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Alièno/Alien.
After all, he wasn’t a bad guy. A little dense, but a good person (person?).
“Mikitaka! Are you able to make that thing with ice cream…? No, wait! Yes, I know, Pancakes! Would you make us some pancakes?” asked Josuke with a toothy smile.
The respondent went through in his own bag and pulled a steaming plate of the dish request with lots of maple syrup. They both smiled.
A really strange friendship.
Bèllo/Wonderful.
While Polnareff showed his affection by planting a resounding pat on his back, Kakyoin felt like the luckiest person in the world. What he felt was so good that he couldn’t utter a word.
"Watch out, you’re hurting him" he heard Jotaro grunt.
I love you guys.
Campàre/Carry On.
"How much did that guy you robbed have?"
"Trifles, only twenty pounds."
Speedwagon cursed and spat on the floor. He hadn't eaten in three days, but it didn’t matter because no one thought about the wretches on Ogre Street anyway.
A wispy dog happened to pass by and observed them with the desperate look of someone who was destined to die of hardship.
There, he was exactly that: a stray dog to whom no one would bring a hand.
Davvéro/Really.
"Re-really?!" exclaimed Suzie Q red in the face.
"Really!" Joseph took her hands and brought them to his chest "Let's get married now, alone, you and me! Will you?"
The girl was interjected. Her heart was beating so fast she almost felt faint.
"Yes, yes, I want to! Right now! Immediately! I want everyone to call me Mrs. Joestar!"
She threw her arms around his neck and threw an unexpected kiss on his lips. She could not have been happier.
Episòdio/Episode.
It was customary for every parent to answer that question sooner or later. It was a fairly usual episode during the course of an adult's life. Accordingly, Jotaro chased away the warnings of embarrassment and took a picture book from his personal library, then lifted his little daughter into his arms and sat her on his lap.
"So, Jolyne, look at these figures," he began to explain, "as you’ve probably guessed, both babies and cetaceans are born from the union of a mom and a dad..."
Fiorètto/Foil.
“What are you?”
The little gray man did not respond; rather, he merely observed him with his large blue eyes, the only part of his face that was visible.
"Are we friends?" the little boy asked again, circling him. His right hand held a thin, flexible sword. Anyone might have thought him a threat, but for some strange reason he felt that the little silver knight was a part of him, and he couldn't explain this.
"I command you to... put down your weapon!" exclaimed the child.
The strange little man obeyed.
“Mon dieu”.
Giòco/Game.
"Truth or dare?" asked Mista slyly.
"Truth," replied Abbacchio promptly. Imagine if they had forced him to dance the Macarena in his underwear like that dumbass Narancia.
"It’s true that you like someone?"
"No it's not true, who tells you that shit?"
Yourself. You tell them yourself, Leone.
That game had always sucked for him.
Humus/Humus.
He told himself that that piece of garden was the perfect spot. He wanted the shrub to grow healthy and strong.
He armed himself with a spade and began to dig. The sapling that his mother had given him, or rather, that she had given to them in gratitude, would become the most beautiful cherry tree in the entire neighborhood. Life would make up for death.
It would have been nice to think of it serenely, if it had not hurt so much.
Incòlume/Unharmed.
"How’s the kid?"
"He’d quite a flight, but he's fine. I think it was the babysitter who had the promptness to throw him out the window... Poor girl, what a bad end."
The sole survivor of the Sugimoto house massacre clutched his latest masterpiece, a crumpled sheet of paper on which he had drawn a field of yellow adonids. She wanted to show it to Reimi, but he didn’t know why she had thrown it out of her room like that. Maybe he had made her angry.
A mild-mannered woman approached him. A badge hung from her neck. She placed a hand on his shoulder and asked:
"You're Rohan, right?."
Livóre/Rancour.
He looked at them and hated them.
He hated them with every inch of his body, hated them so much that if one day he found them killed by a thief or because of a disease, he would not shed a single tear. He didn’t know whether he hated his fake father or the one rotting in the ground more.
He would outlive them. Their wealth, their sickening goodness, the misery that had kept him from holding a book.
If only his mother had still been with him.
Mòrbido/Soft.
Jolyne slept beside him, her head resting on Anasui's shoulder. For a little while he thought about slipping a tuft of hair out of her to caress that smooth skin that drove him crazy, but he was scared to death of incurring Mr. Jotaro's wrath, so he restrained himself. As much as he could.
Something else, however, was hardening.
He crossed his legs and swallowed a generous amount of saliva.
Nòtte/Night.
To Giorno, the absence of light brought back memories of the times when he was alone with the only company of solitude. When he thought about it, despondency took over and the anguish of emptiness returned to taunt him with renewed malice.
He brought a hand to his chest: the puller pendant reminded him that although his previous owner was no longer there, he no longer had anything to fear.
Ònere/Responsibility.
Every time he looked at the face of what to him was his impassive and icy putative mother, he wondered how heavy was the inner boulder she carried on her shoulders. Knowing her, he would never have allowed himself to ask her such a question. As well as he would never have expressed his admiration when he saw her wearing the Aja red stone.
Pensàta/Brainwave.
"Ta-da!"
Trish held back a laugh. Guido had had the stupidest, most romantic idea that had ever crossed his mind.
"I found this pink bunny costume and thought of you, does it fit?"
"You're a moron!"
"But I'm your moron!"
Quàsi/Nearly.
They were almost there.
Turn around after reading this engraving...
They were almost there, soon they would make it, and Abdul would treat his friends to dinner.
And you will die.
It was only a matter of time.
But then, why were the flames not reacting?
Suddenly he saw it, and instinct acted consequently:
"Polnareff, Iggy! Look out!"
Reiètto/Reject.
Jonathan watched his foster brother laughing and joking with the henchmen who had once made fun of him, and felt his cheeks turn to fire. He felt like a failure for what was happening to him.
Then he heard barking. It was Danny running toward him.
He knelt down to return the affection of the one soul who understood him. At least, he was sure, he wouldn’t abandon him.
Sàlvo/Save.
He opened his eyes.
"Oi, Josuke!"
Okuyasu was calling him. He was admitted to the hospital because that dickhead could heal everyone but himself.
"Am I… alive?"
"Of course you're alive, you dummy! You're a fool!"
Hearing what he considered his brother crying, he barely held back a lump in his throat.
"Don't you ever do that again, you moron! Do you understand? Don't you dare leave me alone!"
"Ha!" he muttered, sketching a smile, "They're going to bury us together when we die anyway."
The one who would become his lifelong friend laughed.
Tòmo/Tome.
Joseph reviewed the empty study of a fortune teller who would no longer practice the profession.
The well-ordered bookcase sported a fine collection of valuable volumes written in a variety of languages.
He grabbed one at random; it was ancient Greek.
The rightful owner would never leaf through it again.
Ùrlo/Scream.
She was screaming and no one could hear her.
The pain became so unspeakable that she stopped making any sound at one point. Finally, the assailant spat in her face and pressed her neck with his two right hands.
On the ground, in the mud, her friend was laying unconscious.
Vèra/Wedding Ring.
Finally, the priest gave the groom permission to kiss the bride. And Erina could ask for nothing more.
As long as death did not separate them, she would share her husband's joys and misfortunes under any circumstances, surrounded by the affection of close friends and blessed with a new life on the way.
Everything was perfect.
Zàgara/Orange Blossom.
"Fugo, what is this?"
"It’s an orange blossom."
They were orange blossoms, the flowers that decorated the Ghirga family's grave. That pusillanimous former friend of the younger deceased had brought them to him.
He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. It was November two thousand and one.