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"You want me to buy WHAT?!" Narancia's voice rose on the last word.
"Shhh, shut up, shut up!" Trish glared at him from where she sat at the kitchen table, chin in one hand, tucked into a wooden chair. She hunched her thin shoulders closer in and curled her bare feet underneath her body, her skirt dangling emptily to the floor. "You don't have to tell the world! Geez!"
"How could you even ask me to buy... to buy... stuff... for you?!" Narancia lowered his voice to a mere shout and Trish sighed. What HAD she been thinking? It had seemed like a good idea at the time... they'd just arrived at the grape farm the afternoon before, and Narancia had been the one Bruno had sent after her requested supplies. She'd taken a nap and when she awoke hours later, he'd only just been returning, covered in soot and blood for some reason... but he HAD gotten what she needed, and she had assumed he'd be the right person to ask. Now she was beginning to wish she'd asked that quiet boy with the hair donuts; the one with the freaky hat seemed too weird, and the one with the swiss cheese suit had flashed her a slightly homicidal look when she'd used his fugly jacket for a towel, although it had been more or less smothered in his confusion at the time. Still, she didn't want to ask that guy for any personal favors JUST yet. And there was no way she could ask Bruno or Abbacchio; they seemed far too mature and busy and... manly... to ask about things like this.
Although, at the moment, a guy who could behave in a mature fashion was just what she needed. She sighed.
"Look, it's not a big deal, I'm right at the end of my cycle, I just need like ONE BOX of tampons, okay, because I got rushed around all crazy for the last few days and I ran out of the ones I brought. Why can't you just go down to the store and get some? Didn't your boss, that Buccellati guy, say you should get me things I need?"
"Buccellati... well..." Narancia stared at her beseechingly. "Do you REALLY need them?"
He looked so pathetic that Trish almost gave in and let him off, but the thought of going through all this again with one of the OTHER idiots was just too much. "Yes! I do need them! And I need you to get them!"
"B-but..."
"I don't even care what KIND they are, if it says 'tampons' on the box just GET THEM, it will be FINE, surely you can handle that? It'll take like 5 seconds! You won't even have to look at them, other than reading the words on the box! You CAN read, right?!" Trish was getting exasperated.
Narancia drew himself up with an extremely offended look on his face. "Of course I can! I, uh, I read stuff all the time! That's NOT the problem!"
He was distressingly cute; it was hard to stay mad. Even though he was both older and slightly taller than she was, and his skanky black outfit showed off both the muscles and the scars on his skinny frame, she couldn't help but look at his face and somehow feel an almost maternal fondness for him. He reminded her of the cute little brother of a school friend, all dignified machismo at the age of ten. She schooled her expression and tried not to laugh.
"So what IS the problem, then?"
"Um..." Narancia's face reddened. "Well that is. I mean. Uh..."
"So there's no problem, right?" She flapped her free hand at the doorway. "Get going and get them then... I don't have all night, you know."
"O-okay... right..." Narancia slunk out of the kitchen in a posture of defeat, and she knew she had him. Thank god. Hopefully he'd bring back the right thing, and not a box of q-tips or cotton swabs or something. This not being able to go shopping for herself thing was horrible.
* * * * *
Mista swiftly put his magazine up in front of his face and pretended not to have seen.
It did no good.
"MISTAAAAAAA!!" Narancia landed in his lap two seconds later, straddling Mista's legs and shoving the magazine aside. Mista sighed and let Narancia grab him by the sweater and shake him a few times. "Mista, you gotta help me!"
"Okay, okay." Mista levered himself upright. "Get off me. What did you do this time?"
"I didn't do ANYTHING!"
"Sure."
"No, really!" Narancia shook Mista some more. "It's Trish! She, she asked me to..." Narancia blushed..
"What did she ask you?" Mista looked at Narancia with interest. "Wow, I didn't think that ice queen would ever unbend enough to even talk to us, let alone try to get you in the sack..."
"Not that!" Narancia let go of Mista's sweater suddenly, and Mista flopped back down on the sofa. "She wants me to go to the store again and buy her some... some girl things..."
"Would you get off me? And I thought you bought her some girl things yesterday. How many pairs of pantyhose does one chick need?"
