sleepytimejunction | electric tapestry

[Hmm. Well, that's going to leave a stain. He probably shouldn't feel as darkly triumphant about that as he actually does, but there's something deeply satisfying about it anyway. Yeah, he came that hard. Yeah, he made this guy do that.

He's careful as he lowers the guy back down to his feet, focusing himself on keeping his legs steady so he doesn't do something stupid like drop both of them. He can feel it, though, the way his knees are starting to get a little rubbery — hah, he's not as young as he used to be, either — and so he focuses on the little necessary bits of cleanup while he's still got the attention span to do it, sliding out of his partner and tying off the condom, and finding something to lean up against while he catches his breath.

...Fuck.]

Hm.

[Shit. Hell, that was a lot.]

...Well?

[For a moment, Abbacchio doesn't say anything, just his legs shaking as he leans against the wall, trying to support himself but reluctantly finding himself needing the other man to help too. He's still breathing hard, the burning ache slowly starting to set in. The tub he has back at his place is small and cramped, but it'll have to do while he takes a hot bath later.

Well? Well what, a part of him wants to snap, but he feels a bit softer after all of that.]

Not bad.

[He lets out a breath, sighing.]

Stronger than I thought you'd be. [Which was-- really fucking something.]

Mm. You're a hell of a fuck.

[He watches him a minute, lost in thought. He still doesn't even know this man's name; he could find out, his looks are easily unique enough. But does he want to? Or does he just let this end at the threshold of the door, and as soon as they both step through it, they're strangers once again?

Something to think about. He'll have to figure that out soon, but maybe not quite yet.

There's black lipstick smudged all over the guy's mouth; he really looks like he's been through hell. Unable to resist, Jotaro reaches over and runs his thumb along the curve of the corner of the other man's mouth, cleaning a bit of it away.]

Whole world's gonna know it, too, unless you get cleaned up.

Guess you'll be the one remembering this, huh.

[Not to say he won't. This is one of the better experiences he's had all around, despite it being a quick mess inside of a closet.

The way his fingers wipe at his skin, wiping away black. It's-- weird and oddly tender, and he feels mixed about it. He finds himself jerking back a little, trying to figure this out.]

That's my problem. [It hurts, but he's squirming to pull up his pants. He'll tidy himself up a bit in the closest bathroom and head to his cramped apartment.] We're done, aren't we?

...Yeah. We're done.

[He could do something. Call a cab for him. Make some kind of arrangement. Not just leave him to whatever he'll do next, his own mess to clean up.

But that's his own hangups talking again. His compulsion to fix problems, to remedy things where he can. This guy doesn't need him to do any of that. Hell, he probably doesn't want him to. Sure, he's softened and quiet now, but Jotaro hasn't easily forgotten what a spitfire he is when he's in full possession of his senses.

He can't even give him cab fare. Too much like paying him for this, it's insulting.

So he does nothing. Just gets himself back into his pants and pulls them up, trying to make himself look halfway presentable lest he run into someone on his way out of this closet.]

Probably shouldn't leave at the same time.

Whatever.

[Honestly he doesn't even see what the fuss is, but if this guy is up his own ass about it, fine. He shrugs and shoves himself out the door, not waiting to even be nice enough to let him go first. Why would he? After this, they'll be perfect strangers again. It won't matter. Nothing ever lasts.

Abbacchio is headed for the closest restroom, just a short walk from the closet. So consumed with the innate instinct to just get away from something that startled him, he ignores everything else.

Then, suddenly, he finds himself with an arrow through his neck.]

Th' fuck--? [He wheezes out, stumbling against the wall, his fingers just barely touching the golden arrow sticking out from his throat. There's probably someone talking, but he can't understand what the fuck they're saying, he's too busy thinking to himself sure thought it'd be liver poisoning or a bullet instead of a randomass arrow.]

[He's idling in the closet, counting down from ninety after the guy leaves before he'll crack the door and make his own move to leave, when Star Platinum alerts to the presence of another Stand user like a swarm of bees angrily defending a hive. And all of a sudden, he doesn't care about surreptitiousness or keeping a low profile anymore; old anxiety goes off like a whipcrack, and he's already hurtling out through the door of the closet, back into the gloom of the warehouse with fists clenched and, thankfully, his pants actually on and fastened.

