suddenly anyone can disappear, but right now what's before him is two members of the only family he's had since his mom died, including the one who brought him to them. What he's scared of is losing one of them. Narancia got on a boat, planning to come back, but he never did. If Fugo doesn't forgive him for that...if he leaves before sunset, will he ever come back?]

Edited 2020-05-14 04:46 (UTC)

[It's very strange, in Fugo's opinion, that Mista did not shoot him in the San Siro. He should have. He had no reason not to. Nothing but Giorno's blind faith in his abilities and trustworthiness that he would keep his mouth shut and get the ugly job of dealing with the narcotics squad done. After all--]

[In the story of Giorno Giovanna's meteoric rise to power, Pannacotta Fugo is the traitor.]

[He abandoned his friends. He would have pushed Trish into her father's arms; he would have let her die and he would not have regretted it. Even if it was impossible for him to follow, even though there was only ever once choice he could have made-- it was wrong. He was wrong. He can't let himself forget that. He can never forgive himself. Things aren't right. Things will never be right. He could kill each and every one of Giorno's enemies, could gut himself to further his dream, and it would never, ever be enough.]

That doesn't matter. Keep walking, Narancia.

[There is no going back to normal. Only forward, dragging himself to a future he can't see for himself under the too-heavy weight of a grief he has no right to feel, one half of a step at a time.]

Edited 2020-05-15 04:41 (UTC)

[Fugo is greeted by silence. Narancia doesn't move, not at first. With his back to Fugo, expression hidden, it's hard to tell what might be on his mind; it's not like him to be so still. If he pushes Fugo, he might walk away. If he doesn't, he might walk away anyway. Either way, the next time he sees Fugo when he reaches that house is out of his hands, he realizes.

So very little in Narancia's life has been on his terms. Joining the gang was one of those things. Getting on the boat, effectively betraying it, was another. If everything since has strained the tether between them to the breaking point, fine, but he won't let it go gently.

He finally turns to look Fugo in the eye, defiant.]

It matters to me.

[In the face of Narancia's stubborn defiance, Fugo is--]

[His affect has gone completely flat; the only signs of the storm underneath the surface is the tension in his shoulders and his white-knuckled grip on his bag. But there's nothing of it in his face. There's a disconnect between the emotion and the rest of him. All that's left is a flat, immovable rejection in his eyes. He simply does not-- and, in many ways, cannot-- believe Narancia.]

I'm not getting into it.

[There's just no point. He can't even go through the motions; he's too full of bile and ugliness. If Narancia is so certain in his belief that it's fine and alright for him to have died, that it's some fair trade in exchange for Trish's survival-- he just can't. There's no way for them to understand each other.]

[The blankness in Fugo's stare hurts. Fugo has never looked at him like that before. For a moment, the defiance gives way to hurt, and something a little like fear. Everything he says seems to push Fugo further away, and there's a frustration building under his skin. This isn't how he imagined it, back in Rome. He'd pictured coming back to Naples triumphantly and having Fugo yell at him for getting involved in something so dangerous, but being able to tell him that he worried too much, because he was fine.

But he wasn't fine, was he. So what now? Narancia has never known to be anything other than straightforward; he wouldn't take back his choice, can't even say he would for Fugo's sake. His hands clench at his side, that defiant look threatening to crumble. Just a week ago, Fugo was his family. Now he looks at him coldly, and Narancia hurts. Why does it have to be Trish or Fugo? How is that fair?]

...Then don't get into it. Just tell me. Do you hate me for dying?

Narancia, [Fugo says and there is a final, dangerous, note of warning in his voice--] I'm not getting into it.

[He's not going to talk about Venice, or what he feels about it. He cannot and will not. Not here, in the middle of the street, surrounded by strangers; not now, when it's more important to get Giorno and Narancia connected. That's what matters.]

[Narancia decides, early on, that he likes the cometflies. They remind him of the ladybugs on Giorno's clothes, and the glow they leave on his body is unusual; Giorno always likes the weird and uncanny creatures the most.

