Chapter Text
In the past 15 years, Polnareff had basically travelled the whole world. Sure, there were a bunch of countries he hadn’t tried, and they’d slowed down their pace in the last couple of years, but he and Avdol were experienced travelers. They’d flown in airplanes and helicopters, ridden camels across the desert and drove all manner of vehicles (once, memorably, a tank – they’d crashed it immediately though). Of all the infinite methods of transportation, Polnareff’s least favourite were boats. He didn’t get seasick, because he was a grown man and therefore was far too mature for motion sickness. But if he spent most of the journey to the coastal town standing suspiciously close to the railing, his partner knew better than to mention it.
With land in sight, Polnareff breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was not going to throw up on another boat – a small victory, but an important one. As the Morioh shore grew closer, so too did a small speedboat, far faster than the coast. Squinting, Polnareff tried to focus on the vehicle – it was just close enough to make out two figures. The one driving looked anywhere between 15 and 25 – dressed in the decorative get up of a delinquent, not too dissimilar from Jotaro when Polnareff first met him. The other wore the tell-tale white hat and stoic countenance of the aforementioned man, watching carefully as the kid wildly gesticulated in the direction of the boat with one hand.
“Muhammed! Check this out – Jotaro’s coming to get us!” Avdol looked up from the book he was reading, sat a little behind Polnareff on a bench. He rose, long braids and cropped red jacket fluttering in the sea breeze as he moved closer to his partner.
“Who’s that with him?”
“Fuck if I know. It seems like his first time driving a boat though.” Now they were closer, Polnareff could see that Jotaro had leaned over to grab the speedboats steering wheel, coaching the kid through intercepting with the far larger ship. The kid looked scared shitless.
“I’ll go tell the captain to prepare for a … clumsy meeting.”
Polnareff watched Jotaro struggle with the speedboat some more, fantastically entertained. When they got close enough that he could just about make out the expression on the Jotaro’s face, he flipped him the bird and followed after Avdol, not waiting to see his scowl in response.
Getting the two out of the speedboat and onto the deck of the ship was a hassle – large passenger ships like the one they were on just weren’t made to pick up random passengers in the middle of the ocean. Still, Jotaro and the kid made it up the ladder eventually. Polnareff immediately pulled the older man into a hug – it’d been over a year since they’d last all been together and he reserved the right to be as annoying as possible.
“Jojo! You never call – how are you? How’s Jolyne?”
“I don’t call because then I’d have to talk to you. Besides, you and Kakyoin call each other enough for all of us combined.” Jotaro grumbled in his usual way, and Polnareff stuck his tongue out at him. He then turned to Avdol, ignoring the Frenchman.
“It’s good to see you.”
“You too – are you going to introduce us to your driver?” Avdol gestured to the kid, who in return waved nervously.
“This is Okuyasu – Josuke’s friend. He’s old enough to drive a motorcycle, therefore he’s old enough to give driving a speedboat a try. Also, he doesn’t speak very much English, so you’ll have to translate for Polnareff.” He bristled at that, cursing his stubborn refusal to learn Japanese.
“That’s not how driving works!” Unfazed by Polnareff’s logic, Jotaro continued in Japanese.
“Okuyasu – this is Avdol and Polnareff. They’re the friends I was telling you all about earlier.”
“Hello Mr. Avdol, Mr. Polnareff, It’s so cool to meet friends of Doctor Kujo’s!” For all of his delinquent get up, the kid seemed polite enough, if not jittery. Up close Polnareff couldn’t help but notice he had two symmetrical scars running down his face, not dissimilarly to Avdol’s. He couldn’t actually understand what anyone was saying, but he liked the kid.
“Jotaro, please tell me why you didn’t lead with the news of an imminent attack on your grandfather.” Avdol was using that extra polite tone he used whenever he was taking the piss out of someone, so Polnareff figured everything was fine.
“He can handle himself. Where is he?”
“Below deck at the front of the ship, it’s the door straight in front of you as you come down the stairs. You can’t miss it.”
“Cool. Okuyasu – go and check on him. He’ll be fine but tell him we’re 5 minutes away from land.”
“Gotcha!” The kid looked confused, but obediently sloped off below deck. Polnareff waited for the kid to be out of earshot to ask what was going on, mostly out of politeness.
“What’s going on?” Jotaro rolled his eyes at Polnareff, refusing to elaborate.
“Learn Japanese.” Thankfully, Avdol took pity on him and spilled the beans.
“There’s a stand user after the old man.”
“We haven’t even docked – how’d he manage to piss someone off that badly already? And I’ll learn Japanese when you learn French.” Joseph Joestar may have had a penchant for being irritating, but it was far too soon for someone to try to kill him.
“For once it’s not personal, just stand business. Besides you’d never keep to that agreement.”
“I did! I learnt Arabic for Muhammed didn’t I?”
“And that has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been dating for over a decade.”
