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“…and your eyes are so pretty.” The man with the hair that reminded Avdol of a block of very ugly cheese the first time he met him speaks with no filter nor restraint. He literally cannot help it, as he cannot lie. He hasn’t shut up in an hour though, Avdol doesn’t know if that’s related to the damage to the head he had endured. Polnareff isn’t a quiet man by nature, anyways. Perhaps the truth serum brought out his temperament out to a better light too, inhibiting his control over his personality much like the truth of his heart. “The way they light up when you use your stand… magnificent.”
There had been a stand attack, the first one they’d encountered that day. It happened after five pm, unusually late for a handsel. Kakyoin and Avdol were away, shopping around a local bazaar. Jotaro was chilling near a pond, enjoying the light breeze of the setting day. And Jean and Joseph had been alone. Of course, things were bound to go wrong when those two ended up being in each other’s company. Polnareff had encountered the stand first, Joseph thought it was just him being weird when he went on and on and on about European cheese. The attack had almost permanently ripped his tongue out, the key had been to decrease the longevity and the connections between your sentences. Luckily, they had figured it out, or else the atmosphere of this dinner would be much different.
“How long will he keep babbling in this deranged tongue?” Joseph complains, burying his nose and the distasteful curve of his mouth under the fancy hotel’s stuffy menu that seemed a little worn. Mr. Joestar made sure that the crew would stay in the best places available whenever possible, because those weren’t always an option. It didn’t take a fortune teller to guess that he would pay for all of them, dinner included.
“It’s not deranged! It’s sophisticated. Fashionable. True, it’s a nightmare to say bigger numbers if you’re not a native but who needs maths anyways?” Polnareff is seated beside Avdol and right in front of Mr. Joestar, his elbows are on the table and his head rests on top of his hands.
“It’s French, Mr. Joestar.” Joseph is the only crusader that knows Avdol is fluent in French. Or at least, Avdol thought he knew. He must have forgotten, or he would incessantly ask him to translate.
“I know it’s French! It’s deranged.” He shakes his head.
There’s a shrug coming from Kakyoin after a brief silence with a background of seemingly random French phrases, “the user said it could last up to a few days,” to which Joseph groaned again.
“What if I get stuck like this? I find the Japanese brats to be intolerable sometimes but I don’t say anything because I consider the cherry obsessed one to be my buddy.” Beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. “The other is okay too, I guess. We’re not close at all. It’s hard to crack up a conversation with him.” He shuts his eyes tightly and opens them immediately after, a small crisis disguised as a blink. “See? How do they expect me to talk in anything other than French,” he groans, waiting for someone to agree with him. No one does since no one is fluent in French, and Avdol decides to keep it to himself that he understood all his compliments and weird inputs. He will tell him later, privately. Most probably. Maybe.
“Why does he only speak French, though?” Kakyoin ponders. “I thought the stand acted like a veritaserum.”
“Yes,” Avdol nods. “Did you know that veritaserum is a myth?”
“Really?” Kakyoin chimes up. He’s curious when it came to misconceptions deep inside the history of humanity.
“Yes. Alchemists that didn’t know any better made the concept popular. The veritaserum in question is actually believed to be absinthe.” Avdol smiles at the teen, hands folded neatly on the table. They have been that way since he sat down.
“You’re like so smart.” Polnareff turns to him, one elbow still on the soft cloth of the table. “I’ve never told you this but I think you might be the smartest person I ever met. That’s kind of intimidating.”
“Who understands the French anyways,” Joseph bewails, wrapped in his old man understanding and superstitions. Avdol doesn’t get how Mr. Joestar can be both the most understanding and open minded person and someone who typically gives into his preconceptions.
“Probably doesn’t want us to know what he’s really thinking about us.” Jotaro doesn’t look up from the box shaped lighter he’s been toying with as he comments.
“Oh, come on! Don’t figure me out so soon, Jotaro.” He complains. “And here I thought I was being smart.”
“A coward move, I’d say. He should just speak his mind. I don’t think anyone here would get offended.” Avdol’s eyes scan over Joseph. He meant to say ‘anyone except Mr. Joestar’, but he had decided against it. He would get offended.
“Look, I don’t like how you worded that, but I don’t care because you’re hot. I like to see your lips move when you talk. I bet they’re soft. I mean I’ve never touched them but I just know they’re soft as a -dammit, Jean!” He curses himself, a futile effort to rid of the stand attack’s aftermath.
