electric tapestry

[teaserving]

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."

Comments

[starmark]

Yeah. Like the tarot card. An old friend of mine named him.

[He's a little proud of himself. By now, he can say that in an even tone, without his voice shaking.]

Star Platinum. I've had him for — ten, eleven years by now? Yeah, that's about right.

[teaserving]

That's a mouthful. What, do I name mine after a tarot too? Is that how we're doing this?

[Haha no he's not doing that. He puts his brush down and makes the adult decision to hang his towel. No floor towels for the morning, amazing.]

If it's in the contract, I quit.

[starmark]

You could, but you don't have to. People name their Stands a lot of things. I mean, hell, you could name it "Purple Rain" if you wanted to.

[He picks up his towel and gives his hair another rub, just for good measure, then wraps it around his waist and finger-combs his messy curls back out of his eyes.]

It's yours. You pick what feels right to you. Or, you give it to somebody else and you just go with what they say.

[teaserving]

A little too on the nose.

[So he could pick, or have someone else name it. Abbacchio tsks to himself, thinking about it as he goes to leave the bathroom. He gives a passing look to the kitchen with a squint, almost considers some wine, then decides he should try to stay sober for a bit.

His Stand appears when he gets to the bedroom; such a weird lanky thing, but it seems immediately eager to help, holding up a laundry basket. Full of clean clothes, definitely not folded.]

Yeah, yeah. All right. [Abbacchio puts on some briefs.] It'd be easier if you could pick your own name, you know.

[starmark]

Maybe he can.

[He calls from the bathroom, because he's a respectful person who's going to open the window in there and let out some of the steam so that the bathroom doesn't get wildly grody. Then, he leaves and follows Abbacchio's trail, navigating the little apartment through trial and error until he finds his way back to the bedroom.]

He talked to me before. It was right after you'd been hit, I said "Are you his", and he played back "his". Like he was trying to answer, with the words he had.

[He wanders in to join Abbacchio and his Stand, but stays on his feet, mindful of the damp towel still around his hips. He regards the purple Stand thoughtfully.]

Maybe someone just needs to give you the words, huh?

[Experimentally, he begins to list off in short sentences: ]

"Yes." "No." "I like it." "I don't like it." "I want." "I need." "Tell me." "My name is."

[teaserving]

[Oh. Right. Abbacchio vaguely remembers that, the way the Stand responded to Jotaro, how it was trying to pat his hair and comfort him. What a fucking pain. Why did he end up with such a needy Stand?]

Hey, don't forget this one. "Fuck you."

[The Stand tilts its head at that one, a curious ringing noise escaping it.]

So I can sling suggestions until it's happy with what I pick. Not a bad idea, capo.

[starmark]

See? I'm not completely hopeless.

[He flashes a sideways smile at the Stand, moving a little further into the room.]

What do you think, you? Good idea? Do you like that?

[teaserving]

[The Stand's appearance shifts, not unlike last time. The timer barely goes back very far before it's taking on the appearance of Jotaro Kujo in his damp towel.

Yes -- I like it.]

Suck up. [Abbacchio scoffs and slowly eases himself down onto the bed, though not without wincing a little because he sure did still take Jotaro's dick with very little prep earlier today. Oh well.] Well, it'll make it easier to pick something, I guess.

[Yes -- I want -- my name.]

[starmark]

Hah. Good boy, c'mere.

[He offers his hand the way that he sometimes does for Star, palm-out, like inviting a puppy to shove its head underneath it for a pat.]

...Uh. Boy, right? Or no?

[teaserving]

[Boy -- right?]

What, do you treat yours like a puppy or something?

[Abbacchio's Stand shifts back to its usual form, almost excitedly taking Jotaro's hand into his. Without waiting, the Stand shoves its cheek into Jotaro's palm, a low gentle static buzz emitting from it.]

[starmark]

Star's everything I could possibly want. We've been through a lot together.

[And of the two of them here, he is apparently the Stand Whisperer, because off he goes, rubbing the other Stand's smooth cheeks and gently playing with it, teasing with petting and caresses.]

So. Now you know — he wants a boy's name.

[He cocks his head slightly.]

How about "Boots"?

[teaserving]

Huh. Must be nice. [Of course, he's had a bad impression of his own Stand, but it seems to maybe have potential. Who's to say? But right now it feels... weird. He can feel what his own Stand feels, how Jotaro is stroking its cheek and petting. It's nice, but it's also fucking distracting.

The suggested name makes the Stand shift. No -- I don't like it.]

Boots. Seriously?

[starmark]

I don't see you coming up with something better.

[He runs the backs of his fingers along the nameless Stand's jawline, caressing, then pets down the column of his neck.]

How about a tarot card, then? Lavender Moon?

[teaserving]

Whatever. [He lays back onto the bed and closes his eyes, trying to not get distracted by the way he has the ghost sensation of Jotaro's fingers on his face, down his neck.

No-- the Stand states, head tilting at the suggested name. No--

It's hard not to, but Abbacchio thinks back on everything from today. What a fucked up time, getting an arrow in the throat and now this superpower bullshit. He didn't ask for this. He doesn't deserve this. He barely deserves to have a paying job anyway. The occasional affection from Jotaro drives him crazy in the both best and worst ways, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Because the last time he had affection was Florentino. He was too sweet, too kind, too warm. Way too fucking good for Abbacchio, honestly.