And there, lying on the ground, is the guy he'd just fucked and someone else standing over him, hand wrapped around the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his victim's throat.

He doesn't think; he just launches himself at the bastard, summoning Star Platinum even as he lunges, determined to attack and neutralize the threat first and above all else.]

[Whatever the kid with the arrow was thinking, he evidently did not expect what comes next. Abbacchio can barely tell what's happening, choking as he feels the arrow slide out from his throat. There's ringing in his ears, and he's sliding down onto his hands and knees as he stares, watching a big hulking purple man launch himself at arrow man.

He coughs, touching his throat as it finally feels like the ringing comes to a pitch and pops.

And now there's a second, much more slender purple man standing over him.

Oh my god was that guy's dick covered in drugs, is the stupidest thing Abbacchio can think of right now but he has no other explanation as he watches Big Purple beat the shit out of the arrow man.]

[Star Platinum has always been a fast Stand; faster, evidently, than whatever the arrow man might've brought with him. It's only belatedly that he starts to realize that the assailant is young — younger than he might've expected, wearing a school uniform, even. How did he get in here? A question for later.

Right now, there's an infinitely more pressing concern, and it's the fact that he can't turn his attention to the downed man with the hole in his neck until he's sure that the arrow man is handled, and oh, fuck, hold on, guy whose name he doesn't even know (shit!), don't die, don't die, don't die.

A good fifty punches later, there's a new dent in the warehouse wall and a collapsed heap of schoolkid beneath it, and Jotaro drops to his knees to try to assess the damage, bringing Star with him as he checks for a pulse and a heartbeat.]

Don't let him die, Star...

[Keep his heart beating even if he has to do it manually. Keep his lungs working even if that has to be done for him, too. Don't let him die, don't die, don't die.

It's only afterward, hazy and disoriented in the aftermath of his adrenaline rush (or is it a panic attack? he can't even tell) that he looks up at the slender purple Stand hovering nearby, and squints at it uncertainly.]

Are you his?

[The Stand's form shifts, its appearance taking on Jotaro's, save for a clear timer on his brow. He repeats one word out of the sentence: --his?

Abbacchio stares up at both the man he'd just walked away from and whatever the other thing is. Did he just call it Star? What the fuck is going on?]

Wha...

[The more slender looking figure's appearance shifts through static and sound before it's back to what it looked like before, crouching over Abbacchio and petting his hair slowly, as if fretting.]

[...The fuck...]

You imitated me.

[That's going to be something to wonder about at a later date, though. Right now, there's a much more pressing concern and it's the bleeding form of his fuckbuddy, now with a hole in his throat.

He crouches down, getting a hand behind the man's shoulders and another under his knees, and lifts him carefully, trying to leave room for Star to continue monitoring him while he gets him balanced.]

Hey. Hang in there. I'm going to get you to a hospital.

[And get somebody in here to apprehend the schoolkid and secure whatever weapon he used — there's a lot to get done and it all needs to be done fast.]

[Curiously, the wound on Abbacchio's throat seems to be healing on its own, though by what means he couldn't say. He's coughing, breathing almost desperately, his hand finding the front of the other man's jacket.

He's clutching at his neck, confused, jerking away when he feels the slender purple thing try to touch him.]

What the fuck is going on?

[He debates trying to wrench out of the arms holding him and eventually decides that maybe it's better like this because nothing makes sense right now.]

Just hold on.

[The guy shouldn't be able to talk through that wound. It shouldn't be healing the way it is, either, so rapidly. It reminds him of how the purple Stand had touched his hair, hovering over him so protectively. Maybe it has some sort of healing ability...?

Or — no, he saw its ability, didn't he? It mimicked him. So what, then, is going on?

It's got to be something to do with that arrow. Okay. So first things first, get this guy to a medic, and then go get that fucking arrow and secure it so that maybe they can all get to the bottom of this mess.