“Oh, I’m glad it wasn’t me who got hit.” Joseph let out a crunchy laugh. “Lord knows I would call Polnareff a -”
“Good thing you’re not the one who got hit by that stand, then.” Jotaro interjects before his grandfather can finish his sentence.
“I am strong. I can make this stand attack my whore. Avdol I can make this stand my whore, do you agree? I value your opinion.”
“He just said your name!” Joseph points with his finger, closing the menu and patting its soft covering with his palm. A few matters take more importance than food in Joseph Joestar’s eyes. Being nosy is one of them. “He said your name!”
Avdol can’t stop a small curve forming on his mouth. “Indeed he did, Mr. Joestar.”
“Fuck.” Polnareff looks around, somewhat paranoid. Fear of being seen is prominent in his eyes.
“He swore. He swore, right Jotaro?” He accuses him, a bit too excited Avdol notes as he notices the stern looks of some people from the tables around theirs.
“Sure did. What’re you gonna do about it?” He blinks. “Why did I say it like that? Shit, I’m turning into a teenager too. I don’t want to be like them again! Not that they’re lame, I was. I can’t go back. I had back acne. I had backne!” Polnareff puts his hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“How should I know?” Jotaro replies crossly.
“You look like you know swear words in other languages.” Joseph presses his lips together, sharing his assumption with the teen that did not appreciate it the slightest.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t know or you don’t think you look like you know swear words in other languages?” Joseph’s fast paced sentence with way too many syllables made Kakyoin squint his eyes, as he tries to decipher it in his head.
“I’m confused. Does he know French? Let me list a few notable curse words, in fact, see if any piques his interest…” It’s Avdol’s turn to pinch the bridge of his own nose.
“Good grief.” Jotaro stuffs the lighter back into his inner pocket.
“Now, don’t get up.” Mr. Joestar’s unusual obsession with technicalities and small loops shows. Avdol resists the urge to groan, but Kakyoin lets it out. Jotaro takes out the lighter again, playing with its lid.
“Yeah Jotaro, listen to your peepaw.”
Jotaro huffs, stretching his legs towards the centre of the oval table. He waits for Joseph’s attention to dissolve. He then turns to Kakyoin and whispers something in Japanese. The two share a small laugh that goes unnoticed by the old man.
I wonder what he told him. Do you know Japanese?” I think you should learn Japanese. I heard it’s kinda similar to one of those funky languages -sorry for saying funky- you speak. To which Avdol only hums, pretending not to understand. “Well guess it would be sweeter if you learned French before that. Or I could learn Arabic. You’re way smarter, so I think the first would go without roadblocks. Then we could snicker and gossip like these two. Have inside jokes and works. Piss Joseph off.”
“Oh my god, I’ve had enough of this! Jotaro, yell at him.” Joseph pats his hat that he had placed on the table earlier, a rude thing to do in such a place of luxury.
“That didn’t work the first six times.” The uncomfortable teen’s school jacket slumps more. He hasn’t taken his hat off, in fact Avdol had never seen him do so.
“Yell at him again!” His grandfather insists, something to avoid with Jotaro Aldol had learned on this trip.
“Shut up old man!” His anger blazes so suddenly, goes away with the same promptitude.
“Hah, he yelled at you instead of me. The person who told him to yell at. How funny is that? Polnareff turns a fit of giggles into a well manufactured cough.
“Oh my god…” Joseph murmurs again, shaking his head. He confided in Avdol one day, said that he didn’t know how his sweet daughter raised a rude boy like Jotaro. Avdol had told him that Jotaro wasn’t rude. Mr. Joestar just didn’t understand nor attempt to get to know his borders and personal space. Their relationship has been getting better though, as their trip progressed further.
Avdol figures that could be said for each of them. He couldn’t stand Polnareff at first. He seemed like the embodiment of everything Avdol despised in one man. But he soon realized that he was much more. His arrogance comes from a fun loving place, from his comical sense of humor. He doesn’t throw around big threats and promises to seem cool or delude people, he actually sets his words as absolute goals for himself and then does everything in his power to accomplish them. He accepts nothing less. An idealist that values his honor more than anything else, hidden in the flesh of an absurd man.
“Would the gentlemen like to place an order?” The waiter, clearly annoyed with the fact that these rowdy people has disturbed the peace of his place of work, asks for the third time.
