He hates feeling small. But Diego is also a pragmatist and a massive opportunist he quickly realizes that having a stunning, tall woman on his arm makes him look like an absolute powerhouse.

He leans into it. He loves the looks you two get. He’ll walk with his hand firmly planted on the small of your back smirking at anyone who stares, as if to say "Yes, she’s magnificent, and she’s mine."

When he shifts into Scary Monsters, he gets a bit more feral and cocky. He might use his tail to wrap around your waist, pulling you down to his level for a kiss just to prove he can.

He actually loves burying his face into your shoulder or chest when you two are alone.

He’ll never admit it, but being held by someone bigger than him gives his deeply buried, traumatized inner child a rare sense of safety.

"I don't care if you're taller. In a race everyone is behind me anyway. But... stand next to me like that again. The press is watching."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

Gyro is already a tall, flamboyant man who takes up a lot of space, so matching his height means you two are an absolute spectacle walking down the street.

He doesn't have a single insecure bone in his body about it. In fact, he thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

Gyro is a massive dork. He will absolutely use your shared height to execute ridiculous, coordinated bits.

Expect him to put his arm around your shoulder, only for you to put your arm around his, resulting in you two just aggressively power walking like a wall of muscle and teeth.

He will definitely comment on how long your legs are and boast about how you probably ride a horse just as well as he does.

If you're the same height as him, He loves eye to eye contact. He doesn't have to bend down to tease you, flash his golden grin, or whisper one of his terrible jokes. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s perfectly level, which he finds incredibly romantic.

"Hey, look! We’re like a pair of matching towers! Johnny, look how tall we are! We could crush you!" Johnny just sighs...

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Johnny Joestar.

Johnny’s dynamic is a bit different because he spends the majority of the part in a wheelchair or on his horse.

Because of this he is very used to people looking down at him literally...However, having a tall S/O hits differently for him.

Johnny doesn't feel emasculated by your height he’s far too focused on his goals and his own internal angst to care about petty vanity. If anything, he finds your height incredibly striking and beautiful.

When he’s on Slow Dancer, he’s elevated, but when he’s on the ground, you loom over him. He loves it when you kneel down to his level to talk to him. It feels intimate intentional, and fiercely protective.

Johnny has zero shame. If he needs to get from his horse to a chair and you offer to just scoop him up with your long arms? He might roll his eyes and grumble, but secretly? He finds it incredibly hot.

"You look like a statue of a goddess. Just... don't let Gyro make any more jokes about it, or I'm shooting him with a nail."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Mountain Tim.

Mountain Tim is a traditional, old-school gentleman through and through. Because he operates on a strict code of cowboy chivalry, having a woman match or exceed his height initially throws his traditional sensibilities for a loop but in the most endearing way possible.

Tim is used to being the imposing, protective lawman. When he has to tilt his head up slightly to look into your eyes, his rugged exterior completely melts.

He will blush tip his Stetson hat and trip over his words trying to maintain his suave, bounty hunter composure.

Tim respects strength and presence. Seeing a tall, commanding woman navigate the rough terrain of the West fills him with immense pride.

He will actively boast about you to other cowboys, treating you like a legendary figure out of a folklore ballad.

Tim’s Stand allows him to slide along his rope, meaning he can effortlessly adjust his positioning. If you're standing up, he might use his rope to smoothly glide up onto a saloon railing or a boulder just so he can be at eye level with you to deliver a smooth compliment.

Despite his tough exterior, Tim is incredibly tender. When he wraps his long arms around your waist, he loves that you perfectly fit against him. He doesn't have to worry about breaking you instead, it feels like a true partnership of equals.

You walked up to him, hands tucked behind your back, shifting your weight from side to side. "Hey, Johnny?"

He didn’t look up immediately, gently patting Slow Dancer’s leg before finally glancing at you, blue eyes squinting against the glare. "Yeah? What's up?"

"I have a question," you started, giving him a soft, expectant look. "Can I pet?"