"Not that! She wants... you know...girl stuff." Mista did not look enlightened. Narancia tried again. "You know... for when they're... bleeding? You know... t-tampons."
Mista stared at him, and then started laughing. "Well, you better get going then, little buddy! I hear girls get pretty pissy this time of the month! She'll probably kill you if you don't go!"
"Mista, I don't wanna go alone! What if I get the wrong thing or something and she gets mad?! I don't know anything about it! And it's embarrassing! You gotta come with me!"
"What? No way! I don't know anything about it either!" Mista exclaimed. "I'm staying here. You can go yourself. You managed to get that stuff last night, didn't you?"
"Only because Buccellati and Fugo gave me a really detailed description when I went back... besides, she mostly just wanted salad and bottled water and stuff, I'm okay with FOOD... this is totally different! Please! You have to come with me!" Narancia, who was still on top of him, looked down at Mista with pathetic puppy-dog eyes. "Come onnnnn! I'll let you borrow all my comic books!"
Mista simply snuck into Narancia's room when the boy wasn't in it and borrowed these one at a time whenever he felt like it, so this was not very tempting, but he realized he'd get no peace for the next half hour if he didn't just agree now. Narancia could be very persistent.
"Oh, fine, I'll go to the store with you, for moral support, but you have to get the things yourself, okay? I guess I need a new magazine anyhow..."
"Thanks, Mista!"
"What are you guys doing?" Giorno had walked into the room and was eyeing them suspiciously.
Mista realized Narancia was still sitting on his lap and stood up in a hurry, dumping Narancia onto the wooden floorboards.
"Ow!"
"We're not doing anything!" Mista grinned at Giorno nervously. "We were just talking about going to the store!" Mista wasn't sure why, exactly, but he wanted Giorno to like him, especially after they'd partnered up temporarily on the way to Capri. He admired the brains in that fluffy golden head. Okay, and he kind of admired the rest of Giorno too.
"Oh, are you going to the store?" Giorno said. He glanced at a slip of paper in his hand. "Great... Abbacchio just gave me this list of supplies for our trip to Pompeii tomorrow and told me to get them, and he walked off before I could ask him where to go... I'm not familiar with this area. Do you guys mind if I come with you?"
"Not at all!" said Mista, who was now positively excited to go. "The more the better, right, Narancia?"
"Sure," said Narancia, picking himself up off the floor. "Hey, do you have any sisters or anything, Giorno?"
"Huh?" Giorno replied, puzzled. "Er... no, I'm an only child."
They headed for the front door of the farmhouse and ran into Abbacchio in the hallway.
"Where're you guysh goin'?" asked Abbacchio, mumbling around a spoonful of something that was in his mouth along with the spoon. It smelled like peanut butter. He couldn't take it out, because he was carrying two large glass tumblers of something that reeked of alcohol. He had the rest of the jar of peanut butter under one arm.
"We're going to the store for those supplies," Giorno replied politely. "Narancia and Mista have things to buy there too."
"Eh. Don' ge' lost." Abbacchio lost interest in them and went on his way.
"Does Abbaccio drink that much?" said Narancia.
Mista and Giorno glanced at one another. It was obvious that the second glass was for Bruno. Mista didn't even want to think what the peanut butter was for. Maybe Abbacchio was hungry.
They'd barely gotten out of the driveway when they spotted Fugo walking up the street. Giorno, who was driving, pulled over.
"Oh, Giorno, where are you headed?" Fugo said, sticking his spiky head in the driver's side window. He spotted Narancia in the back seat. "Hey, Narancia, I just got back from checking out the neighborhood... Buccellati asked me to check and make sure there was nothing suspicious around because of your fuckup yesterday, but everything looks normal. So I guess since you did a good job taking care of the guy, it turned out okay."
"Look, I SAID I was sorry!" Narancia glared at Fugo.
"Why don't you ever listen to me?!" Fugo glared back. "I was trying to help you, but you just don't pay attention until AFTER something happens!"
"I'm sorry! I was listening! I just kinda got distracted! You're always nagging!"