“Not yet.” Mr. Joestar waves him off with his prosthetic hand, still gloved unlike his other hand. The waiter practically seethes with no noise, Avdol notes, as he leaves. “So. What are we eating?”
“I would love to try the Hokkien prawn.”
“I want the same as Avdol.” Polnareff hasn’t peeked inside the menu.
“He said your name again.” Mr. Joestar reopens the menu. “Do you want to eat Avdol?” He laughs at his own joke. Jotaro rolls his eyes.
Avdol can see Polnareff’s ears turn bright red, before his hands can cover them. “What kind of question is that? Even if it’s a joke…” He bites the insides of his cheeks. “I mean not literally. Depends on what you mean. I don’t want to taste the flesh of a human. Though… I am a little curious how it tastes. But no. I would never eat Avdol like that Of course not. He needs his own meat to exist. First, I would take him to a nice place like this for dinner. Although without your company, Mr. Joestar, no offense. And then…”
“Wow, he said your name too, Mr. Joestar.” Kakyoin comments. “Maybe he wants to eat you too.” He deadpans, earning an amused hum from Polnareff.
“Just point it on the menu, Polnareff.” Avdol offers, sliding an open menu in front of the man.
Polnareff gives him a grateful look, “Thank you. I love how you always look out for me. And anyone else for that matter, but I like it the most when it’s me. Okay, you know. This one wasn’t so bad. And it’s coming from me! Wish you understood this one. I should tell you that for real later on.” He pats Avdol’s back. Avdol fails to understand how offering him a very simplistic solution has moved him to these lengths. He doesn’t dwell on that thought for long. Polnareff had suffered injuries to his head. Who knows what went on his brain?
“I want chicken tenders.” Jotaro points to the dish he’s seen on the kids’ side of the menu.
“Jotaro… we’re at a very luxurious place, maybe one of the best in Singapore. Wouldn’t kill you to try something else. How about…” His eyes scan the menu. “This one?” Joseph’s finger taps on the bright paper that smells like lavender rather than kitchen grease. A shark fin soup. Avdol visibly cringes, that is the worst thing he could offer to Jotaro out of all of the items here. It hasn’t been a week since Jotaro told him of how he’s concerned of the decreasing population of southern dwelling orcas.
“Don’t want to.” He crosses his arms. A frown replaces his neutral expression.
“Come on? For me?” Joseph attempts to use his grandparent charm. It backfires.
He doesn’t seem impressed nor emotionally moved by Mr. Joestars attempts of emotional manipulation. “No.”
“Now, what was he expecting?” Polnareff huffs out. “That wouldn’t make an eight year old in Nérac finish his veggie soup.”
Joseph relents with a sigh. “You’re so boring. Kakyoin, what about you?”
“I’ll uhh…” He didn’t have the opportunity to tell Joseph that his menu was in a language he didn’t know. “I’ll have whatever Avdol’s having. Prawn… something.”
“Fine. Then it’s two of that,” Polnareff waves three fingers. “You want that too? Okay, three of that, two servings of chicken tenders,” his voice gets duller as he announces Jotaro’s order, to which the teen rolls his eyes. “And whatever I’ll have.” He lifts his head to call the waiter, attention separated from the folk around the table in general. That was Kakyoin and Jotaro’s cue to go into their own bubble. They would chatter in Japanese, and it would elate Avdol -building chemistry’s important in teams, especially teams of people who walk into unknown dangers together every day such as themselves.
He shifts, extending his leg towards the centre of the table. His torso is slightly turned to Polnareff now, even though they would be unable to have a conversation if he kept talking in French. “I kind of wish you knew French. Then this would be so awkward for me. But at least you would know. I get so tongue tied around you. It’s not something I’m used to. This is normally very easy for me.” He seizes the opportunity to brag. A small snippet of air escapes Avdol’s nose. How in character for him.
“Oh,” Joseph briefly turns his attention back to the table. “I’ll also order wine for us, Polnareff. Red or white?”
“He likes red better. Gaillac, if I’m correct.” Avdol answers. He didn’t want Polnareff to risk calling Jotaro a brat in a language he could understand. That would be a mess he just is not equipped to deal with.
“Yes,” he watches Joseph place the order for a bottle that fit. “How did you know?” Avdol shrugs.
“Okay,” Joseph chats with the waiter for a while more. Polnareff’s voice had finally become some sort of white noise to his ears, he has stopped complaining about it after the order.