“It’s simple gentlemanly reciprocity.”
“There’s nothing gentlemanly about you.” Avdol chimed in, merciless in his takedown.
“You wound me mon chéri! Attacks from both sides!” Polnareff flailed in mock hurt, stumbling backwards to the deck’s railing. He was interrupted by the faint sound of shouting from below deck, and any pretense of clumsiness fell away as the group sensed a threat.
“What’s that yelling?”
Avdol sighed. Travelling with the old man made this sort of thing inevitable.
“It’s Mr. Joestar isn’t it.”
“For Fuck’s sake.”
---
It turned out that they really had no need to have rushed to the old man’s aid, because the kid had it handled. By the time they’d all piled into Mr. Joestar’s quarters, there was a body on the floor and the old man was showing off a hamon punch to Okuyasu. In the 12 years since Egypt, Mr. Joestar was virtually unchanged, still looking like a handsome 50 year old. Virtually unchanged, because he’d swapped out his brown fedora for an even worse alternative – a leopard print ushanka. Hamon training could slow down aging, but it appeared to do absolutely nothing for taste.
In his bid to show off, the old man had broken several lamps, and was encouraging the kid to do the same. Thankfully, any further destruction was prevented by the dull sensation of the ship coming to a stop, the floor swaying gently beneath them. At the reminder of what lay at the end of his journey, Mr. Joestar’s bravado was gone, replaced by nervous embarrassment. Polnareff wasn’t as good at understanding people as Avdol was, but after over a decade he had a pretty good grasp of the old man’s psyche. He was a fighter when he was backed into a corner and devilishly clever, but when it came to other people’s feelings, he was a coward. Now he had to confront the mother of all emotional messes, and it was entirely his fault. Polnareff almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.
Leaving the boat itself was a nightmare, Joseph constantly stopping to check that he hadn’t left anything behind until Avdol strongarmed him onto the deck. Kakyoin was waiting for them on the pier, his green jacket tossed over the back of his wheelchair, his cropped shirt revealing the steel prosthesis supporting his spine and the strange scar tissue around it. He was wearing those stupid sunglasses he’d picked up in Egypt and based on his facial expression he was only wearing them to piss Polnareff off. Next to him were two kids – one tall one dressed kind of like Okuyasu and a tiny one wearing a regular school uniform. Either the Joestar genes had skipped a generation, or the taller one was Josuke. They all looked worse for wear, sporting various minor injuries, but the one that was probably Josuke was way more beat up than either Kakyoin or the other kid. He wasn’t looking at their group right now, clearly uncomfortable. Polnareff felt for the kid – he was no stranger to absent dads – but at this rate he and the old man would spend the entire visit avoiding each other. Thankfully, Jotaro intervened, pushing his grandfather forward off of the boat onto the pier.
“It’s good to meet you Josuke.”
“Yeah… you too Mr. Joestar.” Josuke wasn’t looking his father in the eyes, and by god was this awkward. Polnareff was doing his best to keep quiet, but it was agonising just watching them.
“Call me Joseph. I like your hair.”
Kakyoin sighed like the old man had passed some secret test, and Josuke seemed to warm up to him slightly.
“… thanks.”
As Jotaro and Joseph wandered off with Josuke, Avdol, Polnareff and Kakyoin hung back in their own cluster. The other two kids also gave the Joestar group some distance but didn’t really seem comfortable striking up a conversation with the three of them just yet. Polnareff would have to fix that later.
“What’s he like?” Avdol asked Kakyoin, turning to him.
“He’s a good kid – respectful when he should be but not afraid to make some trouble. It’s a shame he’s Mr. Joestar’s son.” He’d only known the boy for a few weeks, but Kakyoin already seemed fond of him, smiling gently as he talked about him. Polnareff chimed in, questions aplenty.
“Is that a cursed bloodline thing or a dig at the old man?”
“Both. He’s already lost his grandfather to this rogue stand user business. And I don’t have to tell you that he’s got some pretty complex feelings about the old man.” Both Avdol and Polnareff nodded solemnly, years of experience directly informing their understanding.
“I don’t blame him - I do too, and I’m not even related to him.” Technically, Avdol had know Mr. Joestar the longest out of their group and understood him the best. Though understanding often doesn’t make anything easier.
“Besides – the competent adults are here to deal with any rogue stand users!”
“Really? I didn’t see them arrive.” Polnareff stuck his tongue out at Kakyoin before responding, childish and uncaring.
“Asshole. You know, I don’t remember ever being that young.”
“I do. It blows.” Kakyoin responded darkly, the light of the sun catching on the metal of his prosthetic. It made Polnareff sad, how much tragedy there was in their memories of Egypt and how suddenly and painfully he remembered. Most days he forgot to consider the aching nights after a battle, exhausted and limp, or the fear of almost grief. Day to day, he remembered it like it was a long road trip, a collection of funny stories to tell at parties. Sometimes the truth he forgot caught up to him, sticking in his throat, and he’d have to stop and wait for the nausea to subside. Avdol looked similarly struck, torn between two sets of memories. He was quiet when he spoke, choosing his words carefully.