"I do not nag! Well, and it's just because I want things to go right! You always ask me to help you and then you never do what I say and then you wonder why I'm mad! Why do you even ask if you don't want to listen?!"
"Hey, uh, Fugo," Giorno said, "I hate to interrupt, but we're kind of supposed to go shopping... if you want to, why not come with us?"
"Oh, yeah, that's right!" Narancia's expression cleared and he moved over in the back seat. "Come with us, Fugo! You're smart, you'll be able to help me!"
"What are you talking about?" said Fugo, but he climbed in anyhow.
"Hey, you can't get in here!" said Mista, alarmed. "Get out! Don't come with us!"
"What? Why not?" Fugo closed his door and sat back in the seat. "Narancia said he needs help, and against my better judgment, I'll help him..."
"Who cares about that! You can't come because now there are four of us! It's bad luck!"
Fugo stared at him. So did Narancia. Giorno ignored them all and started the car again.
"Don't move the car! No! This is bad!"
"Mista," Fugo leaned forward. "Don't be ridiculous. Four is just a number. If it's that big a deal, then why don't YOU not come? Then there'll only be three of us."
"Yeah, you didn't even want to come before," Narancia said, puzzled. "I mean I'll still be glad if you do, but as long as I've got SOMEONE to help me I guess it's okay..."
"What? But... but I want to come now! And I was here first!" Mista glanced at Giorno. Those cut-glass green eyes, those pouty lips... "No way! I'm not leaving! You can go shopping later, Fugo!" He remembered Fugo was supposed to go to Pompeii with Giorno and abruptly felt quite jealous. "Go away! You're bad luck!"
Fugo did not miss Mista's momentary glance in Giorno's direction, and he sat back against the seat, crossed his arms, and grinned. "No way, I need to buy some things for our trip tomorrow. You know, since I'm going to Pompeii with Abbacchio and Giorno."
Mista, who normally got along fairly well with Fugo, pondered grabbing the younger boy and punching him a few times, but violence was never the answer with Fugo, because he would just give it back till you gave up. Mista thought about jumping out of the car instead, and running back into the house to ask Abbacchio to come along and be a fifth person... but Buccellati probably wouldn't want to be the only one left to defend Trish, and in any case, he suspected Abbacchio was busy. But on the other hand, nothing good could come of having four people in the car...
"But Mista," Narancia was saying, "It'll be great if Fugo comes! I mean, I really want to get the right thing for Trish! I want her to not have anything bad to say about any of us to her dad that might make Buccellati look bad!"
"Of course she'll have bad things to say about us," Mista snapped. "We already looked silly in front of her, thanks to you! She'll probably tell her dad that you're a little thug and that Fugo's a psychotic nerd!"
"Maybe, but she'll also say 'Mista's a superstitious idiot who smells like a zoo,'" Fugo retorted.
"I do not!" Mista sniffed himself. Maybe he could use a shower. He glanced at Giorno again. Did Giorno think he smelled? "I'll take a shower when we get back," he added, just in case Giorno did think so.
"Oh, praise the lord," Fugo said. "Now if you'd just do your laundry..."
"Anyhow, you should get out now while you can still walk back! I know something bad will happen if we all go!"
"Look, I'm not getting out, so I guess you'll have to decide which is worse: being in a car with four people or going shopping tomorrow."
Giorno sighed, and there was a whoosh of gold, and then Gold Experience was sitting on the armrests between Giorno and Mista, crowded up against Mista's arm. "Okay," said Giorno, "now there are five people in the car, so now we can go to the store, right?"
Mista wasn't sure that a stand counted as a person, but he decided to try to ignore the problem. Gold Experience drifted backwards and sat behind Giorno; Fugo moved over to the middle and Narancia started describing the feminine problem they were expected to solve.
When they got to the shopping area in town (still a bit scorched from the previous day's street fire, though all the totalled cars had been removed), Mista took a look at Giorno's list. "Okay... actually, for this stuff, you need to go to that store there," he said, and pointed it out. He'd been leaning over Giorno's shoulder to read the list, and when Giorno turned his head to look, his long hair brushed Mista's face. It smelled nice, and Mista's stomach twisted into a knot. It took him a long moment to gather his wits and jump back. "And we need to go to this store over here. We'll meet you back at the car, okay? Whoever gets here first can just wait inside." He stepped away quickly.
