sleepytimejunction | electric tapestry

[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.

[The more slender purple thing looks at Star with curiosity, head tilting, a delicate ringing noise humming from it for a moment. It'd probably be interesting to watch this thing, but Abbacchio is more hooked up on this guy's words right now.

He knows. He knows a lot.]

...You're someone pretty high up on the Speedwagon Foundation's food chain.

[Well. Whoops. He fucked someone important.]

Who the fuck are you? And what are these things?

[He just sort of stares at the guy a moment, then glances away and tugs the brim of his hat down over his eyes.]

...Sure.

[SO MUCH FOR ANONYMITY. And discretion. Good fucking grief.]

It's called a Stand. It's a manifestation of your fighting spirit. It's following you because it's a part of you; it doesn't have any choice but to be near you. Here — I'm going to touch it. You should be able to feel it; that's the proof you're connected.

[And, well, when he says "I", he means "Star", who flits over to the other Stand and regards it a moment before extending a thick finger and tracing it down the length of its spine, from the nape of its neck to the hollow of its back.]

[Some fighting spirit, he thinks darkly. All it does is repeat things that have already happened. His way of not being able to let go, he supposes. Maybe it really is here to punish him with his past.

Then he feels it, Star's finger running down his spine -- but it's running down the other Stand's back, and he can feel it too. Abbacchio jerks, instinctively looking behind himself, whereas his Stand makes a surprised ringing noise but doesn't retaliate. Some fucking way to test that sensation, but Abbacchio refuses to let himself look flustered.

His Stand does not hide it so much, less concerned evidently about being honest. Maybe that's why it doesn't have a mouth; Abbacchio wouldn't be so open.]

That's weird.

[He practically glares at the other man.]

I still don't know your name.

You can sort of turn it off. I can't really describe how to do it, but it can kind of mute the connection. Dull it, so it takes the brunt of the feeling and not you.

[Star circles around the other Stand, a half-apologetic look on his face, and flashes a puppy-eyed expression at his purple friend. Without any real capacity for speech, an implicit "sorry for startling you" is about the best he's going to be able to get.]

Jotaro. ...Kujo.

[He pauses.]

Or maybe you've heard the name "Joestar". That's my family.

[Abbacchio's Stand reaches out almost delicately, placing his hand over Star's forearm. No harm was done, evidently.

The admission of Jotaro's name makes Abbacchio freeze in place. Well, he thinks. Fucking Joseph Joestar's grandson was not the worst choice he's ever made, but holy shit.]

I know both those names.

Well. Shit.

[Way higher up on the food chain than he expected. Gonna just pretend it's not a big deal it's fine this is fine.]

Now what? I have this fucking thing following me around that nobody else can see.

[That may just be the most gently Star has ever been touched by another Stand; a rumbly little ora escapes him, approving, and all of a sudden he's regarding the other Stand with renewed interest, looking him over intently while their two masters talk.]

In case you forgot, I still don't know your name, either.

[HMMMMMMMMMMMM this is fine, this is totally fine.]

What do you mean, now what? It's yours. It's not going to go away. You do whatever you want with it, or do nothing with it.

[...]

Though I guess if you figure it out, you might get a better job around here than whatever you've been doing.

Yeah? What's it to you? I wasn't anybody before, and I'll be surprised if that changes suddenly tomorrow. You, though -- you're not just an important associate of the Foundation. You're bigger than that.

[He huffs, turning away, and suddenly his Stand disappears. It's not like he's going to demand that Jotaro give a damn, but more that he'd be surprised if he suddenly did.]

Then I choose nothing. It's already a pain in the ass.

And I'm right where I ought to be.

Hell are you so pissed off about all of a sudden? It's not like you're getting offered a promotion because you can ride a dick.

[Fucking hell. How has this day taken such a sharp left turn in such a short amount of time. Why is his life like this.]

...What exactly have you heard about me, anyway?

None of your fucking business is what. We had a good time, shit got weird, and neither of us wanna deal with any of that. [Maybe he's just projecting on that last part, but...

God, he's thirsty.]

A handful of things. Heard you were a giant. Heard you could be a real hardass, too. But never unfair. People are scared of you, but they respect you. That's how it is.

Actually haven't heard too much bad shit about you or your family. Sure, everybody's got rumors, but it always struck me as weird how loyal people here are.

Oh. Yeah, that goes back to the founder, I think. He was friends with my great-great-grandfather.

[Although the way he leans into the word "friends" lends just a touch of suggestion that he has his suspicions about that friendship, at least in one direction of it.]

I'm pretty sure there's a short list somewhere with my family's names on it and the title is "give these people anything they want". It's annoying. I'm not some...god, or something.

[He shakes his head.]

But they do good work here. Make people's lives better. I don't mind being a part of that.

[Good work. Make people's lives better. Wasn't that his dream once? To protect the innocent, make it better. Instead, he turned it all rotten when he let himself get weak.]

I need a fucking drink.

[He doesn't mean to let it out, but then he doesn't care.]

So what's up with the kid and the arrow?

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