He sends Star back for it on an afterthought, carrying his white-haired fling as briskly as he can to the nearest guard station on the perimeter of the warehouse, and starts barking orders. They snap to attention almost immediately; he cuts a well-known figure around the Foundation, assuming he's interacting with the employees and not the contractors.]

Find a medic, and get security down here to surround this building. Right now.

[He glances down at the guy in his arms, at the way his fingers are curled in the lapel of his white coat.]

I'll come back. But I need you to let go right now. ...I'll come back.

[As they move, the slim purple thing seems to disappear in a fizzle of static, blipping out of view like it was a television channel. Abbacchio can't help but stare over where it was, baffled. So much happened in the last ten fucking minutes that he can't piece it together. He just finished messing around with this guy and then some kid attacked him with a bow and arrow and now this happened.

But they're moving, and of course the other man is carrying him like he weighs nothing; he already knows how strong he is and it's so damned weird to be the one lifted anyway, like he's some damsel. The more confusing, pressing issue is how everyone seems to be scrambling to take orders from this guy without question.

...Okay. Okay, just who did Abbacchio fuck again?

He blinks absently when he's being spoken to, then realizes he's been holding onto his coat this entire time. Abbacchio pulls his hand back sharply like he's been burned, then closes his eyes and nods.]

Yeah. All right.

[The cleanup from engagement with a Stand user is always a messy process, as far as the Speedwagon Foundation is concerned. Oh, sure, the Joestars themselves get to blaze a trail of havoc and madness across whatever countryside they see fit, but the part they don't often encounter themselves is the everything that comes after it portion. The part where threats have to be contained and interviews conducted, photographs taken, evidence bagged.

Checks written, sometimes, for the property damage. Ho-hum.

It's an even bigger problem that this took place inside a Foundation warehouse, which raises all sorts of new questions about the user's possible motives, the contents of the warehouse, the connections he might have had to his targets, and all of that is going to have to be Jotaro's problem right now, so off he goes. What a fucking pain. There goes all of his stress relief, completely botched.

Meanwhile, a medical team soon arrives on the scene and rounds on Abbacchio, briskly taking stock of his healing throat injury and the other minor scrapes he might've incurred from taking a concrete floor to the back of his head when he fell.

I'd like to get your statement, please, one of them says tactfully, after he's been fussed over a while. If you think you're up to it. Can you recount for me what happened?]

[It's annoying but tolerable, albeit it does make him wonder exactly what kind of mess this is. The Speedwagon Foundation, for all of its clean money, still harbors some secrets that he doesn't know about -- not that he cares to know either, admittedly. It has nothing to do with him, and he'd rather just go through the motions of the work he's supposed to do and end his day with a bottle.

Then there's this shit, whatever it is. He doesn't say anything as he's tended to, but it's still weird the wound in his throat is just gone. He really thought that was going to be it for him, but somehow it healed.

He's absently touching his neck when he hears the question. Recount what happened...

It appears again, the slim purple being. It sounds like a dial-up modem and a ringing signal. There's a timer on its brow, and the numbers are rolling until it's changing shape like it did before.

The face it chooses makes him scramble back, pointing, having no idea that the medical staff won't be able to see it.]

What the fuck is that thing?!

[Abbacchio, stai attento! It rewinds with that face, playing the same clip, the same face, the same voice.]

[Sir, please! the woman exclaims, having literally no idea what he's pointing at or reacting to, but startling herself at the abruptness of his outburst. She looks, brow furrowing as he points at thin air, trying to take stock of the thing that has apparently agitated him so, and coming up with no answers.

So she goes after him, grasping him by the arm, and tries to keep him from rattling around any further.

Please, you've got to stay still! she insists. What are you seeing? There's nothing there!]

Stop wearing his face!

[It sounds hysterical, and he knows he does, but he's desperate to make whatever it is stop, stop looking like him, and it makes his heart ache.]

It's right there--

[They can't see it, he realizes belatedly. For whatever reason, they can't see it, but the man he was with could.]

The other guy that was here. In the white coat, he could see it. Where is he?