Johnny blinked, his expression instantly softening into something almost proud. He looked over at Slow Dancer, who let out a soft huff. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Just be gentle around her ears, she’s a bit finicky today because of the heat. Start with her muzzle so she knows you're-"

Before he could finish the sentence, you took a step forward, completely bypassing the massive appaloosa horse.

Instead, you reached out and placed your hand right on top of Johnny’s head, right over his star patterned cap, and gently ruffled his hair.

Johnny froze entirely, The words died in his throat. His hands, still holding a hoof pick, hovered in mid air.

He stared straight ahead at your midsection, his jaw slightly slack, trying to process the physical sensation of a hand petting his hair like he was a prize winning retriever.

"Uh" Johnny choked out, his face rapidly turning the color of a ripe tomato. He didn't pull away mostly because he was too stunned to move but his hands began to twitch awkwardly. "What... what are you doing?"

"Petting" you said simply, giving his hair one last affectionate stroke before pulling your hand back.

"I thought you meant the horse!" Johnny hissed, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled his cap down over his burning face, though his eyes were still glued to you in utter bewilderment.

"Why would you phrase it like that?! You can't just walk up to a guy and ask to pet him! My heart almost stopped!"

Slow Dancer let out a loud snort, almost as if she were laughing at him. Johnny glared at the horse, then back at you, muttering under his breath about "weird city folks" while secretly fixing his hair so it perfectly aligned with where your hand just was.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

Diego was leaning against a wooden fence, watching Silver Bullet graze. He had an apple in his hand, slicing off small pieces with a pocketknife and flipping them into his mouth with practiced, lethal precision. He looked dangerous, sharp, and entirely unapproachable.

You approached him anyway. "Diego."

He shifted his gaze to you, his reptilian-blue eyes tracking your movement coldly. "What?"

"Can I pet?"

Diego’s eyes flicked over to Silver Bullet, then back to you. A smug arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He figured you were just another person captivated by his equestrian prowess, trying to get close to his world.

"Fine" he sneered softly, slipping his knife away. "But keep it brief. Silver Bullet doesn't tolerate clumsy hands, and frankly, neither do I Don't make any sudden movements or he'll-"

You took a decisive step forward, reached up, and patted Diego right on his blue jockey cap.

When he didn't immediately strike you down, you slid your hand down slightly to scratch the back of his neck, right at the hairline.

Diego froze. The smug smirk vanished instantly. A low, involuntary sound almost like a sharp intake of breath, or a very faint, reptilian hiss escaped his throat.

His entire body went rigid, his pupils shrinking into tiny slits as his demeanor completely shattered into pure, unadulterated shock.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Diego growled, though the threat was completely ruined by the fact that he hadn't pulled away, his body seemingly paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the action.

"I asked if I could pet," you reminded him gently.

Diego’s face flushed a sharp, angry crimson. He finally snapped out of it, swatting your hand away, though his grip on your wrist was surprisingly careful.

"I thought you meant the horse, you idiot!" he hissed, his teeth bared in a defensive, embarrassed snarl. "You don't just... handle me like an animal! I am Diego Brando! I am not a-"

He broke off, looking away quickly as he wiped the back of his neck where your hand had just been, his chest heaving slightly.

He muttered something furious under his breath about "disrespectful peasants" but for the rest of the day, his eyes kept darting back to your hands wondering if you were going to try it again.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

The campsite was quiet, save for the crackle of the dying fire. Hot Pants was seated on a log, meticulously cleaning her tack and checking the straps on her saddle.

She was as always a picture of intense focus rigid posture, sharp eyes, and an aura that practically screamed leave me alone.

You, however, ignored the warning signs and walked right up to her. "Hey, Hot Pants?"

She didn't stop wiping down the leather, only giving you a cool, sidelong glance from beneath her pink hood.

"If you're looking for Johnny or Gyro, they went to scout ahead. If you need something else, make it quick."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something," you said, stepping a little closer. "Can I pet?"

Hot Pants paused her cloth. She looked over at her horse, resting quietly a few feet away, then back at you

A faint, almost imperceptible softening touched her features, replaced quickly by her usual stern expression. She let out a quiet sigh.