"But I have the keys," said Giorno.
"Giorno, we're gangsters, I think we'll figure it out," said Fugo, getting out of the car. He clapped Giorno on the shoulder as he passed. "But I do have some advice for you... watch your ass!" He grinned at Mista as he said this. Mista pondered again the pros and cons of trying to beat Fugo up.
Giorno, who just looked confused, headed off to his store, and Mista, Fugo, and Narancia crossed the street towards the big department store.
* * * INTERMISSION * * *
She'd just got up to get herself a glass of water when she heard the soft thump of footsteps down the old staircase from the second floor. Bruno and Abbacchio walked into the kitchen from the living room a moment later, Bruno laughing quietly at something Abbacchio had said, Abbacchio wearing a smile she hadn't seen on him before. It vanished the moment he spotted her in the kitchen, and she felt vaguely insulted.
It was hard to stay offended, though, considering how they were dressed; Abbacchio had nothing on but a pair of black jeans, long silver hair dangling down over his pale bare shoulders, and Bruno was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved white collar shirt, the top buttons undone.
"You guys look... different..." she managed.
Abbacchio, who was carrying half a jar of creamy peanut butter, just frowned at her and walked over to one of the cabinets.
Bruno smiled at her, though. "It's laundry day... we've sort of been on the run, and while we believe in keeping up a professional appearance, it's just not right when your suit can stand up by itself. I wouldn't go out in public like this, but it's fine for the moment..." He pulled out one of the chairs from the old dining room table, turned it backwards and sat down straddling it, resting his arms on the back. "So how are you doing?" His voice was sympathetic.
"I'm... I'm fine." What was she supposed to say? How scared and angry she was? How only a few weeks ago she'd been an ordinary schoolgirl whose mother was dying, and now she was a mafia princess on the run with a bunch of strangers?
"I'm sure things will work out for you once we get you to your father," Bruno said encouragingly. He was nice. Trish wasn't really the sort of person who liked to show much emotion, but she smiled at him briefly.
"Bru--Buccellati, I'm gonna make a snack... do you want a sandwich?" said Abbacchio, pulling down a loaf of bread from the cabinet.
"Sure," said Bruno.
Abbacchio half-turned, fixing his pale eyes on Trish. "How about you? Want one?"
Trish hadn't eaten for hours. "What kind of sandwich?"
"Peanut butter." Abbacchio set the jar he was holding on the counter with a rather hollow thunk. "Or there's Nutella."
"Well..." Trish eyed the jar. She was fastidious about her food. "How old is that stuff? Did you guys find it here or something?"
"No... nobody lives in this safe house, so I really don't think you'd want to eat random things you found here... We just bought the peanut butter this morning," Bruno said, puzzled.
"Oh... really? Why is it half gone?"
There was a long pause. Bruno and Abbacchio looked at each other.
"We made sandwiches earlier too," Bruno said, after a while.
"Oh... well, okay, you can make one for me. Thank you."
"It's nothing." Abbacchio turned away and got a knife out of a drawer.
"Maybe we should have some fruit with those," said Bruno, getting up. "I think we bought a bag of oranges for Narancia, I'll peel a few..."
"Sit down, Buccellati, I'll peel them," said Abbacchio, not turning around.
"But--"
Abbacchio turned around and gave Bruno a pained look. "You're my boss, I can't let you do menial work like that."
"Abbacchio, I grew up gutting fish, I think I can handle an orange. You don't have to do everything."
"... Fine, you're the boss," said Abbacchio, but Trish thought she saw the ghost of a smile before he turned back to the sandwiches. She suddenly felt that Abbacchio, like herself, only smiled at people who'd earned one... like Bruno. She forgave him for not smiling at her -- after all, what had she done to deserve it? And when she considered the other members of Bruno's team, she could kind of understand why Abbacchio looked grumpy most of the time.