Damn, Mr. Joestar’s going all out.” A grin forms on his face.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t thank me. You have good taste.” Joseph is able to take his tone and context and understand Polnareff.
“Mr. Joestar, can I -” Kakyoin perks up, about to ask for a small glass of wine.
“Absolutely not.” Joseph cuts him off.
“But you didn’t even let me finish!”
“I’m not going to let a kid drink. That would be irresponsible of me.”
“I get it.” Kakyoin pouts with an exaggerated huff that kicks his single lock of red hair behind to the side of his face. “Like, letting a seventeen year old come on a trip to across the world to pick a fight with an all powerful, immortal creature of the night without telling his parents?”
“…okay, you got me there.” Joseph relents again. “Fine. Half a glass.” He caves in, gaining a vindicated smile from Kakyoin.
“Why do you look so smug? It’s just wine.” Avdol comments quietly, as he’s noticed the absence of French murmuring.
“It’s not just wine. Polnareff talks louder. See, this is why I adore you. You remember the smallest of things. I’d mentioned my favorites maybe weeks ago in some meaningless late night conversation. I never remember small stuff, so when someone else does it’s very intriguing to me. In my mind, they care. Because they remember. Because when I remember, it’s with someone I care a lot about. Does this make sense? Do I make sense? Probably not. You don’t understand me anyways, what’s the matter if I don’t,” he shrugs, the singular strap of his pointless himbo shirt catching on between the muscles of his neck and shoulder. “I had eyes for you ever since our first encounter, Mohammad. Even in a fight, you’re more of a gentleman than I’ll ever be.” Polnareff’s continued exposure to the attack’s aftermath has made his state of mind more tolerant, it appears.
“I think he’s talking to you, Avdol.” Kakyoin points out,
“Oh, is he?” Avdol focuses on his water. It’s harder to keep a neutral face now. “Polnareff, maybe you should rest a little. You’re going to lose your voice if you keep talking carelessly.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” Kakyoin speaks with the confidence and the expertise of having roomed with Polnareff quite often. “He never shuts up.”
“He has a strong voice.” Even Jotaro admits. “It’s annoying.”
“Yes! I do.” He announces with pride. Avdol evaluates this time to take himself out of the main conversation for a while, focusing on his glass of water and how small droplets ran down the cold glass.
“What did the stand that attack us call itself?” Joseph randomly asks with a small recoil of his prosthetic, calling Avdol’s attention. “Maiden?”
“Madlen.” Kakyoin offers.
“Isn’t that a chocolate brand?” Joseph argues.
“Madem.” Jotaro has been the one to remember it correctly.
“That’s not a word.” Joseph disregards him rather quickly.
“Why does it matter?” Jotaro mutters, he’s clearly already tired.
“It doesn’t. I just want to know if I remember it correctly.”
“I’m pretty sure it was Madem.” He frowns.
“I think it was Madem too,” Avdol supports Jotaro.
“Made-in what?”
“Mandarine?” Polnareff attempts to contribute.
Avdol shakes his head, uttering a soft, “no. Not a mandarin orange, Jean.”
Joseph laughs, “why would he name it something French? Are you feeling okay, Polnareff?”
“He hit his head pretty hard, Mr. Joestar. “ Kakyoin chimes in.
“True, true.” He waves his hand. He’d forgotten about that, somehow.
There’s a silence, after the discussion of the stand Madem’s user.
The silence grows.
Fills all the gaps and nooks, along with Polnareff’s occasional foreign tongued mumble.
It’s a tiring silence. No one enjoys it, Avdol can tell. But no one wants to be the one to break it.
“So Jotaro, how was the pond?” Joseph’s conversation wingman, Polnareff, was out of commission. His playful banter and joyful persona would usually depend on Polnareff to get the convos going by asking creative questions or bringing up random subjects.
“Good.” Jotaro stares at his glass of water, drawing shapes on the surface of the condensation filled glass with his finger.
“Only good?”
“…yes. It was okay.” He stops, before adding. “I ate some pineapple.”
“Good then.” He cracked his tongue like a whip inside his mouth, a sound that conveys his thoughts on the pond.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke.” Jotaro, growing bored, grabs his lighter that he kept playing with off of the table into his pocket.
“Wait up,” Kakyoin follows suit, his still half-full glass of wine in tow. He pretended to smoke sometimes, to get out of a bigger group and chat with Jotaro or to be by himself.