"I suppose" she murmured, turning back to her work. "She's had a long run today, so keep your movements slow. Don't startle her from behind. Just a few pats on the neck will do."

"Great, thanks," you said.

Instead of turning toward the horse, you took one final step toward Hot Pants. Before she could register your proximity

you reached out and placed your hand firmly on top of her head, right over the soft fabric of her pink hood. You gave her two neat, affectionate pats smoothing the fabric down.

Hot Pants went entirely structural. It was as if her spine had suddenly turned to solid marble.

The cloth slipped from her hand, falling into the dirt. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, staring blankly at the horse saddle in front of her.

For a terrifying three seconds, she didn't even breathe. Her mind raced through a thousand worst case scenarios

"What..." Hot Pants started, her voice a strained, breathless whisper. She slowly looked up at you, her face rapidly flushing a deep, dramatic pink that perfectly matched her attire. "What are you doing? Move your hand."

You pulled your hand back, smiling innocently. "Just petting."

"I am not the horse!" she practically choked out, scrambling backward off the log so fast she nearly tripped over her own boots.

She clutched the front of her hood, pulling it down as far as it would go to hide the furious blush spreading down her neck. "Why would you why would anyone assume 'can I pet' applies to a human being?!"

"You said yes," you pointed out.

"To the animal! To the equine!" Hot Pants hissed, her usual cold composure completely shattered into panicked, embarrassed fluster. She looked around the camp frantically

as if praying Johnny and Gyro hadn't witnessed the utter undignified spectacle. She pointed a trembling, defensive finger at you. "Do not do that again. Ever. It is... highly inappropriate! And weird! Go pet a dog!"

She aggressively snatched her cleaning cloth out of the dirt and turned her back to you, scrubbing the saddle with ten times more force than necessary.

But beneath her hood, her ears were burning, and she couldn't stop the bizarre, fluttering confusion in her chest from a simple gentle touch she hadn't expected.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧

Mountain Tim.

The evening wind was blowing softly across the plains, and Mountain Tim was leaning casually against a wooden post, looking like a painting of the perfect cowboy.

He was lazily twirling a piece of rope around his fingers, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his signature Stetson hat tilted just low enough to look effortlessly cool.

You walked over, the grass crunching beneath your boots. He noticed you immediately, shifting his weight and offering you a warm, slow, incredibly charming smile.

"Evening" Tim murmured, his deep voice smooth as molasses. "Beautiful night out here, isn't it? Something I can help you with?"

"Yeah, actually" you said, stepping right into his personal space. "Can I pet?"

Tim’s smile widened just a fraction, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

He glanced over at his horse, Ghost Rider, who was tied up nearby. He figured you were just looking for a bit of comfort after a long day on the trail.

"Well now, you don't even have to ask," Tim said softly, tipping his hat up slightly with one finger. "Ghost Rider is a gentle soul. He likes a good scratch right behind the ears. Go on ahead, take your time."

"Thanks" you said.

You didn't look at Ghost Rider. You didn't even tilt your head toward the horse.

Instead, you reached up, completely bypassed the brim of Tim's Stetson, and placed your hand right on top of his head. Because of the hat, you ended up softly patting the crown of his cowboy hat, before sliding your hand down to gently ruffle the exposed hair at the back of his neck, giving him a few soft, affectionate strokes.

The rope in Tim's hands immediately went slack, slipping through his fingers and falling into the grass.

The smooth, charming cowboy completely evaporated. Tim froze, his eyes staring straight ahead, wide with absolute, unadulterated shock.

A bright, unmistakable crimson flush crept up from his collar, rushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

"I..." Tim choked out, his voice dropping its smooth cadence entirely and cracking on the vowel. He stood there, completely paralyzed by your hand in his hair, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a train that hadn't even been invented yet.

"You're very soft," you remarked, pulling your hand back.

Tim clapped a hand over the back of his neck where your fingers had just been, his face burning hot.

He stumbled back half a step, completely losing his footing for a second before catching himself against the post. He looked at you, then at his horse, then back at you, his chest heaving as he tried to find his words.