Bruno went over to the cabinets they'd stowed the groceries in and dug around till he came up with three oranges. He went to stand next to Abbacchio to peel them, and Trish sat at the table and watched them. Both tall and excessively good-looking and already men, older than the other guys in the group... Abbacchio accidentally smeared peanut butter over his knuckle and put it to his mouth, and Trish couldn't help staring at his tongue, pink against his dark lipcolor, and imagining things... She tried to distract herself by watching Bruno peel the oranges instead, but when she watched his long fingers efficiently removing the peels, she couldn't help but remember his cool, dry touch as he'd helped her out of the car, and how surprisingly strong his grip had been... surely his hands were sure and clever in other situations as well.
If only she were a little older, maybe guys like this would pay a little more attention to her... and maybe they would come up with more interesting things to do in the kitchen than eat children's snacks. Trish felt momentarily ashamed for having such thoughts about these poor guys who were simply doing their jobs... but then, a girl could always dream. What the hell, they didn't know what she was thinking, right? She drifted off into daydreamland, and giggled to herself when she had a particularly wrong thought.
Abbacchio glanced at her a few minutes later when he was looking for clean glasses to drink out of. He bent over to put his mouth close to Bruno's ear.
"... Bruno, the boss's daughter is staring off into space and giggling."
Bruno looked back at Trish, who was resting her chin on her hand, forearm propped on the table. She was staring out the window, her mouth quirked at one corner, her brow smooth and unfurrowed for once. It was certainly a much more relaxed expression than any he'd seen on her yet. "... Does it seem like a stand attack?"
Abbacchio looked again. "... Well, no, it's just weird... but I guess teenaged girls are just weird anyway. What do you think she's thinking about?"
"I have no idea."
* * * * *
"Why not? Don't you think he deserves SOME warning? You looked like you were gonna jump him right there!"
"I did not! ...I don't know what you're talking about!"
"What ARE you guys talking about?" Narancia turned around. "And what part of the store would these things be in, anyhow?"
"We're not talking about anything." Fugo looked around. "I think... isn't that kind of thing usually in the pharmaceutical area?"
They headed towards the back of the store. Mista glanced around, wondering where the magazines were... then he stiffened, and reached out and grabbed the shoulder of Fugo, who was walking in front of him.
"Fugo," he hissed, as they walked. "Don't turn around, but we have company."
"Who is it?" Fugo didn't change his pace at all.
"I don't know his name, but I'm sure I've seen him around, and he's following us, which is pretty damn suspicious."
"Is he a Stand user?"
"I don't know."
Narancia, who was walking in front of Fugo, stopped and turned to look at them. Fugo, who was paying more attention to Mista than to what was in front of him, rammed right into him, and Mista just barely got out of the way as both his younger teammates fell to the floor, along with a shelf full of baby powder. They'd found the pharmeceuticals section.
"Why did you stop?!" Fugo demanded, coughing as a cloud of baby powder wafted up from a broken container.
"Because you guys were talking and looked so serious! What's going on?"
Fugo forgot about the baby powder and leaned forward to speak softly to Narancia. "Mista thinks someone's following us. We don't know if the guy's a Stand user. Be on your guard."
"Dammit, I don't want another fight... yesterday was bad enough." Narancia stood up, trying to brush the powder off his clothing. "What should we do?"
"Well... we need to know if he's a Stand user, and then we can figure out what we should do, and if we should try to take the fight elsewhere..." Fugo looked around. "There are a lot of random shoppers here."
"Well, the fastest way to find out is to see if he can see our Stands, isn't it?" said Narancia, logically.
Fugo grabbed him by the shoulders. "Narancia!"
"What?!" Narancia groped for his knife.
"That's a great idea! From you! For once! That is awesome!" Fugo hugged Narancia with the same happy expression that a proud mother might wear if her son brought home a paper with a star on it. Narancia just stood there with his hand on his knife, and looked a bit dazed when Fugo let go a moment later. Fugo turned to Mista with a serious look on his face, as if nothing had just happened. "Mista, your Stands are hard to ignore, plus you're the only one who's seen this guy... Send one to go see if the guy reacts."
Mista sent Pistols No. 1 back the way they'd come and occupied himself while they waited by whacking Fugo on the back to get the powder off his jacket. Soon the little stand came back. "Well, either he couldn't see me, or he's the best actor I've ever seen," the small creature reported, seating itself on Mista's shoulder. "I zoomed right up to his face and he didn't even blink, and I made faces at him, and I even mooned him, and nothing!"