[...Oh, the medic says with abrupt and forced calm. Whatever it was that Abbacchio just said, it certainly seems to be the magic word for the medical staff, as they exchange a sudden and extremely tense look before beginning to hold very, very still.

Aiko, the medic at Abbacchio's side says, too calmly, to the one with her fingers frozen around her pencil. Run.

A long moment passes, and then suddenly the medic with the pencil drops everything she's holding and bolts, running as fast as she can for the warehouse, while the one at Abbacchio's side curls inward and braces herself like she's expecting...

...something that never comes.

After a moment, she peeks up, glancing first in the direction of the nothingness before turning her attention slowly back to Abbacchio. When she speaks, it's in a whisper, barely moving her lips.

What is it doing? You can see it, but I can't, she murmurs, voice unnaturally steady. Is it about to attack?]

[This isn't the reaction he was expecting. Now that he's clarified, she seems to be expecting the worst, but it's less of a mystery now. That's confounding. What is she expecting?

He peers up at the thing wearing Florentino's face, wanting it to stop, stop making him think about back then, stop rewinding--]

I don't... think so.

[Despite how distressed he is, it isn't about attacking him. Maybe it's just here to haunt him.]

I don't think it's aggressive.

[The opposite, actually. Wasn't it touching him earlier, trying to help him? But if it's so fucking friendly, why is it tormenting him?]

It showed up after that kid shot me with some kind of arrow. I don't know anything else.

[Showed up...? the medic repeats, brow furrowing, but some of the tension does seem to ease out of her as she reflexively glances back at the empty air. She squints at him, at the hole in his throat, and seems to be thinking.

Then, she glances down, like she's taking stock of the width of the room, and how far it is to the space where Abbacchio was pointing, before finally regarding him again.

Well — is it yours? she offers finally. Tell it to do something. Um...pick up Aiko's pencil. Can you tell it to do that?]

[Didn't the other guy asked this thing something similar? Are you his? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, anyway?]

Hey. You. [Abbacchio is glaring at this thing.] You heard her. Stop what you're doing and get that pencil.

[The replay stops finally to his relief, its form shifting back into whatever it's supposed to be. It's sad, but it's somewhat unsettling base appearance is largely preferable to what it looked like before.

The lanky purple thing crouches down, picking up the pencil, tilting its head and looking at it. It approaches, leaning down and offering it to the medic.]

It, uh. ...It's trying to give it back to you.

[Oh, it's all right, I can see the pencil. See?

She reaches out by way of demonstration, taking it from where it is (to her eyes) floating in midair, and as she does so, the other medic returns in a hurry with Jotaro in tow, looking breathless and harried.

It's almost comical, the way that Jotaro takes up essentially the entire doorway with the breadth of his shoulders, but he peers inside, looking from the man on the ground to the medic nearby, and then to the now-returned slender purple Stand before glancing back to the medic that came to fetch him.]

It's fine. That one's not an enemy.

[O-Oh... Aiko whimpers, still a little pale-faced. I just thought — when he said there was something in here with us —]

I know what you thought. It's fine. Is he well enough to talk?

[Um...yes! Yes, of course, the other medic says, and the two of them hurriedly get their things together and make way as Jotaro steps into the room and they depart it, leaving the two men alone again.]

...Your throat healed over. Does it still hurt?

[Not an enemy. Okay. So they really could have been expecting something horrible, but only this big guy can see it. Why?

Clearly, he has the answers.

Abbacchio shoves himself to his feet, brushing off the purple thing who reaches out to help.]

I'm fine. But I still have no idea what the hell is going on.

You can see this. Can't you? [He points at it.] And there was another one you called Star.

I can see it. It's soft purple and sleek with tall boots and a sort of hood around its neck. It doesn't have a mouth, and there's something like a timer set into its forehead.

[He recites the description, sort of matter-of-factly, then sidesteps a little to make room for Star Platinum to appear at his side, bigger and bulkier than the other purple Stand in their midst.]

People who don't have one can't see them. That's why you scared the nurses. Most of the staff around here knows that there's a protocol for "strange things are happening but you can't see the source"; they thought it might've been something belonging to that guy from the warehouse, trying to finish you off.

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