"Ma'am uh, sir- friend-" Tim stuttered, his silver tongue completely failing him. He cleared his throat aggressively, trying to pull his cowboy composure back together like a man frantically gathering spilled playing cards. "I... I plum thought you meant the horse. A gentleman doesn't usually... folk don't just walk up and... and pet a lawman!"

"You said I didn't even have to ask," you reminded him with a grin.

Tim buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, defeated groan that sounded half like a laugh and half like pure embarrassment.

"Lord have mercy," he muttered into his palms, his shoulders shaking. "You're gonna be the death of me on this trail. If Johnny or Gyro saw that, I'd never hear the end of it."

JOHNNY is trying so hard not to lose it in the aftermath of the fight. Your stupid comment about how sections of the hair that poked out of his beanie looked an awful lot like cat ears soon became reality when there's one pair literally jutting out of his head, and worse, a fluffy tail that swings at the first whiff of your scent.

Turning away from your teasing smile, he frowns in embarrassment.

"C'mon, they're cute~"

"They're not."

"The color matches your hair!"

He fucking hates them.

Or maybe not so much. With his head buried in your tits and your hand fisted around his cock as of now, Johnny might as well be in Heaven. His mouth greedily nurses your nipple, licking, sucking, and swirling his sandpaper-like tongue around the swollen buds until he feels your breath hitch. You run your fingers through his hair and scratch behind his fluttering ears; the other busies itself with pumping his dick, cooing about how much of a good boy Johnny is. Hips buckling into your palm, his tail curls around your arm as he whimpers.

Can these stay for another two hours?

—

The sight of your ears twitching when so much as a bug flies by amuses GYRO to no end. Initially just as concerned as you are, he mellows out the second you tell him there's no pain except a very mild, lingering sensitivity, courtesy of your new… features. Now the Italian blonde has made it his entire life mission to sing about how cute you are in your matching cat ears and tail, his big hands messing up your hair with every aggressive pat.

"You want some catnip, gattina?~”

“S—Shut up!”

Well, he won’t, and if Gyro is gonna be the loud one here, he’ll make sure that you can’t keep your mouth shut either. Said as easily as done, you’re now a whining mess with his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy and his thumb circling your clit; his other arm wraps around your neck in a firm yet gentle headlock. Gasping into the muscles of his bicep when he nibbles on one of your ears, voice low and content between the lewd squelching noises your cunt makes as it gobbles up his fingers.

He should keep you like this a little longer….

—

Congrats, there’s no way in hell DIEGO will take you seriously with those feline features and the way your face scrunches up in annoyance every time this asshole eyes you down. Every complaint you have to say goes in one ear and slips right past the other; he’s too fascinated with the way yours react anyway, reaching out to try and grab them. Smirking when you all but hiss at him.

“You look so fucking dumb.”

“Speak for yourself, you stupid lizard!”

Over a million possible combinations of the English lexicon, and it’s that one phrase that got him to snap.

You’re pushed onto your back within seconds, clothes torn off and wrists pinned above your head in one clawed hand—since when did he transform?—while Diego’s other one holds your jaws, demanding your undivided attention. His tail slithers up between your legs, rubbing against your soaked pussy and flicking your clit a few times before he thrusts it in, smiling smugly at the loud moan that leaves your lips. The appendage wiggles inside your gummy walls like it has a mind of its own, hitting all the right spots.

Dinosaurs are the pinnacle of power; he'll drill that fact into your head tonight.

—

“C’mere, kitty.” HOT PANTS beckons. “Sit on my lap.”

On all fours, you crawl past the dying body of your enemy and sheepishly make your way towards her. Eyes fluttering shut as you climb onto her legs and nuzzle into the crook of her neck, a purr leaves your lips when her fingers massage your scalp, gently tugging on your ears. Your tail curls around her waist, trusting and obedient. 

“Good girl.”

She huffs out a laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. You lean against her chest, peering up at your girlfriend curiously. 

"Can I try it too?" 