"Uh, thanks. Good work."
"I think you're right about him following you, though. He definitely is packing heat. Oh, and I thought you should know he had friends with him."
"How many?"
"Just two. They couldn't see me either." No. 1 vanished, having given its report. Fugo and Mista frowned at one another.
"Well... it's good that they're not stand users, but I don't enjoy being shot," said Fugo. Mista, who was still recovering from being shot the previous day, just nodded.
"Well, since they can't see it anyhow, I'm gonna keep my stand out," Narancia said, and Aerosmith was abruptly hovering nearby. "There are too many people in the store for me to see where any particular guys are, but..."
"Well, you can warn us if anyone approaches," said Fugo. "These guys haven't actually come up to us yet, and maybe we can just do the shopping and leave without a fight... maybe they're just planning to try following us or something." He looked around. "Which aisle is it?"
Mista led the way down a random aisle, which proved to be full of shampoo and other hair care products. They detoured into another aisle; Mista stopped in front of a display of body wash which promised "FULL PHEROMONE ACTIVATION: YOU WILL BE IRRESISTIBLE" and Narancia, who was watching Aerosmith's screen, bumped into him.
"Hey, Mista," said Narancia, tapping his friend on the arm. "I'm seeing something kinda strange... so, there's all these people moving around, right? Well, there's three people who haven't moved for the last few minutes, like at all... and they've taken up positions around us. It's gotta be those guys... right?"
"It must be," said Mista, feeling irritated. Like Fugo, he'd really been hoping for no fight. "Where are they?"
Narancia described the positions to Mista, who then sent Narancia to tell their teammate what was going on; Fugo had wandered over to the next aisle. Mista watched as Narancia stepped out into the main aisle; that was when he heard a loud pop from nearby, like the sound of a far-off car backfiring or a door slamming shut, and almost at the same time, Narancia shrieked and fell to the tiled floor.
"Shit!" Mista knew the sound of a silenced pistol when he heard it. Only one of the people Narancia had described was located at the proper angle to shoot the boy; Mista pulled his gun out of his trousers and slammed his back up against the shelves. Bottles of bathwash and shampoo fell out and clattered on the floor around his feet. He sidled cautiously toward the main aisle, ignoring the raised voices of nearby shoppers wondering what the noise had been; when he got to the end, he poked his head swiftly out into the main aisle and spotted a man several yards away in the location specified by Narancia doing the same thing. It had to be the shooter -- quick as thought his raised his gun and fired five times, Sex Pistols riding the bullets, and although the assassin had ducked back into the aisle when he'd seen Mista, there was a yell and a spray of blood.
Mista's gun was not silenced -- it went off with a series of cracks that could be nothing but gunshots, and shoppers nearby screamed and fled the vicinity, though he immediately pulled back against the shelves again to reload his gun, and most of them rushed past without noticing him. He could tell by the localized renewal of screaming that someone had found the man he'd just shot.
One store patron running by slammed a cart into the end of the shelving unit, and several industrial-sized bottles of body wash toppled off a shelf above Mista, their weight breaking them open on impact, viscous pearly ooze everywhere; one bottle fell directly on Mista's head just as he finished reloading, and he almost dropped the revolver, grabbing onto the shelf with his free hand and trying to keep upright as his vision blurred.
Someone grabbed Mista's shoulder and he dizzily spun around, gun ready, finger on the trigger... it was only Fugo, wide eyes crossed to fix on the gun inches from his face.
"... Put that damned thing away!" Fugo snapped after a moment.
Mista, still dizzy, did as he was told and stuck the gun down the front of his jeans, only to yelp in agony and yank it out a moment later.
"What are you--" Fugo eyed Mista's pained grimace and paused. "Didn't you just fire that a bunch of times?"
Mista nodded, once.
"It can't be THAT hot... You know, you really, REALLY need to start wearing underwear. Come on, Narancia's hurt." He grabbed Mista's arm and dragged the older boy back to where he'd pulled Narancia into the next aisle over. When he saw Narancia lying on the floor, blood seeping out from beneath his head, Mista forgot his minor burn and tucked the (now cooler) gun barrel into his pocket, where the thick cloth of his zebra-striped jeans absorbed the remaining heat. He dropped to his knees next to Narancia and felt for a pulse.
