ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyou weren’t there. how could you know what happened? how?ㅤㅤ━━ㅤㅤMESSENGER:ㅤ@goldreq.

in the face of questioning, of semi-desperation, rien is as phlegmatic as ever. calm, with a single yellow eye laid 'pon target of attention almost lazily, as if his mere resting face is drawn towards her. the pager in his pocket beeps once, beeps twice ━━ hermes has clearly planned out a response for him, but the device isn't pulled out for a glance to be given. the well-dressed man only smiles, serene & reassuring. a father patient in the face of a temper tantrum. emotions are always high in children as they grow older, & giorno is at that age where prickly attitudes manifest in demands for answers or harsh rejections. he supposes he's lucky that he got the former & not the latter, what a lucky father he is.

❝ now, now, sweetie. there's no need to look at me like that. take a breath, your face might get red if you get any more passionate in your questioning. ❞

only now, does index finger loop under the chain dangling from his pocket, pulling out the pager which beeps again once rien acknowledges it. his eye flickers down to the screen, flashing blue letters & numbers across the display. a distance in his gaze, whipped back into position like a dog who just heard the sound of its whistle.

❝ it isn't about what i know, it's about what my god sees fit to grace me with. even your father knew this, it was what made me one of his most unpredictable aspects. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ━━ㅤknowledge of lives yet unlived, of news not yet broken, of legacies to be fulfilled. if hermes deigned to grace him with the proper prescripts, there was nothing out of rien's grasp.

giorno looks down. drags the toe of her shoe against the ground. ❝ i'm not my father, ❞ she says, nearly a mumble. though it's the truth, she isn't certain that she's allowed to speak it — dio is a mystery to her, dio is something far off &. used as a cautionary tale of what not to do when you have people willing to live &. die for you. she blows out a breath. one hand comes up to smooth out the slight muss to golden curls. ❝ i mean— obviously, i'm not him. i'll never be him and that's fine. ❞ she wonders if it is fine, or if rien is chasing a ghost and she's letting him down someway, somehow. she wonders how many others are chasing after her, longing for a glimpse of their god that burned up in the sun. all she has to go off of is a wisp of a memory and a faded photograph, but sometimes...

sometimes, late at night, giorno stares at her reflection too long and doesn't like what she sees. what looks back at her is a reminder she is capable of cruelty and a warning to always choose good. she wonders, though, if she will always be capable of choosing good, or if the blood of her father runs stronger than her desire to be a savior.

she makes his skin crawl, in the way insects do. she's fond of them, isn't she? she's fond of things most people wouldn't consider things to be fond of. (bugs, godhood, pannacotta fugo.) giorno giovanna has buried herself under his skin & refuses to let him go. it makes him feel wanted, it makes him feel dirty that it makes him feel wanted. but, he smiles. it's sad, it's defeated. but it's a smile.