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The front of his cap should have read SPW, but the lithe young man cradled it so anxiously in his hands that the brim had long-since been crushed and the words worried into fraying. He was cold, hopping from one foot to the other to stay warm. On the runway in front of him, the small, sleek jet finally threw open its door, followed swiftly by a short set of steps.
It wasn’t like Arav to be afraid, but then, he’d never had to meet anyone as dangerous as this before.
When two figures finally emerged from the plane into the chilly evening, Aaron was stunned into silence at their appearance. A tall, athletically-built man in a slim coat came out first, looking around and taking in his surroundings before he gave a quick glance behind him and stepped forward onto the stairs. He had every appearance that Arav expected - there was an electricity to him, even from this distance, that held the air surrounding him and made the hairs on the back of Arav’s neck stand on end. He moved with a formless grace, shoulders hitched up in the stance of someone who was always ready to react.
The second figure came into view as he unnecessarily ducked his head through the doorway, and Arav stared, fear increasing threefold as the man turned and caught Arav’s terrified gaze. The moment they locked eyes, however, the half-formed thought regarding the newcomer’s height died as his anxiety melted away. Heart-pounding, Arav took in the beautifully-formed features and the air of sheer elegance that surrounded the blond, and he felt strangely at-ease. A half-smile teased at the edge of the man’s lips, and he nodded in Arav’s direction. The taller man started towards Arav, his stride purposeful.
‘You here to meet us?’ The man’s accent was thick; the English a little unfamiliar-sounding on his tongue. At that, Arav remembered why he had been sent.
‘Sì, signore Mista. Io parlo Italiano, se si desidera.’
To his credit, Mista hid his surprise well as he reached where Arav stood, merely gesturing in an ingenuine manner to the man behind him. Stepping forward, Giorno Giovanna stood at least a foot taller than his actual height implied; his presence seeping into the very air surrounding them all. Instantly, Arav realised that the Speedwagon Foundation had not resorted to using hired muscle at all - the power flowed the other way, and Giorno was doing them a great favour by deigning to fly all this way.
‘That won’t be necessary. Guido, the car.’ Mista nodded at Giorno’s order, and took off towards the waiting car, heels clicking. Giorno gave the slightest incline of his head towards Arav, who followed immediately after them both. Mista held the door open for Giorno to step in, but got in himself before Arav, who followed after, understanding with that small gesture where he stood in the hierarchy.
‘Now,’ Giorno said with a chilling calm, ‘Kindly take me to her.’
‘Oi, Jolyne, there’s some foreign guy here to see you.’ Hermes threw a grin towards Jolyne. ‘He’s fucking pretty. Relation of yours?’ Jolyne looked up in confusion. She didn’t know any other members of her family who would come to visit her, and the only one who could ever have resembled the word pretty had grown out of that when he’d hit adulthood. There were many photos of her as a very young child with her great uncle, but he had hit a masculine stride when he was twenty or so that had left his youth long behind. She didn’t have a change to think on it further, however, as there was a rapping on the table nearest her.
‘FE40536, you have a visitor. Please accompany me to the visiting room.’ Stiffly, Jolyne stood, following the guard to the appointed room. When she entered and got to take in the man in front of her, she stopped up short and stared.
‘The fuck are you?’
The blond sitting in front of her looked so impeccably styled that it was hard to believe he was sitting in the dingy chair. Her father had looked a little out of place when he had arrived first, too, but this was ridiculous. Yet, he was radiating an aura that stopped Jolyne’s tirade in its tracks.
‘A concerned party. You’re hurt.’ He lifted his hand and used a cane to indicate her left side, where she had been injured the previous day due to a Stand attack. While Hermes had recovered her internal organs and Mirashon defeated, Jolyne was still aching.
‘It’s nothing. Who are you and why are you here?’
‘Since you came here, you’ve been attacked by multiple Stand users, am I right?’
Jolyne’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Could this be White Snake’s user…? She moved a little closer to him, taking a confident footstep, but she froze as she heard a gun barrel, the kind from a very old-fashioned revolver, spin in place. Whirling, she spotted a second man she hadn’t seen yet - this one taller, leaning against a wall, idly spinning the barrel with a hand bulging with clutched bullets, ready to load.
‘How did you-‘
‘Jotaro Kujo came here, and now he’s lying ‘dead’ in an iron lung chamber. If someone was able to beat your father and remove Star Platinum, then we are truly dealing with a formidable enemy. I am not your enemy.’ He chuckled at that, as if at some sort of private joke, before continuing. ‘You are clearly attempting to retrieve Star Platinum - you wouldn’t have been injured otherwise. Do you have any clue who is behind this?’
Jolyne nodded slowly, unsure why she felt like speaking, but unable to stop herself. ‘My dad - I don’t know who the user is, but my dad said it was his fault - that it was someone connected to an enemy of his, and that’s why I’m in here. White Snake - the Stand - it took his memory, and his Stand. I got back Star Platinum, but I haven’t been able to work out who did it, and I haven’t gotten his memory back.’
The blond man nodded. ‘An enemy of Jotaro’s… hmmm.’ From the far wall, the second man, clearly a subordinate, tutted.
‘Capo…’
A wave; dismissive. ‘Calmati. Jolyne, did Jotaro say who his enemy was?’