“I bet they’re going to talk about us,” Polnareff runs his mouth without ever considering that two men over twenty and one over sixty doesn’t happen to be a really interesting subject. Not to those two anyways. Avdol doubts the two ever speaks of them other than to mock them.
“Glad the kids are gone…” Joseph leans back in his chair. “I can swear now. And flirt.”
“My god… aren’t you married? Isn’t he married?” Avdol doesn’t expect Polnareff to guess it right off the bat that Joseph and his wife had been in an open relationship for many years, perhaps from the very beginning. No one could guess it right off the bat, an old couple being out of the 'norrm'. It had taken Avdol one session of looking at Joseph’s tarot fortune, though. His keen perception shouldn’t be compared to regular people.
“You swear with the kids present, too.” Avdol chuckles.
“True,” Joseph laughs, it’s a sincere one this time instead of an awkward wheeze of a laugh. “Let’s say I can swear comfortably now.
“An old man swearing? Now this, I can get behind. Polnareff leans back, relaxed now that the amount of people he could possibly offend has decreased.
Joseph coughs, swerving what little amount of wine he had left on the bottom of his first glass. “How are your… cards?”
“That’s not a curse word, old man.”
“They’re fine, Mr. Joestar.” Avdol’s interest is piqued. It isn’t often that Joseph would ask for the cards’ aid.
“I see, I see.” He puts his index finger and thumb around his chin. “I want you to do a tarot reading for me later.”
“Hey, me too! I want you to look for if we’re meant to be!” He bites down on his tongue, ever so slightly. Polnareff really must think he’s lucky that Avdol didn’t know French. “I know it’s probably nothing but I checked our star signs and we’re seem to be really compatible. I don’t know if that’s an important thing to you. But since you’re a fortune teller, I thought it might be. Just something to… think about there.”
“Tonight?” It has gotten pretty late, unusual for Joseph to ask for a random reading, especially unusual for him to ask for an urgent one.
“Tonight. Tonight? Is that a code word? Wait… do you… are you two an item?” Polnareff states, his surprise apparent from his expression. “Tell me you’re not. I don’t want to imagine… it.”
“What’s he so worked up about?”
“Hmm, current affairs, perhaps.” He waves his hand. “Don’t mind him.” He lets his other hand slowly trail its way to Polnareff’s thigh. “Is something the matter?”
“What? Oh, no. It’s just the anniversary of a friend’s death. I want to know if he is okay.”
He isn’t surprised by the man’s false perception. “That’s not how tarot works, Mr. Joestar.” He let his palm press on the cotton and linen of his white pants. “But it would be my pleasure to set it up if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Thank you, Avdol. I really appreciate it.” He leans back in his chair, as the waiter sets his food up in front of him. Joseph can’t help but to glance at Jotaro’s sad plate of fried chicken fingers and some variety of red sauces. “I really don’t know why that child ended up this way. When I was his age, I ate all kinds of weird stuff. Even squid pasta!”
“I know. You’ve told me that story before.” Too many times to count, to be frank. But who was Avdol to rain on an old man’s parade? He really enjoyed telling it.
“Yeah.” His gaze focuses on something on the wall, smiling. “Good times.” His reminiscing restrains him from noticing that the constant background noise of their table has been stifled. So when he gets up it makes a rather loud creak, the chair’s feet that drag across the expensive floorboards make the unsightly sound, attracting some unwanted attention from the other patrons glaring their way. “I’m going to go get the kids.”
“I could go instead, Mr. Joestar.” Avdol offers, though he doesn’t make an attempt to get up. He brushes his hand down towards Polnareff’s knee instead.
“No, no. I already got up.” Joseph insists, making his way to the spacious and ambient terrace of the restaurant.
“If you say so.” Avdol watches him walk out of earshot. He has sharp ears for a 69 year old person. Maybe it’s thanks to the hamon training he’d received during his youth that he tries so hard to get an uninterested Jotaro into.
“Avdol?” Polnareff’s face is quite red, but the sunburn he’s endured during the day does a good job of concealing that. The ears. One could always tell from the ears.
“Maybe you could take me on that date sometime, Jean.”
“You… you know French!?” Polnareff’s ears light up all the way to the tips. "Why didn’t you say anything?" His eyes are strictly on the food on his plate now, not daring to look elsewhere.
He pats Polnareff’s knee twice, before telling him: “We should have a talk after dinner, don’t you think?” He removes his hand, resting it back on the table as the rest of the crusaders begin to arrive for their well-deserved dinner.