Work Text:
2011
Everything seemed fine. Content, even. The private jet navigated through the clouds with no turbulence, in the direction of North America. The sun is just beginning to decline over the horizon, bathing the clouds in a brilliant orange. Polnareff is perched on the tray of the seat closest to the window, peeking out of Coco Jumbo and watching as they passed over clouds and endless ocean. The turtle is currently occupied with munching on some vegetables that had been passed over from Giorno's food tray.
To his left, Giorno sits with crossed legs, a book open in his slender hands. Polnareff had a glass of wine and a cheese and cracker tray, so he's feeling pretty content right now. He smiles faintly, gazing out past the window with his hands resting on Coco Jumbo's shell. Lazily, he reaches up to adjust his sheer eye patch.
And then he feels sick. It feels like his stomach is clenching and the breath in his lungs is currently being wrung out. He's going to vomit. Gasping, Polnareff clutches at his purple top, sapphire eye wide. Suddenly, the clouds below them become a blur. A flash of white. The sun in the sky disappears. Back and forth, the sun circles around them countless times—completely untraceable. Around and around, it shoots across the sky, flashing light, and then dark, ad then blinding light again as day after day passes.
“Giorno!” Polnareff yells, watching with horror as the plane begins to free fall through the sky. Giorno snatches up Coco Jumbo and clutches Polnareff to his chest, and then touches the seat in front of them. Immediately, the seat forms into a massive tree trunk, curling around them and forming a solid sphere. They're shrouded in darkness. Another touch to the solid wood has cotton growing. Growing, and increasing in size until they're completely encased in the soft material. Polnareff feels his stomach lift, tingling and twisting to an unbearable degree as the plane collapses through the sky. It's hard to breathe.
“Giorno,” Polnareff pants, reaching out blindly into the dark. He finds Giorno's finger wrapped around Coco Jumbo's shell. He grabs it, and squeezes.
Two seconds later, they hit the ocean. An incredible screech of tearing metal and a jarring splash, an ear-splitting eruption of noise. The impact has them jerking within the cocoon of the tree trunk, but into the thick cotton that cushions them. Despite the buffer, Giorno curls tightly around Coco Jumbo, protecting the turtle from being bashed against the trunk—fearful of it dying along with its Stand, and ultimately, Polnareff.
Panting heavily, Giorno continues holding Polnareff, heart pounding, until the older man shouts, “Giorno, we have to get you a life vest, or get the—the life raft! Get us out of here!”
Sucking in sharp breaths, Giorno realizes he's on the verge of a panic attack. He has the massive tree trunk surrounding them unravel, the cotton falling apart from their bodies and dispersing. They both glance around. The jet is utterly destroyed. It's split down the center, and they're beginning to sink.
“Make a raft out of something!” Polnareff yells past the chaos. The sun is still spinning around and around at an insane speed, the waves around them crashing and crashing against the hull of the plane as it sunk. Giorno thinks of the pilot, the stewardess. Are they dead? He doesn't have time to dwell on it right now. Planting his foot on the seat he was once sitting on, he stabilizes himself at the angle the plane is sinking in and touches the floor of the cabin. The remaining seats all fuse down to the floor and then the floor becomes an enormous board of crude wood.
Reaching out, Giorno taps his fingers against the wall of the cabin. The fuselage around them dissipates into leaves, scattering in the uncontrollable wind that rushes over them. Above them, the sun continues spinning.
Looking around wildly, Giorno does not spot any of the other passengers. The wind causes the raft to rock dangerously. Giorno's clothing whips around him, his blonde locks becoming unraveled from the force of the wind. Water splashes over them, the waves chaotic and raging.
“What the hell is going on!?” Polnareff shouts past the crashing of the waves. Giorno looks up at the flashing sky with wide eyes.
And then, sitting haphazardly atop the unstable raft, he drops his gaze to Polnareff. Polnareff's shaken eye meets his, his own gelled locks now unkempt as well, his sheer eye patch flapping in the uncontrollable gusts of wind. Giorno raises Coco Jumbo, the turtle wiggling its legs, to plant a kiss to Polnareff's small cheek. Meeting Polnareff's surprised gaze again, Giorno offers a weak smile.
“A thank you, for all you have done for me,” Giorno calls above the roar of the waves, his disheveled blonde locks whipping in the wind.
“This isn't it!” Polnareff yells, grimacing, his hands clenching into fists with an agonized look in his sapphire eye.
The force of the violent waves hitting against the insufficient raft has it upturning. Frigid water envelopes them both. The impact and turbulent undercurrent has Giorno losing his grip on Coco Jumbo.
Snapping his eyes open, Giorno, trapped underneath the tumultuous water, sees Coco Jumbo sinking. Shooting out his hand, Giorno extends his reach with Gold Experience, the Stand lurching for the descending turtle. The wild current sweeps Polnareff away just out of reach, seizing Giorno's entire body with panic. Water fills his mouth as he yells underwater, bubbles rolling up over his grimacing face. Through the flashing darkness and light of the passing sun, he sees Polnareff's small form reaching for him with an extended hand and a panicked expression on his face, though it's futile. Giorno loses sight of him, the consuming darkness of the ocean swallowing him and Coco Jumbo whole.