"He's fine," said Fugo, crouching next to him. "I checked. It just grazed his head. It only looks bad..."
"Narancia!" Now that he knew Narancia wasn't dying, Mista was impatient for him to wake up. It would be hard to make a getaway carrying the kid. Mista shook Narancia, who moaned and then blinked at him blearily, blood trickling down his face.
"M-Mista..."
"Get up! We have to get out of here!"
"I'm... I'm bleeding..." Narancia said, sounding a bit shocked, as he slowly put a hand to his face and brought it away. "They shot me!"
Mista stood up, hand ready on the butt of the gun. "Can you stand up? We really can't hang around in here! I'm sure someone's called the cops by now!"
"I'm bleeding!" Narancia sounded indignant. He sat up slowly, leaning on one hand.
Fugo looked around and then leaned across the aisle and grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide off a shelf. He pulled the cap off and proceeded to pour most of the contents over Narancia's head. Narancia screamed as his blood fizzed and bubbled.
"Shut up, that'll help it stop bleeding," Fugo said, irritated. He abruptly leaned over, pulled out the front of Mista's jeans, and poured the rest of the bottle down the front of Mista's pants, ignoring Mista's howl of pain. "And that'll disinfect your burn!"
"I didn't NEED it disinfected, you bastard!" Mista griped, wincing, one hand pressed to his crotch. "What the hell is wrong with you?! That fucking HURTS!"
"They SHOT me!" Narancia jerked himself to his feet, hanging onto the shelves nearby, an enraged look on his face. "Those fuckers!" Aerosmith was suddenly there, rising above the shelves, and Narancia stared at his radar and then swung around abruptly. "You! You're one of them!"
A man had just come around the shelves and Fugo and Mista swore when they saw his gun; Mista pulled his revolver out of his pocket and Fugo summoned Purple Haze, but before either could complete their actions, Aerosmith had started firing, strafing the shelves wildly on its way towards their assailant. A long row of shaving cream bottles sacrificed themselves in the name of duty as Aerosmith passed, exploding everywhere, covering Narancia, Mista, Fugo, and Purple Haze all in a thick layer of white foam. The mystery mobster backed away, and then ran into the next aisle over, pulling his gun out; he wasn't able to see Aerosmith, but he COULD see an insane little boy screaming at him and things exploding all around. Mista, Narancia, and Fugo followed, just in time to see the man fleeing from the other end of the aisle, where Mista had fired his gun a minute before. Aerosmith followed the man, excitedly dropping miniature bombs now and then, causing more panic among shoppers throughout the store, who heard the explosions and the sound of things being punctured.
Narancia, fists clenched, had ceased to pay attention to anything but the man he was chasing on his radar, so Mista took it on himself to keep an eye out around them; after all, there was still a third man unaccounted for. It was then that he noticed something was missing.
"Hey, Fugo... where's your stand?"
"Huh?" Fugo blinked. "It... er..." He looked around, mentally reaching out for Purple Haze. "It's in the next aisle over, for some reason..."
Mista and Fugo stepped back and went round the endcap to the next aisle, where they stopped.
"...What's it doing?" Mista asked, eventually.
"It hates having messy stuff on it," Fugo replied, his voice weary.
"What's that thing on its head?"
"Looks like an adult diaper," Fugo said, squinting.
"Shouldn't you be stopping it? Is it really gonna protect us?"
"I'm sure it'll protect us if we get attacked," Fugo said, though he sounded a bit doubtful.
They watched as Purple Haze, festooned in toilet paper, scrubbed industriously at itself with the remains of a mostly-unravelled roll. A trio of women who'd been nervously passing by the aisle towards the front of the store glanced into the aisle and saw the vaguely human shape formed by the drifting toilet paper and foam.
"... THE STORE IS HAUNTED!" shrieked one of them, and they ran off, causing mass panic nearby with that tidy explanation of the unseen force causing the noise and mayhem. Fugo sighed.