Hot Pants tilts your chin up. Your lips part, and she blows the smoke directly into your mouth, followed by a hungry, claiming kiss. It's mildly sweet; you taste licorice and plum on the roof of her mouth and the back of her tongue when it rolls slowly against yours. There's a desperate noise, but it comes from neither of you. 

It comes from behind you, actually. The enemy Stand user, the man whose throat burst open from Cream Starter's attack, is now gurgling on the ground like he's choking on every breath that he takes. Under the shimmering moonlight, you see the faint outline of his exposed windpipe where the tube rapidly flutters and contracts, trying to pull the air into his lungs... well, lung. He only has one lung left.

“Should we finish him off?” You ask as Hot Pants strokes along your tail. “He’s just a regular rider.”

“Hmph,” is all she says with her nose buried in your hair. “Sounds like you’re pitying him.”

You giggle at the barely concealed jealousy in her tone, turning around to curl into her chest. Hot Pants softens at your touch.

“He got his dirty hands on you. I won’t forgive that.”

She takes another drag. Burning red hot cherry, nearing its end.

“Still, I want to keep this look on you a bit longer. You’re adorable.”

Her fingers return to your ears, scratching them. You purr happily and lean further into her warm body. Seeing as the ember dims, though, you’re quick to give her blouse a tug, eyes big and pleading.  

She smirks, savoring the final drag. “You sure?”

Your ears twitch as you nod, pulling the hair away from your neck.

The first burn against your skin is electrifying. Your body stiffens; you let out a whine, cheeks rosy. Hot Pants holds it there for a long second before moving on to make a second imprint, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, going until the cigarette dies out completely. She throws the stub aside, pulling you down by the collar and smoothing her tongue over the burn marks. The relief is instantaneous… and so is the sensation of your cunt growing wet. 

Desperately, you start humping her thigh. Hot Pants chuckles into the blemishes on your neck, flexing her leg to grind it up against your clothed clit. Her hands are all over you—grabbing your tits, kneading your ass as she lets you chase your pleasure. Smiling as she pulls you flushed against her, combing through your sweat-matted hair.

“Want more, kitty?”

“Meow~”

This time, you don't even make it back to camp. Johnny and Gyro are riding through a dusty, tense little mining town, scanning the crowds for hidden enemies. Instead they find you.

You are currently standing on top of a water tower, holding a pristine, heavy-duty leather gun holster and a custom-weighted stirrup strap, arguing with a guy who looks like a local sheriff.

Johnny Pulling Slow Dancer to a stop, looking up "Please tell me you didn't steal that."

You say shouting "Johnny! Look! I know your holster was getting frayed from the spin-friction. I asked the leatherworker for a new one, but he said he couldn't work because a local gang blocked the creek that powers his tanning wheel. So I went up the mountain to clear the rocks, but the rocks were too heavy, so I had to bribe a guy with a mule."

You took a deep breath "He wanted a rare bird feather for his hat first, so I climbed a pine tree, got the feather, cleared the creek, got your holster, and now the sheriff thinks I'm an accomplice to the creek-blocking because I was seen hanging out with the mule guy!"

he just rubs the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, slow sigh that carries the weight of the entire universe.

He looks at the holster It’s perfect. It’s exactly what he needed. He looks back up at you, completely deadpan. "Get down from the water tower before the sheriff draws on you. We're leaving."

While Gyro is busy making fun of the "bird feather" part of the story, Johnny is secretly touched. You went through a multi-tiered, dangerous wilderness fetch quest just because you noticed his gear was wearing down. He’ll slide the new holster onto his belt, look away to hide a small smile, and mutter, "Next time... just ask me to help you clear the rocks."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Gyro Zeppeli.

You've been gone for eighteen hours. Johnny is calmly making coffee, while Gyro is pacing a trench into the dirt, ready to mount Valkyrie and track down whatever Stand user surely kidnapped you.

Suddenly, you emerge from the brush wearing a bizarre, incredibly ornate silk scarf and carrying a sack of high-grade, imported coffee beans

"Where in the name of the King were you?! We thought you were dead in a ditch, or worse, captured by the President's men!"