‘No, just that… well, when he said it, I kinda got the sense it was pretty major.’
Satisfied, the man nodded. ‘Thank you. That will be all.’ He stood, and Jolyne was so turned around she just stared at him in utter confusion. He smiled, though, a genuine smile, and she let go some of the tension in her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Jolyne. You’re your father’s daughter. That alone will get you far.’
After he was gone, Jolyne stared his empty chair, feeling like she’d watched that conversation, not taken part in it.
It had been several hours, but with a ruthless efficiency, Giorno had narrowed down his target. He sat in the small room and watched with amusement as Mista made a face at the lukewarm tea. ‘Not sure how you even drink tea any more, boss, after… Well.’
Giorno laughed. ‘Guido, one spectacularly disgusting cup of tea isn’t enough to destroy a good habit. Though this is… admittedly substandard.’ Abandoning the rest, Giorno reclined in the chair, mild irritation only displayed in a subtle furrowing of his brow.
‘Boss, if this priest guy is who you think he is, then you’re gonna have to pick him up off the floor when he sees you.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping.’
The message from the guards had been too vague, but Enrico was composed as he smoothed a few errant hairs back onto his head. He was surprisingly resilient to pleading friends and family, and had no concerns about this unexpected visitor. The moment he opened his door and caught a look at the young man sitting casually in his chair, Pucci stopped short in total, utter shock.
The resemblance was uncanny, but it was the way he looked at him - truly saw him - that stopped Enrico from collapsing on the floor - what was going on?
‘L-L-L-Lord D-‘
‘Padre.’ The voice was younger than even his appearance suggested. He uncrossed and crossed his legs, and Pucci swallowed heavily, blood pressure jumping higher as his pulse picked up. The man was slim perfection, creamy skin visible on his neck. Focusing, Pucci realised something important was missing - there was no ugly scar around the man’s neck, and though his fingernails were neat, they were nowhere near the lengthy, painted talons he’d been expecting.
Still, it was unmistakeable - this young man carried Dio somewhere within him.
‘I hope you will forgive us this… little intrusion, but we were drawn here. You might say it was fate that brought us together, Padre Pucci.’
Eyes widening, Pucci slowly crossed the room to stand in front of the man. Behind him against the wall, his taller companion let out a sighing chuckle.
‘Yes… I can feel it too…’ Pucci spoke gently, but there was wonder in his eyes, plain to see. ‘You.. I must know. You knew Dio…’
‘My father.’ At first, Pucci thought the blond meant it as an affectation, before he realised the truth in the man’s words, and his eyes flew open as he made an ugly gasping noise, spluttering. His heart lurched, and sheer, naked hope in his face was uncontrollable - such was his joy.
In retrospect, he should have bowed then, but he was so frozen in rapture that he couldn’t move. ‘Please… my Lord… by what name…’
‘You can call me Giorno.’ The man he knew to be Giorno leaned forward, uncoiling his limbs to stretch himself to standing. He closed the distance between himself and Pucci, and Pucci felt his breathing quicken. A hand reached up to stroke a finger to Pucci’s cheek, and the heretic priest felt the first stirring of shameful need between his thighs.
From across the room, Mista felt the arousal stain the air around them, and he grinned. He’d been right - the second Pucci realised who he was dealing with, it was like he’d lost the last 24 years of his life, and was suddenly 16 and in the most twisted love affair that a man of God could ever find himself.
It was all too easy. He trusted Giorno implicitly, but this was the part of his boss that he loved the most - when Giorno embraced his own seductive qualities and used them for full effect. The first few times Mista had seen Giorno do this, he’d walked away aching and needy too - by now, he was able to retain control of himself.
‘On your knees, Padre, and beg forgiveness for your sins.’
In a flash, Pucci was on his knees, hitting the ground hard enough that a crack resounded through the room, but Giorno was clearly beyind caring - he looked at Mista and smiled, a terrifying, threatening sneer - and Mista returned it, closing the distance between them as Giorno held his hand up expectantly. For his part, Pucci didn’t even notice Mista approach, much less see him pressing a heavy hammer into Giorno’s waiting palm.
‘My Lord Giorno, I-‘
‘Ssh,’ Knowing full well the power his touch had, especially now, Giorno crouched down to lift Pucci’s chin to have the priest look at him. His schooled face was one of benevolence, and tears of joy streaked down Pucci’s cheeks when he saw it. Slowly; painfully, torturously slowly, Giorno’s fingers trailed down Pucci’s neck, shoulders, chest, abdomen, carefully skirting the obvious bulge of his groin to rest over where Pucci’s fingers dug furiously into his thigh and knee.
Pucci’s eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, and he did not see Giorno raise the hand holding the hammer.
Closing his own eyes against what was to come next, even Mista was surprised at Giorno’s final statement.
‘That’s bad for your knees, Padre.’
The next week went by in a whirlwind for Jolyne. Her sudden release caught her the most by surprise, followed swiftly by the envelope containing her father’s memory disc. After he was restored, she explained the events as best she could, and a long and awkward reunion followed. It was a day or so before she thought to ask him who on earth had visited her. When she finally remembered to, Jotaro had a strange look cross his face, before he chuckled to himself.
‘Dad?’ she encouraged, now even more eager to know. He gave her a sideways look, before shaking his head.
‘So… our family tree is somewhat… complicated…’