“My parents always told me I skipped being a teenager and went straight to being a small adult.”
“Same here.” Context filled in the blanks both Avdol and Polnareff had left, and an uneasy quiet fell over the group. They each knew that the others understood what specific personal tragedy they were feeling in that moment, but it was too hard to think about it the warm light of the midday beach. Maybe later, in a hotel bar, they could talk like this. But not now.
Polnareff broke the silence, eager to think about literally anything else.
“What’s with the kid’s hair?” Levity returned as Polnareff made an opening for his own humiliation. Avdol knowingly took the bait.
“You’re a fine one to talk.”
“It was fashionable with yakuza over a decade ago. He dresses like that because one of them saved him as a kid – it’s sort of a tribute.” It was a strange reasoning, but it made Polnareff like the kid even more. His dedication was impressive, and the whole look was deeply cool.
“I like it.”
“Of course, you do – you’re both relics of the 80s.”
“Take that back you fuck!” Polnareff yelled, summoning Silver Chariot in mock outrage. Kakyoin laughed at the rapier beneath his chin, summoning Hierophant Green in return while wheeling away from the Frenchman. The insult of Kakyoin simply leaving prevented Polnareff from noticing his true goal, leaving him shocked when Green’s tendrils yanked his trousers down. Supernaturally pantsed, he rushed to pull his trousers back up before following Kakyoin, hell bent on revenge.
---
Their room in the Morioh Grand Hotel was nice, decorated with the questionable taste that only the very rich develop. It was a double, as their hotel rooms always had to be. It was already suspicious enough for two single men to share a hotel room and asking for a single bed was out of the question. They had developed a system early into the years of travelling together, where Avdol would put away their luggage and set out their toiletries, and Polnareff would mess up the otherwise unused bed, wriggling around in the sheets until they were suitably rumpled. That way housekeeping would have nothing to suspect.
“We haven’t stayed in a hotel room for ages – it’s been a while since I’ve been provided with a kettle I will absolutely never use.” From beneath the spare bed’s sheets Polnareff gestured at the tea set on the table opposite him, wary of the infamous kettle.
“For the last time, nobody pisses in hotel room kettles. You made that up.” Avdol called from the bathroom, indulging in the old argument.
“I didn’t! I saw it on Newsnight!”
“That’s not a credible source.”
As Avdol made his way back to the joint bedroom from the ensuite, Polnareff wormed his way out of the bed, satisfied that it was suitable rumpled. He made his way over to his partner, grateful for the privacy of the hotel room. They hadn’t been alone together all day, not properly.
“If you use that kettle we’re sleeping in separate beds.” Polnareff threatened, wrapping his arms around Avdol’s neck. He leaned into the Frenchman, drawing him into a kiss.
“You’re the one going to get coffee in the mornings then.”
“The sacrifices I make for you. For all I hate Italy, at least there’s a cafetiere at our place.”
Avdol looked at him with a quiet seriousness, faces inches apart. From this distance, Polnareff could make out the pale thin scars that ran down his partner’s face, his thick eyelashes and everything else wonderful about him.
“Where would you want to live then? After we’ve dealt with that stand arrow?”
It was strange, thinking about settling down. They weren’t the young men they once were, the passage of time affecting their minds as well as their bodies. But it was hard to accept the change without mourning what they couldn’t have. When Polnareff thought about settling down with someone when he was younger, he imagined a white wedding and children. It hurt to know he’d never get that future, and as he got closer and closer to the age where he knew he’d have made those choices if he could, it got more painful to try and build a future without them. He knew Avdol felt the same, sharing what ifs in fanciful late-night whispers. Maybe this business with Mr. Joestar was a sign though, that they should allow themselves the space to age gracefully.
“Not France, and Italy’s too similar to France. Other than that, I don’t care where we are. Probably somewhere we both speak the language though – or at least it’s easy to pick up. Any ideas?” Avdol hummed, thinking carefully. Neither of them wanted to return to their home nations, and this dual rootlessness was hard to combat.
“I went to university in the UK – it’s nice there and we both speak the language. We could get a place in the middle of nowhere or pick a city big enough that no one cares who we are.”
“You know, there’s not many people I care about enough to put up with the English for.” Avdol laughed warmly, and Polnareff was overwhelmed by how glad he was that he could make him laugh like that.
“They’re much better when they’re in their own country, you know.”
“I can’t imagine them being any worse.”
“I’ll take you to a Greggs. You’ll hate it.” Of course, Polnareff would hate English fast food and by god did he want to hate it with the man in his arms. He leaned in again for another kiss, this one deeper than the last.
“I can’t wait.”