sleepytimejunction | electric tapestry

electric tapestry

It's been a couple of years since he'd left Italy. Primarily, his skills in speaking English help him get along, especially with his various contract jobs. Of all of them, the Speedwagon Foundation pays the nicest, and the money is usually clean -- that's not exactly typical of most places, but it's kind of refreshing for a change of pace.

Not that Abbacchio probably deserves clean money.

Anyway, he's technically off shift, not that he'd care if he was still on the clock, as it were. He's seen this guy around a few times and hasn't really cared to know who he is, just kind of assumes he's probably upper management somewhere. He isn't bad to look at, but Abbacchio doesn't exactly play nice either. He'd said something along the lines of stop staring or fucking do something about it to the man.

That's about what led him to being on his knees in a closet sucking the guy's dick. Not that he has a problem with it; if he hadn't wanted to, he'd have put up a fight but he genuinely didn't expect him to be this big. To Abbacchio's credit, he doesn't choke, though.

He slides off with a lewd, wet pop and strokes him.

"This all you wanted? Fucking up my lipstick? That shit isn't cheap, stronzo."

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I already fucked with you once today. Twice would be kind of a stretch.

[Maybe his sense of humor has grown slightly more twisted over the years, but his poker face has definitely gotten better, and it had already been pretty impressive before. He just waits, saying nothing, letting the moment draw out further and further.]

There's one less vampire than there used to be. If it makes you feel better.

[If anything, it earns a sharp bark of laughter from Abbacchio. He shakes his head, opening the whiskey bottle, deciding he absolutely needs a drink of that right now. It burns way more than wine does, but it'll do right now. He really feels like he needs it.]

Sorry your stamina's so limited then.

[He can't help himself in that regard, biting back. It's what he does.]

Well, I have a purple fucking ghost now. Why not vampires. Why the fuck not.

The vampire had a Stand, too. Because just being a vampire wasn't enough. That's the one that was like Star.

[He watches Abbacchio drink, waits until he lowers the bottle down again, then takes it out of his hand and tosses back one of his own. It leaves a smudge of black lipstick on his lip, transferred over from the glass, and he frowns slightly before scrubbing it away on the knuckle of one hand.]

Do you really want to get to the bottom of what that kid was doing here?

[Jotaro looks good with a bit of his lipstick on him, he thinks absently. The man is incredibly handsome, so a lot would look good on him anyway, but some of his makeup in particular is a pretty sight.]

...Maybe I do.

But maybe you should know who you're asking for help from.

[He cocks his head slightly, setting the whiskey down within easy reach on the edge of the desk, then leans up against the side of it and gestures sidelong to his computer.]

I could pull your personnel file.

[He shrugs slightly.]

Or, we make a deal. You tell me whatever you think I should know. If at the end of it, I ask you to sign a new contract, you say yes. I'll give you every chance in the world to make me change my mind. But if I ask, you say yes.

[This isn't something he can talk about while completely sober. So, he takes the bottle back when it's free, and has another drink of it as quickly as he can.

Fuck this. This is a bad idea.]

I was a cop. Back in Italy. The problem is, a lot of it -- especially in Napoli -- is owned by the mafia. Even most of the law was owned by them, veteran cops turning a blind eye to problems so long as they were paid off. How many of them didn't really care, or learned to stop caring.

It got to me eventually too. I started taking bribes. One night, my partner and I were called in to stop an armed robbery, but it was a guy I'd taken a bribe from, so I hesitated and panicked. The guy tried to shoot me, but...

[He's drinking more from the bottle, closing his eyes. He doesn't realize it, but his Stand appears again, shifting in static and taking on Florentino's face.]

My partner took the shot for me, and died. I was ratted out and kicked off the force, but that was the least of my problems.

More importantly, I'm the kind of man who isn't reliable, Jotaro. I'll fuck it up. I always do.

[My partner took the shot for me and died. A gunshot wound wouldn't make a hole in someone's torso, wouldn't sever their spine and render them certainly paralyzed from the waist down even if they had survived, wouldn't knock them back into the jagged metal of a water tower and leave them hanging there while their organs slowly failed and their body shut down.

But that's what he thinks of, anyway.

His eyes flick to Abbacchio's Stand when it reappears, silently picking out the cap, the uniform collar, the warm strong features. And he thinks about how it had played back the sound of his own voice, "...his", back in the warehouse, and about how Stands are sometimes reflections of their users.

Polnareff's chivalry. Kakyoin's tendency to hide himself. His destiny entwined with Dio Brando's. And Abbacchio's, reminding him of faces he probably can't forget to begin with.]

Why aren't you blackmailing me? Now that you know who I am. You could make a lot of trouble for me. Demand a lot of money out of me for you to stay quiet, too.

[He reaches for the bottle, carefully, and takes it out of Abbacchio's hand.]

So why aren't you?

[He sees the way Jotaro's eyes look over his shoulder, and he winces to himself. Fucking hell, it's back isn't it? He doesn't even want to look. He knows whose face he'll see.

The lack of whiskey makes him uncomfortable. He wants it back, wants back to his own shitty apartment, wanting more to make him numb--]

Why the fuck would I?

You're someone who's actually trying to make a difference in people's lives. You have enough power to do it. Enough strength. Sure, I guess I could try to blackmail you, but that's also incredibly stupid to do.

Tell me about the bribes.

[He takes a slower drink of the whiskey this time, mostly to keep it out of Abbacchio's hand for a minute; his Adam's apple rises and falls with his swallow, and when he lowers it, there's lipstick smudged on his mouth again.]

Was it because you needed the money?

[Amicably, he offers the bottle again.]

Or did it just not matter?