2004
Following a night of bar hopping with Jotaro and Abdul (Abdul being the designated driver, of course), Polnareff emerges from his apartment at probably four in the morning with full intention to walk to a nearby 24-hour diner. He's craving pancakes like crazy right now. Abdul had dropped him off about an hour ago, and ever since then, he's been sitting at his desktop, looking at pictures of pancakes. So now, he must take action. It has to be done.
Although, maybe walking through a somewhat shady part of Orlando wasn't the wisest decision. He's got Chariot though. No one would get through Chariot.
With his hands in his jean pockets, he meanders his way down a sidewalk, passing small businesses, other apartment buildings, and various gas stations along the way. The diner shouldn't be too far, now.
After passing a closed steakhouse, he pauses. He hears shouting. Polnareff picks up into a slight jog, though he stumbles a bit—he's still a little light-headed and off balance from the drinking. At the next corner, he looks over to see what appears to be someone being mugged by a hooded man. He's holding a knife and the man being mugged—some guy with vibrant red hair (Polnareff thinks that would definitely attract unwanted attention)—doesn't appear even vaguely threatened by it.
Much to Polnareff's surprise, the redhead just turns away from the culprit and walks. Polnareff nearly laughs, but instead internalizes it to avoid detection. Deciding to deal with it himself, he quietly hurries up towards the armed man with intention to knock him out with Silver Chariot. Justice somehow has to be served. (He's drunk, okay? He makes stupid decisions when drunk.)
Instead, the mugger yells, “Where the hell do you think you're going?!”
He lunges for the redhead, managing to grab a fistful of the back of his sweater.
“Hey!” Polnareff shouts, suddenly a lot more concerned. He breaks into run, Silver Chariot emerging with a flash. But before he could act, a sudden swarm of bioluminescent appendages lash out and curl around the mugger, earning a startled shout from him, and then somehow, he's lifted off the ground. The knife hits the concrete with a clatter. Polnareff watches, eyes wide, as he's lifted high above the sidewalk, by the hold of glowing tentacles. Then with a whip of the tentacles, he's simply flung away. The mugger is sent flying into trashcans with a loud crash of metal.
“Woah,” Polnareff breathes, amazed. He looks over to see the redhead standing there with his hands in fists by his sides. But now, there's another person standing beside him—no, not a person. And not standing, either, really. It's a weird tentacle... thing hovering beside him.
When the stranger glances his way, Polnareff realizes three things: he has a really weird hairstyle, he's pretty damn attractive, and a look of shock crosses said attractive face. The red-haired stranger watches him warily for a moment. Polnareff is unsure what to do. This turned out to be a weird fucking evening.
“Hey,” the other man calls, gesturing towards Polnareff with a pointed finger, “I can see your... your knight. What's his name?”
A groan comes from the forgotten mugger, barely heard past the distant wailing of a passing siren.
Polnareff blinks widely, baffled. He looks up towards Chariot, who appears reluctant with a wary look in its big blue eyes. Despite that, it continues to wield its rapier with an elegant pose. Polnareff glances back towards the stranger.
“You can see him?!”
“I just stated that, yes,” the stranger calls. And then he begins to step closer. Polnareff thinks that that's a good idea—it's silly to just shout at each other. Polnareff jogs to catch up to the other man. When they come to a stop before each other, Polnareff grins and exclaims happily, “So you have your own spirit, too?! I have a couple friends who have these spirit beings, too. But no one else sees them? It's really bizarre.”
He realizes he's blabbing, so he shuts up. The other man looks him up and down. Polnareff stares right back. Yes, even this close, he's really pretty. He has a really angular face, a sharp jawline, and striking almond shaped eyes.
“I call mine a Stand,” the stranger says, “I don't know what else to call him, but I certainly won't call him a spirit.”
“Why 'Stand'?” Polnareff laughs, arching a brow. The redhead doesn't look very amused. He shrugs and looks towards his glowing partner. The tentacle monster thing hovers beside him. Its glowing tentacles curl lazily around his legs and arms. It seems affectionate.
“Because he stands up for me,” he says, shrugging, “It seemed like something fitting to call him. It's not like he's an alien, or a spirit. So, that's the best I came up with.”
“I like it!” Polnareff gushes, beaming. He claps his hands together, nearly exclaiming, “That's perfect! I'll call Silver Chariot that from now on. Oh, yeah, and his name is Silver Chariot, by the way.”
Nodding, the stranger stares at the Stand hiding behind Polnareff's back, and then gestures towards his own with a lift of his hand, saying, “Hierophant Green.”
“Woah, so you got the name from tarot cards, too?!” Polnareff sputters, baffled, with wide eyes. He only named Silver Chariot as such because of Abdul and his interest in fortune telling, which extends to the tarot cards. (One day, Abdul had done a reading for Polnareff due to the Frenchman's demands and said off-hand that the drawing on the card resembled Polnareff's knight.) The other man arches a brow.
“Listen,” he says, brushing off Polnareff's excitement, “This isn't a particularly suitable setting for chatting.”