"Oh! Gyro, you mentioned your throat was dry yesterday, right? So I went to get some clean well water from that homestead back there. But the well pump was broken. The old lady said she needed a specific iron wrench to fix it, but the local blacksmith had gambled his tools away to a traveling snake-oil salesman.

"So I had to track down the salesman, agree to taste-test his 'miracle tonic' which tasted like battery acid, by the way and then juggle three of his bottles to win the wrench back. Once I fixed the well, she gave me these coffee beans, and then a passing silk merchant saw me juggling and traded me this scarf for my old one."

Gyro just stares at you. He blinks once. Twice. His brain is trying to calculate the sheer probability of that sequence happening in the middle of the Colorado wilderness.

He will absolutely take the coffee beans and immediately brag that his brewing method will make them taste better anyway, but he will never let you live down the absurdity of it.

He starts trying to "tether" you. He’ll literally hand you Valkyrie's reins or make you hold onto a spare steel ball just to keep you anchored. "If I look away and you start talking to a stray dog, I'm tying you to the saddle." He wouldn't, but he threatens it

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Diego Brando.

If you vanish, his first instinct isn't worry; it's annoyance that his pace is being slowed down. But if your side quests start yielding high tier rewards? Diego’s hyper competitive brain immediately tries to weaponize your luck.

Diego doesn't wait for you. He keeps riding But because the universe dictates that all side quests eventually loop back to the main path, he rounds a rocky canyon bend and spots you.

You are currently riding a massive, premium breed stallion that looks significantly more expensive than Silver Bullet, holding a pristine pair of silver plated spurs, and casually chatting with a wealthy railroad tycoon.

Diego Pulling his horse up, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits "Where did you get that horse? And why are you holding silver spurs that belong in a museum?"

"Diego! Look! I know you wanted a smoother bit for Silver Bullet. I went to a trader, but he said his inventory was seized by a corrupt debt collector. So I snuck into the collector's camp to get the bit, but I accidentally woke up his guard dog.

"I fed the dog some dried meat I had, which apparently made the dog loyal to me, so it helped me dig up a buried chest the collector was hiding. The chest contained the deed to a local mine, which I just returned to this tycoon. He was so grateful he gave me this stallion and these silver spurs!"

Diego’s jaw drops slightly before his face instantly contorts into a sharp grin. His eyes practically turn into dollar signs.

He doesn't care about the logic or the danger you faced. He just sees the profit. He will immediately dismount Silver Bullet, walk over to you, and snatch the silver spurs right out of your hands to admire them.

Diego suddenly decides your disappearances are a brilliant asset. He leans down from his saddle, a dangerous charming smirk on his face. "Incredible. Tell me darling... if I drop you off near the next banking town for an hour, do you think you could manipulate the local economy enough to buy me a train?"

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨

Hot pants.

She will genuinely stress herself out tracking you down, only to find you doing something completely mundane.

Hot Pants has spent three hours tracking your footprints through a dense forest, her hand gripped tightly around Cream Starter, ready to dissolve an attacker into meat-paste.

Instead, she finds you sitting in a clearing, calmly carving a small wooden whistle while a group of local children watch you in awe. Next to you is a basket of fresh, hard to find medicinal herbs.

Hot Pants stepping out of the brush, voice tight and furious "Do you have any idea what kind of danger you're in? I thought you were dead! Why did you leave the trail?!"

"HP wait! Look! You used the last of your disinfectant spray yesterday, right? I went to find these specific herbs to help you replenish it. But the monk at the nearby monastery who grows them wouldn't give them to me unless I helped him find his lost goat."

"The goat was trapped in a ravine, and I couldn't get it out alone, so I had to promise these village kids I'd carve them all custom whistles if they helped me haul the goat up with a vine rope. I'm almost done with the last whistle, I swear!"

She pinches the bridge of her nose beneath her hood, taking a deep steadying breath. She cannot comprehend how you navigated a monastery, a ravine, a goat, and a village syndicate of children in the span of an afternoon.

Kars -

Dio -

Kira -

Doppio -

Diavolo -

Pucci -