❝ that isn't what i asked, ❞ it comes out petulant &. childish, and for a rare, fleeting moment, giorno giovanna appears every bit her age. there is no mask of professionalism, no girl grown up too fast. she is fifteen and demanding answers, and this answer does not satisfy her. if she were less in control of herself and her emotions, perhaps she'd even swat his hand away and stomp her foot in protest. but, she doesn't... at least, there is no foot stomping. she does, however, bat his hand away before she crosses her arms. this, though, is too childish, so she uncrosses them &. lets them hang, uselessly, at her sides for a moment. she wants to demand more, she wants to grab rien and shake him until she gets an answer that she's satisfied with. but something tells her that no matter what she does, no matter which path she may take, she will always be left wanting more.
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 lets out another exhale, before she lifts her gaze once more. ❝ you don't need to— you don't need to do anything drastic, not like that. ❞ as if i'd ask before doing it to you myself. ❝ you can speak freely with me, i'd prefer it that way. i don't want there to be any secrets or sugarcoating where i'm concerned. i just want the truth, i want to know more. can— can we start there? ❞ a smile. it's a barely-there curl of one corner of her mouth, but it's a smile nonetheless. ❝ can you tell me more about him, if you won't tell me more about anything else? ❞