Looking over, Polnareff notices that the mugger is laying in a heap of garbage—unconscious, it seems. Glancing back at the other man, Polnareff grins.
“Hey, how does pancakes sound?”
The redhead looks at him blankly. Polnareff gesticulates mindlessly while saying excitedly, “I was on the way to the diner to eat some pancakes 'cause I've been craving them like fucking crazy, and then I ran into you and, well, that guy. And so, would you like to go with me? Whatever you want to do, it's up to you, man! I just think it's really cool that I met someone else who has a Stand like me!”
Catching his breath, Polnareff pants and looks at the other man with a broad smile. The stranger stares at him with a stoney expression, but then he huffs a slight laugh. Polnareff lets out a breathless laugh himself. When the redhead holds out a hand, Polnareff pauses.
“I'm Noriaki Kakyoin. Call me Kakyoin,” the stranger—no, Kakyoin says. A very faint smile is on his thin lips. Polnareff blinks and then smiles broadly again, reaching out to grip his smaller hand. They shook hands—which Polnareff thinks is kind of weird since no one introduces themselves like this anymore, but he goes along with it anyways.
“Jean-Pierre! But I go by Jean.”
“Alright, let's go, then,” Kakyoin says, releasing Polnareff's calloused hand to instead adjust the strap of his sling bag that ran across his chest. Polnareff nods eagerly with a grin, his half-heart earrings swinging.
Sitting across from Kakyoin at a booth in the diner, Polnareff finds himself staring. Kakyoin often checks his phone, repeatedly brushes his elongated bang behind an ear only for it to slip out and hang against his cheek, and pulls at the sleeves of his sweater. He seems to fidget a lot. Polnareff wants him to be relaxed.
Grabbing his glass of iced water, the condensation cold on his fingers, Polnareff takes a long, noisy slurp that earns the glance of Kakyoin's eyes, his crimson eyebrow arching. Polnareff sets down the glass of water with an obnoxious exhale and then meets Kakyoin's gaze. He's wearing colored contacts—purple. It's really pretty. Polnareff thinks to himself he's really fucking gay. He crosses his arms and gives the other man a smile.
“So, I keep getting this really intense feeling of déjà vu... Do you ever get déjà vu, Cockyoin?”
“Don't... call me that,” Kakyoin says with a grimace, before continuing with a more level expression, “And yes. I have déjà vu right now as well.”
“Sorry. I couldn't help myself,” Polnareff laughs, sitting back with a grin on his face. He slaps his hand down onto the tabletop, over his laminated menu, and begins to slide it side to side. Kakyoin looks vaguely annoyed. So, Polnareff stops doing that. He knows he tends to be obnoxious when he's tipsy (but then again, when isn't he obnoxious?).
“That's kinda weird,” he says with a thoughtful expression, “That we both have déjà vu.”
Kakyoin shrugs and starts pulling at his sleeve again.
“Tonight has just been weird in general.”
“Definitely bizarre,” Polnareff agrees. He searches Kakyoin's handsome face and lets out a deep breath.
Then, their waitress strides up to their booth with a tray of pancakes. Sitting up straight, Polnareff beams at the sight of the pancakes. He grabs his utensils, absolutely ready for the consumption of said pancakes. Kakyoin stifles his amused smile, watching the other man become unnecessarily excited about pancakes.
Waking up to the sounds of birds and traffic wouldn't be so bad if Polnareff hadn't gotten only six hours of sleep. Sleeping in until 3 P.M isn't exactly invigorating, either. Blinking heavily, Polnareff scowls at the ceiling and then moves to prop up on an elbow. He brushes his wild silver locks out of his face and lets out a heavy exhale. He feels like shit.
While blinking blearily and licking his dry lips, Polnareff reaches out to snatch his phone off his nightstand. He squints at it as he tiredly flips it open and turns it on. He has a new text. Opening it up, he reads the contact name.
It says 'Cockyoin'.
Recalling that they did, in fact, exchange numbers after consuming an excessive amount of pancakes has Polnareff smiling weakly. He then reads the text.
“Jean, I'm interested in meeting with you and your friends. You said they have Stands as well, right? Would it be possible to meet up? I keep getting this feeling like I've met you before.”
Grinning now, Polnareff excitedly texts back without putting much thought into it.
“yes!!! that would be awesome, if we could chill together w our stands. this whole time we thought we were the only ones w these spirits. like we had special pwers or something. maybe we do? but yeah ill ask them. and its rly weird but i feel the same? maybe we went to the same school or something”
As always, he rambled a bit but he's too tired to care at the moment. He spent way too much fucking time typing that out and his thumbs are beginning to ache from tapping the buttons a thousand times. He sends the text and then decides to crawl out of bed for a shower. He finds himself grinning on the way to the bathroom.
It's really bizarre how witnessing a guy getting mugged led to this. Maybe it was just meant to be, or some shit like that. Polnareff doesn't really believe in fate or anything, but something definitely gave him that craving for pancakes, only for him to ultimately run into Kakyoin.
As he steps into the shower, Polnareff laughs to himself, thinking if it weren't for the pancakes, he wouldn't have plans to meet up with such an attractive stranger. He owes it to the pancakes. Definitely.