[It's a good look on him. He's already thought that, but it's still true; wouldn't it be something to mess up his mouth more?

But they had their fun, and he accepted that as soon as they went into that closet together. Instead, he takes the whiskey and has his drink.]

Was never about the money. It was about... not making a difference. Even when I did catch some assholes, they'd get out the next day.

I never accomplished anything. So I gave up.

[He glances again toward Abbacchio's Stand, at the face of the man looking back at him. It makes him glad that Star isn't like his. He'd feel the same way that Abbacchio looks, probably, if every time he looked over his shoulder, he saw the worst night of his life.

He already sees it every time he closes his eyes. Seeing it while they're open would be even worse.]

I don't get to give up. I don't get to be...too slow. Too weak. Not enough. I don't get to not be there when I need to be. I don't get to fail.

[He thinks idly about rubbing his mouth again. Even raises a hand to do it — but stops halfway there, and puts his hand down again.]

Do you still want to make a difference?

[Something about that hits him in the heart, the way Jotaro says that he doesn't get to do any of that. How shitty would that be, having to be the person everyone depends on to keep yourself together all the time no matter what happens?

Abbacchio. It's his Stand, but it sounds just like Florentino. C'è qualcosa di cui dovremmo parlare.

Those were the last words before they were called in to take care of the robbery. Abbacchio squeezes his eyes shut, drinks from the whiskey bottle, and finally the Stand goes away in a blip.]

All the damned time.

I can't suffer working under people who don't give a shit. Not again. But you and the rest of the Foundation... you actually do.

Abbacchio.

[It's the first time he's actually said the man's name since meeting him, and it's an echo of his Stand saying it in what must be his old partner's voice. That's cruel, he knows. So is the world they both live in.]

Help me figure out what that kid was doing, and why. Where he got that arrow. What he was looking for.

[He shakes his head.]

Forget whatever shit job they've had you doing around here until now. Come and help me. I'm reliable enough for the both of us. Come make a difference.

[For a moment, he's quiet, contemplating. This is the kind of man he could follow. Strong in all respects, especially where it counted most.

Slowly, he puts the bottle back down onto the desk.]

You're gonna make me use this Stand aren't you. Asshole.

[He sighs.] Fine. You got a deal.

I think you mean, "a real hardass, but never unfair."

[Huh, he thinks idly as he takes the bottle and replaces the cap. That's three times I've told him to come today.

Well. Twisted sense of humor aside —]

I'm going to get you home. Tonight, just practice calling it out and putting it away. You don't have to try to use it or even look at it. Just get used to summoning it when you want it.

Tomorrow, you sign the paperwork and we name it. Then we start digging.

Fucking hilarious.

[He snorts, but he shrugs in response, shoving his hands into his pockets. He has a pleasant buzz, enough that he can ignore his aches anyway.]

You don't need to come with me.

[Abbacchio brushes his hair back over his shoulder.] ...But I guess I won't say no.

Honestly, I was just going to grab somebody and tell them to get a car and drive you.

[He tilts his head slightly, cocking it to regard him thoughtfully.]

But no, I think I will do it myself. C'mon.

Fine. Like I care.

[narrator voice: he definitely cared

Abbacchio lifts a shoulder, indicating for Jotaro to take lead.]

After you, boss.

You sure you can still walk in a straight line?

[He replaces the whiskey in his desk, locking the drawer and switching off the lights before leading Abbacchio back onto the main office floor and pulling the door shut behind him. It latches and locks with a soft click of its own, and he's used to that; he leads the way confidently, navigating them both back toward the entrance through which they came in.]

You're gonna have to tell me how to get there.

Not like I'm that fucked up yet.

[But it's a close thing. He feels warm, even more relaxed than usual. Sad, sure, but that's always been there, and talking about Florentino is never easy to do. Worse was hearing his voice again, like he'd never died.

The rest of the night will be harder to say. He'll do his task as told, but he expects to have a hangover to match in the morning with the wine waiting for him.]

I can give directions. It's not that far anyway.

You were slugging my whiskey straight out of the bottle. You have no idea how much you actually drank.

[The temptation flickers briefly to fall into step next to Abbacchio and rest a hand at the small of his back, just for the sake of guiding him with greater ease. Sort of funny, maybe, to have reservations about someone he fucked in a closet today, but — no, nah, better not.]

C'mon, the elevator's over here. We can go down to basement one, there's a garage there.

Sure I do. The answer's "not enough".

[It's said with a sneer. He manages to keep up for the most part, but he is starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Yeah, okay, that whiskey wasn't fucking around, but he's felt worse before. He can manage. He always does.

By the time he makes it to the garage, he needs to lean against the wall of it and close his eyes, otherwise things do start to spin a bit.]

Yeah. Okay. [He mumbles the words, mostly paying attention.]

That's what you get for drinking whiskey like it's a merlot.

[He's just leading the way, though he does mercifully slow his long stride a bit to make sure that Abbacchio can keep up the further they go, until it's clear that he's growing more and more off-balance with every step and he's probably not actually going to make it to the car.]

C'mon, then. Lean on me.

[He moves over to sidle up next to him, automatically reaching to support him with an arm around his waist.]

Unless you want to be carried there, princess.

[An annoyed grumble escapes Abbacchio, his eyes managing to open as he peers up at Jotaro. He puts a hand on the other man's wrist, but doesn't actively try to shove him off.]

Fuck you.

[The words are mumbled. He pauses, then snorts.]

Heh. Already did. [Wait, more importantly:] Don't have to be carried.

I could go another round.

[He says it dryly, vaguely amused despite the urge to roll his eyes, and starts half-guiding, half-dragging the other man toward the car they'll be taking.]

But I doubt you'd remember it. So no, maybe next time.

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