What he does not like, however, are the nosy locals. They keep trying to manhandle him into "fated" partners whenever someone else has a similar-colored bug landing on them, and it was cute for about five minutes out of fondness for the reminder of Mista, and promptly becomes incredibly annoying thereafter.

The most recent of the interlopers gets a bird flipped at them when they shove him a little too hard right into Ozymandias, which is a step up from getting a knife waved in their face, at least? But he still looks deeply disgruntled about it.]

Ugh, this is stupid! Do these bastards keep hassling you, too?

[The meteor shower is so cool and these people are RUINING IT. bitch about it with him, random stranger!]

[Ozymandias has a bit more tolerance than Narancia for Aefenglom's traditions it would seem. He doesn't shoot anyone any looks, not even the person who opted to give him a nudge in Narancia's direction without first seeking permission. He has (willingly) attended so many festivals where natives rope the Mirrorbound directly into their traditions at this point that this seems hardly any different to him, and he always approaches unfamiliar customs with a certain degree of curiosity. A willingness to assess them.]

[He does not particularly appreciate having Narancia pushed into him like that, however. Narancia may not weigh enough as gangly as he is and there may not be enough force in the push to cause Ozymandias to stumble or steady himself with a step backward, but it is still not exactly enjoyable to have a teenager roughly pushed into it. And if the goal here is that they should meet and it be a positive experience, that's certainly not fostering the best of introductions. Particularly if this young man's response is any indication. Ozymandias reflexively extends a hand to steady Narancia, releasing him the moment it seems he has his balance and seems well enough to gripe about the natives' traditions.]

If you find this bothersome then I would suggest you avoid the streets anytime there is a festival, [Ozymandias says, moving his gaze from the woman who gave Narancia a shove down to the teenager before him. He does give Narancia a brief once-over to be sure he was not particularly injured in being shoved into Ozymandias.] You might find yourself a model or an attendee to a wedding otherwise.

[So, being pushed into a conversation is perhaps the least troublesome of possibilities.]

Worry not, I will not hold you here, but if you wish to avoid being pushed into anyone else, you may stay nearby for a while. I don't believe they will pull you away.

[Narancia's a little bit disappointed this guy doesn't want to complain with him, but at least he seems nice about the whole thing, which is the second best outcome, he supposes. Narancia's own disgruntled expression eases off, though it's replaced with a look of dismay as Ozymandias gives his note of caution.]

A wedding???

...Yeah, I'll hang out with you awhile, I don't want to get married.

[> the point

> narancia's head]

[It's...a bit astonishing how much of what Ozymandias said does not appear to have...gone through? Or at least not gone through correctly. He comes quite close to clarifying because there's certainly no danger of becoming married unless one so desires at any moment within Aefenglom. Ozymandias even goes so far as to draw the breath necessary, but he really doesn't think he could have said it any plainer than he already has.]

[...The child is probably just flustered. It's clearly early in his stay in this world, so it's perhaps a bit overwhelming. One can certainly make such allowances then. So, Ozymandias will not even bother asking.]

Well, if you are to be in my company for a time, I would like to know your name.

[The real trick will be if Ozymandias remembers it later or not. He's not always the best with names, whoops.]

[Unfortunately for Ozymandias, it is all of the above, really. Narancia is new and confused and flustered but he is also just a lot at all times.]

Sure. I'm Narancia. What about you?

[That's okay, if Ozymandias forgets, Narancia will find more and more annoying things to call him until he remembers!!!]

[Please no more nicknames, Narancia. He can barely handle all the nicknames he has from the women trying to ruin him. He doesn't need more added to the pile.]

[There is, unfortunately, no saving Narancia from Ozymandias' tl;dr introduction though.]

I am the third king of the Nineteenth Dynasty of Egypt, the God-King of the Sun and King of Kings, the Great Ancestor, Pharaoh Ramesses II. You may call me Ozymandias.

baby you're a firework

closed to fugo + giorno

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closed to ozymandias

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crawls in three weeks later with starbucks

wow and not purramid cafe?? begone with that starbucks