Tag: ◈⇠( epilogue ; verse )

POLNAREFF.

@cernieran liked.

    “ WELL, I’M NOT SURPRISED that you killed him. He seems like … a piece of work, so to speak. ”

                       ———❝ IF IT WERE UP TO ME… he would still be alive. ❞
crouched beside the body in question, the man flipped open the wallet he’d just procured off his person. lorenzo ricci. a former passione soldato and defected drug smuggler. lifting from his position, he offered the other the drivers license.

       ❝ doesn’t give us much on his partners, not that i believed he would snitch even after all of that. ❞ 

GIOVANNA.

                                           Continued with @cernieran from X

                      ☆ / I HAVE A DREAM  :  GIORNO GIOVANNA

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Golden sparkles and lights – this seemingly natural glow to his figure. Giorno had this mask of sorts, clung to his emotions as he went from a void to something more playful. It was the very persona that he played up for the camera – held over this guise of a true gangster. “I’m not sure about that, amico. Perhaps I’ll come back when the Grande Ufficio di Bruno is less busy, hm?”, he spoke with a sly smile.

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                        ———❝ YOU MAKE THE TITLE SOUND SO DIGNIFIED. in fact, i nearly forgot how it is i spend my days. ❞
smiling, the man brushed a bit of hair behind his ear. something about how the other carried himself felt different, many months past the fatal usurpation of the former boss. he’d never considered the other a dishonest person; the word did not sit properly. rather, giorno was more… inward. what truths he kept, he kept under lock and key. a safe does not necessarily lie about what valuables it holds — it just doesn’t tell you.

       ❝ the tide is falling. i assume you’ll not be joining me on the water today, don giovanna? ❞

ABBACCHIO.

                    ——— IT HAD BEEN MONTHS SINCE HE’D DIED. since the both of them had died. he still feels something in his chest, he feels fucking sand in his chest, he doesn’t know what he feels anymore. it’s hard to breathe, sometimes. even harder still to stand. yet… he was alive.

he takes in a breath. it’s shaking. he’s surprised he isn’t shaking. he closes his eyes for a moment as buccellati asks him how he’s feeling, and laughs.

      ❝ i feel like i died, buccellati.

❞ he mutters. lifts a hand up and drags it down his face. 

❝ i feel like my heart isn’t real. i… i don’t fucking know anymore.

❞

                   ———HAD IT NOT BEEN POINTED OUT, his death might have escaped him entirely. eyes fluttering, the man rested his head on two fingers, alert yet waning. he moved his hand to the side of the bed where abbacchio sat propped, brushing down the creases.

      ❝ this might be the first time i’ve heard you concerned about whether or not you were alive. ❞
the bluntness of the statement forced the man’s grip, tightening over a desire to stay his mouth. when had he become so careless with his words? had empathy been lost over these months alone…?

     ❝ i was starting to think we’d both rot away here while you slept. ❞

                     ———❝ IT’S NOT A STRANGE FEELING. at times, it almost seems normal, the absence of pain. ❞ 
gently, the man brushed a bit of hair out of his face, realizing then that it was out of place despite the lack of sensation. 

       ❝ enough about me, how are you feeling? ❞

@winefilth

GIOVANNA.

@cernieran​ approaches.

     It’s a quiet night. A peaceful one. One that’s a welcome break from the horrible buzzing around of… well. Business as usual, it seemed. It’s tiring. So, so fucking tiring. Giorno Giovanna stands on his balcony with a drink in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, staring out into the starry expanse of the dark sky above. A soft sigh accompanies smoke as it travels upwards. This was nice.

A door opens, and he glances towards the sound, pupils slits until he realizes just who it is, and his expression softens. A small smile.

“Good evening, Buccellati. Are you doing well?” He asks, gesturing for the other to approach. “I can put out the cigarette, if you’d prefer.”

                              ———❝ SINCE IT SEEMS THAT NO ONE HAS THE AUTHORITY TO SAY IT ANYMORE — smoking will kill you, giorno giovanna. ❞
the man smiled through the cracks in his fingers, pushing a lock of raven hair behind his ear as he gazed on from the balcony. it was a chilly night, the sea picking up a front and bringing it to the exposed portions of his skin. he made little effort to cover up, a certain numbness to his body keeping him from really caring.

         he’d been numb for some time now.

       

turning to the don, the man reached over to press his thumb into the lit end of the cigarette. allow me, he almost seemed to say, the burn of flesh not even slightly bothering him or his autonomic reactions.

       

❝ just because a drug is legal does not mean it is safe. ❞