They'd take turns playing their CDs in the car. Abbacchio always had his stock of Monteverdi, and Florentino had a variety including American music.

Abbacchio rubs at his eyes, aggressively trying to keep himself from getting too emotional thinking about what was.]

Moody Blues.

[The Stand pauses, then:

Yes -- Yes -- I like it.]

[starmark]

"Moody Blues".

[It's a good fit, he thinks. A color and a qualifier. Hermit Purple. Silver Chariot. Star Platinum. Moody Blues. But it's telling, too, that there's a ring of melancholy to the name, and that's the part that makes it Abbacchio's.

He mulls it over, nodding, and brushes his thumb over the place where a set of lips would be, if the Stand had a mouth to offer.]

You're a good boy. You're going to take care of him, right?

[It's vague on the surface, but there's no question that in this case, "you" is Moody Blues, and "him" is not.]

[teaserving]

[The pressure he can vaguely feel on his own lips, and Abbacchio huffs softly at it, trying to ignore it. Instead, Moody Blues enjoys the affection, and expresses it as much as he's able, leaning his weight into Jotaro's hand.

Yes -- going to take care of him -- Yes]

I don't need you to be so clingy.

[Fuck you.]

Wow, you're hilarious. See, maybe this is why you don't have a mouth.

[starmark]

You realize being shitty to him is sort of like being shitty to yourself.

[Not that it's a surprise to anybody. Abbacchio's not stupid, and he's not slow on the uptake. And he also knows that Jotaro isn't stupid, and doesn't say things without a purpose.

It's just. The earnestness out of Moody Blues reminds him so much of Star — desperate to help, eager to please, and with a master who doesn't yet understand.

Yeah. It's like being back in jail all over again.]

You're all right, Moody Blues. I've got you.

[teaserving]

Damn, you're right. And I'm usually just such a picture of self-care.

[He knows how it looks, and he hates more that Jotaro's picked up on it, but it's not shocking either. Jotaro is clever, for better or for worse. Abbacchio isn't going to lie or cover it up, though. He's never been secretive in regard to how he feels about himself.

Moody Blues makes a low ringing sound to the point that it almost sounds like a purr, enjoying all of the petting. Abbacchio for his part looks irritated and certainly also conflicted for how much he knows he enjoys the soft pets, but not wanting to let himself.]

Okay, we named you. That's enough. [Annoyed, Abbacchio takes a moment to try to figure out how to dismiss the Stand. It takes a bit of work, but he finds it, Moody Blues disappearing in static, like changing a channel on an old TV.]

[starmark]

There. You're getting better already.

[It's kind of a shame to watch Moody Blues disappear, but it's not like he didn't suspect that was going to happen as soon as he started needling Abbacchio about it. Quietly, he removes his damp towel and finds a place to hang it, then pads over to the opposite side of the bed and lies down on his side.]

If you feel like it's uneven, I can bring Star out and let you play with him. Fair's fair.

[teaserving]

[A huff comes out, and Abbacchio is turning onto his side to look at Jotaro, frowning.]

Play how. Pat his head like a dog? Maybe we'll play fetch.

[starmark]

Here I thought you liked strong men. They don't get much stronger than Star.

[He props his head on one hand, thinking about reaching for Abbacchio's face with the other, but ultimately deciding to hold off for the moment. Better gauge his mood first.]

Don't get pissy with me. It's not going to make Moody Blues any less a part of you.

[teaserving]

Sure. [A pause.] How strong?

[Not like Star is... unattractive, but is it weird to find a Stand pretty? Who fucking knows, what's it matter anyway.

He snorts.]

When I look at it, it makes me think of when it turned into my partner. So all I see are my mistakes.

[starmark]

Punched a semi off the road, once.

[HE SAYS, OFFHANDEDLY, LIKE THAT'S JUST NOTHING.]

...Can't blame you for that, though. Regrets are...

[Hm.]

They don't just go away. But that's still not his fault.

[teaserving]

Damn. That's fucking strong.

[For a moment, Abbacchio is quiet. Because he knows that's true, and he suspects he even knows why Moody Blues turned into Florentino for a bit. Because in a desperate moment of being afraid to die, or focusing so hard on the past, of course he would turn into the face he misses most.

Abbacchio curls his fingers tight into the blankets, gritting his teeth for a moment.]

I know it's not. [And he hates how much of Moody Blues is him, the parts of him he'd rather keep sealed up. Abbacchio refuses to voice those things about himself, so hard that his own Stand doesn't have its own mouth. How fucked up is that?]

[starmark]

Hey. C'mere.

[He gives him a minute of space, letting him think, but then Jotaro's arm is snaking out to wrap around Abbacchio's waist, dragging him across the mattress to press up flush against his chest.]

Look...I'll leave it alone. At least for right now. It's been a fucked-up day for you, and — I'm asking a lot, pushing you about it. It's not something you figure out in just a couple of hours.

[...]

Sorry. Is what I mean.