c a d e r e •

"Scream at you? Why would I scream at you? If I screamed at my Giorno, he’d shoot me." Probably, probably not. He was set on thinking the blonde would do the latter. It just wouldn’t be fatal. "Well you look like all the Giornos I’ve met so far. Never seen one that doesn’t look like you. Then again, there’s…something about you that’s different too."

{✮}— He would have chuckled, if he truly could. Instead, the gesture just resulted as eerie as the angel was, vivid blue orbs almost piercing the other's gaze as he again scribbled his reply to the other.

❝ This appearance of mine is nothing but a surrogate of a mental image created by the ones who found me, millennias and millennias ago, before you all ever existed and the earth was nothing but a decaying Eden. I usually avoid to show my appearance. . .. ❞

As he turned more towards the man, his face --no, his entire being-- seemed to crack and crumble away as it revealed the long, thread-like white hair, the almost transparent skin, and the elegant yet ruined uniform covering androgynous figures, the black collar with that heavy, silver cross still sewed right where his neck was, white wings and a cracked halo appearing behind his fragile-looking back. He seemed to radiate even more light, now --a light almost able to blind.

❝ . . . Because my real appearance is always deadly to the likes of you. That's what I learnt during my wandering. Yet. . . this form, this sort of middle stadium --it allows to partially show what I am. ❞

{✮}— Pets the Mista head. Not his fault if he’s kind of silly, he thought. Must be some sort of constant of the universe.

"S-So…how are you today?" Cue a little bit of blushing as the other pats him on the head. He’s still not used to all this smiling and affection coming from other Giornos.

{✮}— Cue angel scribbling.

❝ I am fine. Just wandering around here. ❞

Okay, so he’s quickly established that this Giorno is not human. But he doesn’t seem to be dangerous, and he’s pretty sure he isn’t a vampire. Or something weird like that big fellow he hasn’t seen in a while. He’s pretty sure he saw the reflection of wings though. Oh boy.

"Different? Ah…I always look this way. Oh wait, you must think I’m your Mista, huh?" As much as he’s never said anything to other Giornos, he feels like he can’t lie to this one. Definitely not this Giorno.

{✮}— Lips pouted, before scribbling once again, his hand being firm and, at the same time, careful of the disposition of the letters over the white canvas.

❝ Well, to be more precise, I understood you weren't my Mista from the start, because you didn't scream at me like you usually do. I supposed you were thinking I was the individual called Giorno --which I share said name with until my memories won't return. ❞

"Oh, th-thanks. Guess it must have been from my last patrol. Have to check every nook n’ cranny after all. Those bloodsuckers could be hiding anywhere at night."

{✮}— Pets the Mista head. Not his fault if he's kind of silly, he thought. Must be some sort of constant of the universe.

"What’s that look for? Do I have something on my face?"

{✮}— A simple nod, then a hand wiping a stain of dust and dirt from the man's face.

This Giorno is really, radiant. He probably shouldn’t be thinking that way, but is it really a bad thing? It was still Giorno in the end, right? No, he really shouldn’t be thinking such things. Was that a cross on his neck?

"Um…ah…so what are you doing out here on your own?"

{✮}— Godly light kept blessing him no matter what, enhancing the almost deadly pallor, and the shine of the universe gleaming in his azure hues. Golden locks seemed to follow the gentle breeze dancing around his figure --turning him even more in a being beyond humans themselves, the reflection of his wings and the cracked halo appearing for a second. With a little, silent sigh, he was already grabbing his notebook as he started scribbling in it with a marker.

❝ I always wander alone a little, when no one's at the base, Mista. You look. . . different, though. ❞

Whoa, there’s something different about this Giorno. He almost thought it was his own, but there’s just something about this one. He can’t exactly put his finger on it, but it definitely there. Mista approaches, almsot cautiously, giving the blonde a bit of a nervous smile.

"Heh…hey there."

{✮}— A hand was moved in a light greeting gesture, a little smile curling the mute lips as he approached as cautiously as he could the figure moving towards him. The cross on the collar was shining vividly, sunset light making his entire figure gleam of divine radiance.

sterling-gunslinger }

{✮}— Cue angel looking the approaching one with. . . suspect, maybe? Yeah, it totally was suspect.

#[ Cute chirping. ]

-He gives a somewhat pleased laugh, but he’s offering his palm ultimately when asked.-

I’m sorry to make you work, then, for a Buccellati who’s not yours.

-His eyes shut for the moment as he takes a deep breath. His senses just weren’t that good now, were they.-

My sight’s just not what it used to be. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.

{✮}— As his hands moved to gently hold the other's within their grasp, the contact between warm, divine skin against the cold one of the black haired companion --too cold, almost like the dead spirits he almost always see migrating towards that sky so familiar to him, yet at the same time as distant as a stranger.

Azure hues observed carefully every single gesture Bucciarati was doing --shaking his head in reply to his affirmation, wanting him not to feel as a burden because of the problems affecting both of them, the soft profile of the candid wings and the halo floating over his head radiating a delicate light over the angel's figure. Then, carefully, his finger started its virtuous dance over the cold, pale canvas of the other's palm.

❝ Are you loosing your sight, my friend? ❞

-A glance down at the page, his eyes straining for a moment, before looking to Giorno once more.-

No, I… I haven’t forgotten—this is the first time I’ve heard you say that.

I… I must not be the Bruno Buccellati you’re familiar with if you’re asking about my own condition. I’m very sorry to disappoint you.

{✮}— The angel didn't seem to flinch a little to the news --apparently only tilting his head to the side, a lightly puzzled gleam appearing before he could assimilate the information. Again, with a sigh, he found himself writing on a new page once more, not only after glancing at the other again.

❝ It's fine. I'm getting used to see people who're not actually the ones I know. At least I have the chance to see your face and don't forget it, Bruno. By the way, if you desire, I can. . . write on your palm, or mouth what I want to say. I noticed you're squeezing your eyes a little. ❞

-As the moments drag on, Giorno seems not to be speaking to him? He’s about to press again when he goes for something, having to write it down. He’s offered the notepad moments later, and he leans forward, brushing the hair out of his face as he scans it, having it close to his nose.-

I’m fine, of course, but… Why aren’t you speaking, though? Is your throat sore? A cold?

{✮}— This only made the brows of the fallen angel furrow even more, azure gaze indeed communicating his suspect to the other, as clear and limpid as a pool of water. He tapped the collar on his neck with the edge of the pen, before scribbling once again.

❝ My health is fine. You forgot? I am not able to speak. If I try, no sounds come out from my mouth. ❞

-Likewise, there seems to be something different in this Giorno. His bleary eyes narrow for a moment as his arm is gently tugged. It’s an almost childish gesture for the proud boss to make in any iteration, but he’s worried.-

Giorno? Is there something wrong?

{✮}— He's staring you, Bruno. He's intensely staring at you and hope to find whatever is giving him that nagging sensation. After a second or two, his hands grabbed what it seems to be a notepad, scribbling on it and showing you the inked content.

❝ Bruno, are you feeling okay? ❞

hyelbrand

"I am here because I have missed you."

Fingers reached, gently brushing down the white cheek which was offered. They traveled to grasp his chin, his figure stepping forward as the wings folded and pressed away into his back.

"My son," he said quietly, his form now fully visible for the younger. He looked quite like him, with soft (red) eyes, long blond locks which threatened to touch the ground, a strong chin and nose… but his body had been shrouded in clothing which was darker than black, which hid the muscular stature under.