Chapter Text
Abbacchio doesn't know if he can sanely handle another kid in such close quarters. Trish is glowering at him. He's guessing, of course, his eyes have been closed for the last twenty minutes, but it's hard to ignore. He understood why it was him on babysitting duty, that Moody Blues isn't quite up to snuff to fight what they're up against right now. In all honesty he would enjoy the easy work if Trish had stayed quiet and curled into herself like she had been the first couple days of escorting her.
The pounding intensity of his music can't mask the sharp step of Trish's heels as she finally gets off the uncomfortable chair she'd perched herself on and made her way in his direction. There are two couches, and Abbacchio knows he's sprawled his way across the majority of the more comfortable of the two, but he figured it would get his point across.
He's not here to be sociable.
It's an honest effort to keep his eyes closed when he feels Trish's weight settle into the slim, unoccupied half-cushion to his left. She's as far from him as she can manage, and if she wants to curl up in borrowed space he guesses he'll allow it.
What little patience he has is immediately spent when she touches his leg. Abbacchio's eyes snap open, lip curling to find the offending pressure is Trish pressing the heel of one boot challengingly against his thigh. Once she sees she has his attention she slowly, deliberately, pushes his leg away from her. The treads are just dusty enough to leave an obvious, bright smear along the dark fabric of his pants as she gains more space at his expense.
He takes his headphones off to snap at her, but she slips in a snide little, "You sit like a whore." before he can manage. Trish's eyes are a judgmental flash across the wide-angle of his unmolested leg before locking gazes with him again.
She's not intimidated by him as he'd assumed, but she is scared to test these waters with him. He didn't miss how she had systematically put each of the boys in their place, a laughably easy venture, but Abbacchio isn't her peer. He's bigger than her, he has a Stand, and they're alone inside Coco Jumbo. God knows why this is the time she chose to test him. After him, the only one she has left to test is Bruno, and it's in this moment he realizes she's absolutely going to take that swing, too.
No one could doubt her lineage.
It softens his sneer somewhat. He knows how vital it must be for her to carve out some semblance of control in a group of strange men as a lone girl, and it's no hit to his pride to fold against the demands of one. Not when he's being paid to escort her. Abbacchio shoves her foot off his leg violently by her knee and enjoys the way she flinches, and how the impact has the pale of her skin immediately turning pink. It makes her tense as a snake, but he leaves her with the space she conquered for herself.
She tracks his hand as he runs his fingers uselessly against the dusty mark her shoe had left. "Fucking brat." If she has anything else to say on the matter he doesn't catch it. Her power play is done, he's sure, so he pulls his headphones back on and reclines deeper into the cushions of the couch, legs demurely kept closed.
He pretends not to notice how unnaturally still she stays until they're rejoined by the rest of the group.