There was an especially loud explosion and an abruptly-cut-off yell somewhere nearby, and Mista and Fugo forgot about Purple Haze and ran back to the previous aisle when they heard a cheer from Narancia; they found the boy leaning on the shelves with a vicious grin plastered over his face. "Got him! Bastard! How dare they shoot me!"
More explosions followed.
"That wasn't me," Narancia said, puzzled.
The air had a definite hint of smoke about it.
"... I think you may have done something bad," said Mista to Narancia.
"Huh?"
They were suddenly doused with water as the overhead sprinklers came on, and a piercing fire alarm siren filled the air.
"We have to get out of here!" Mista yelled over the whoop of the alarm. "The police!"
"The other guy?!" Fugo yelled back.
"No time!" Suiting actions to words, Mista grabbed hold of Narancia's arm and dashed toward the main aisle; right at the end he remembered too late about the pool of shampoo, now even slimier thanks to the sprinklers -- he tried to stop, but Fugo ran into him and the three of them slid over the floor in a heap and crashed into a display of toothbrushes across the way.
A man appeared from behind them, brandishing a gun -- Mista tried to find his revolver, but he was tangled up with his friends and was resigned to possibly getting shot again when the man suddenly went flying backwards, propelled by Purple Haze's fist. Purple Haze roared in annoyance -- it was now VERY UPSET due to the sprinklers.
Fugo and Mista looked at one another and then leapt up. They each grabbed one of Narancia's arms and ran for the front doors, dragging the woozy boy between them. They crashed out into the street, narrowly avoiding the people standing in the street, and ran for the car.
Giorno was sitting in it, hands behind his head; his mouth dropped open as they ran toward him, water dripping from their clothing, still covered in foam and, in Narancia's case, blood. Fugo yanked the back door open and practically threw Narancia in, while Mista ran around the other side and threw himself into the passenger seat, screaming at Giorno, "Drive! DRIVE!"
"What the fuck is that?" Giorno stared out the window towards the sound of more screams in the crowd.
Mista and Fugo, expecting that perhaps some fourth assassin had followed them, swung round to see Purple Haze mournfully striding through the crowd towards them, now wearing the adult diapers properly.
Fugo swore and his stand disappeared, the abused protective underwear falling to the pavement. This did not reassure the crowd at all.
"JUST DRIVE, NOW!" Mista shook Giorno's shoulder, and the boy hastily started the car and they roared away with a screech of tires.
The ride back was very quiet.
* * * EPILOGUE * * *
"Nothing happened to me," said Giorno. "Here's your stuff, by the way." He handed a shopping bag to Abbacchio, who barely looked at it.
Fugo and Narancia both sat down on the floor against the wall, leaving Mista to tell Bruno what had happened. He left out the details.
"... Well, I'm glad you killed them all," said Bruno, afterwards. "It's too bad we didn't find out who they were with... though it isn't really a big deal since they weren't stand users."
"Yeah, it could have been worse," Mista admitted, pulling out a chair and slumping in exhaustion now that he'd finished his report. His head had started to ache where the shampoo bottle had thumped him and the rest of him felt nearly as bad.
Giorno patted Mista's shoulder sympathetically. "I had no idea what was happening in there. Sorry I wasn't more help..." Mista immediately felt much better.
"Well, there is a silver lining," said Abbacchio.
"There is?" Mista was puzzled.
"Yeah, you'll have to take a shower AND do your laundry now."
Fugo laughed from his seat on the floor, and Mista was trying to decide which of them to shoot first when Trish walked in.
"Oh... I'm glad you guys are back," she said. "Narancia, did you get what I asked you for?"
Narancia lifted his head and stared at her. "... I'm sorry, Trish... we forgot it..."
"What?!"
"They were interrupted," Bruno interjected smoothly. "What did you ask him for? I'll go get it for you myself."
Trish blushed and stammered out an explanation, and Bruno sighed and went to change his clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, when the elderly female cashier at the convenience store squinted at his hair short-sightedly and then whispered loudly to him that young ladies such as himself should not be wearing white suits at that time of the month, he just sighed again and nodded politely.
It was hard, being in the mafia.
* * * THE END * * *