Guido Mista

oh, consider solido genuinely surprised by mista's answer! honestly expecting him to use such an incredible ability to cause mischief or something- no, wait ; there it is after the pause. lips curl into a bright smile, the mental image of some guy freaking out over his car being turned into an ant was a funny one. it prompts a light laugh from him as head tilts gently in thought, green hues drifting to the near window & the gentle rain beyond.

" probably the same, i think- " blinking, solido quickly adds on, " not the ant thing- but the turning litter into plants. there's so much of it here in places it's quite upsetting. where we grew up on sardina it was pristine ; clear waters, clean beaches ... " as solido continues his voice grows quieter, smile fading into something more gloomy. " although- " fingers tap at chin, poke at freckled cheek, as the mind muses back over to the question at hand.

" -gold experience can heal people, right? i'd use it to help others like that. but i wouldn't swap it for my own stand ... moonchild is amazing all in its own way. " the mere mention of the silent stand stirs it from within, a sensation solido still wasn't used to- nor possessing a stand in general. whatever a stand was, solido wasn't sure ( they'd been told, of course ; a manifestation of the soul ... but it felt strangely familiar, like it was another self ... like doppio & diavolo ).

mista can't help the fond smile that spreads on his face when he sees moonchild manifesting nearby, hovering over solido with its unblinking eyes. if a stand is a manifestation of the soul, then what does it say about solido's soul gazing into mista's? is there more to solido's view of him than simple camaraderie? nah, he's... probably just overanalyzing things. probably.

"that's okay. i don't mind it staring." he laughs slightly, shrugging. nearby, his own stand remains safely tucked away at his hilt, the little bullets humming with energy. luckily for mista, they aren't giving away his current thoughts as he realizes he's been looking at solido's freckles for a little too long. oops...

"i like that, though," he continues, gesturing emphatically with his hand as he leans back against his chair. "the healing people thing, i mean. it's a good thing giorno's a decent guy and not, like, some kinda mad scientist. though, being healed by gold experience kinda felt like some mad science was happening." eyes widen to emphasize this, following a gesture to his torso. now fully in tact & unscathed, thanks to the new boss's healing capabilities.

"anyways, i think your stand ability is really cool as it is. i mean, not everyone can say they've got a stand that calms people down." mista grins, leaning towards solido ever so slightly and gazing very intensely with his deep, dark eyes. "in this line of work? abilities like that go a long way. i mean, you've probably seen how tense and sweaty everyone around here is half the time."

if it weren't for the multiple blocks of fudge currently occupying doppio's mouth, mista would've received a rather snotty reply. instead the only immediate response is a miffed off expression. like, of course they're part of passione ! they were the fricken right hand of the boss ! or was ... being cooped up in a shitty grey room like some prisoner didn't mean squat ... or, well, they were. a more pleasant room was given to them not so long ago ; brighter colours & more comfy furnishings. not that any of that made sleeping any easier ...

but giorno's kindness was admittedly starting to get to doppio, the fleeting friendship the two shared before everything went to shit reforming. it was nice, & they appreciated the reassurance & care, but ... but ...

...oops. mista can tell he hit a nerve. it's not as if he meant to do so, but that doesn't change the fact that it happened anyways. he's maybe not the most slick when it comes to interacting with new people, especially new people who probably had him on the shitlist weeks or months ago due to, well... recent events. he laughs awkwardly, nodding.

"yeah, that's, uh... sorry." dark eyes flit away from doppio, unsure of what to say. if he thinks too hard, he'll just keep remembering that he shot the other several times, back when they were in bruno's body. whew, he's starting to feel a bit queasy...

"sorry," he says again, inching away from the former boss' consigliere. mista isn't usually one to apologize so frequently, but he'd be lying if he said that everything that went down hadn't stirred up some stressful reaction in him. "i feel like we've gotten off on the wrong foot. i didn't mean it like that. what i meant to say, is, uh, it's good to have you here. even after, uh, everything that's happened to passione."

when it retreats to its master and then disappears, bruno sighs.

mista laughs awkwardly, feeling like he totally just blew it at the opportunity to appear cool in front of bruno. though, he does visibly perk up at the mention of being taught to make a better shank.

"It's good that turtles are slow and won't run away somewhere without a reason."

Narancia nodded. He still felt a little strange. It's really scary to be an old man and lose almost all your teeth and hair. If it weren't for Trish and Bucciarati, he would have died as an old man at almost eighteen! Perhaps fortunately, he barely remembered how terrible it was.

"man, thank god! i was seriously worried about you back there... uh, and more than a little freaked out, to be honest. yuck. please don't get old on me like that again." mista paused, realizing what he'd said. he was quick to backtrack.

"...wait, but don't die young! what i mean to say is, uh, i think we're all better off aging... gracefully, and at a a totally normal and natural pace." he laughed slightly, scratching at the back of his head )and rustling the bullets he stored in his hat.)

Diavolo had been through hell and back and had not forgotten how Mista and Trish had cheered for his end. No.. such actions did not go unpunished. 

“You are a traitorous breed of mutt, and by all intentions now I should put you down.” He remained on edge. This could just be another deathloop - if he wasn’t so positive that this could end badly, he wouldn’t indulge in speak. Okay, he still would. He loves to hear his own voice after all. 

mista's hand hovers over his revolver, holstered in his belt, but he does not draw it yet -- his stand remains at the ready, the little bullet-like creatures active. although, he hesitates. whether it's out of self-restraint or fear, that isn't entirely clear to mista himself. he'll defend himself if he wants to, but he's not exactly looking to get a hole punched through him.

"i don't think the replacement boss would be too happy to see if you killed me," he answers, visibly on the defense. whatever the hell giorno's requiem stand did, mista isn't really certain, but he at least knew it had the power to keep someone away for a significant period of time. otherwise, diavolo probably would've come a lot back sooner than now... at least, that's just speculation on mista's part.