ic inbox || ruby city

[whatitis]

Hey, you've reached the voicemail of Carlos [heavily distorted feedback punctuated by sharp clicking noises], leave a message after the collective screech of eight different kinds of buzzards.

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[digiorno]

. . . You. You are up.

[He blinks up at Carlos, slightly nonplussed, then hands up his cup of coffee.]

What are you doing?

[whatitis]

Yes, that's correct! I am up, in several senses of the word.

[Gratefully, he accepts the coffee, his legs swinging absently over the side of the bench.]

Oh, I'm just waiting for some important tests to get finished. I'm taking a mini-break.

[digiorno]

Oh, a mini-break.

[He nods sagely, then sits down next to Carlos on the bench.]

What do you do on a mini-break?

[whatitis]

I usually just sit and wait and think, which I do a lot of the time. Three very integral parts of the scientific process, and all that.

[He takes a long, thoughtful sip of the coffee.]

You can taste that espresso.

[digiorno]

Sitting and waiting and thinking. I do a lot of that, too. Even though I'm not a scientist.

It's good, isn't it? I'm learning how to make all kinds of things.

[whatitis]

That's good, on both accounts. It's important to have some quiet time. Or a lot of quiet time! It's important to spend at least seventy percent of your life in dead silence.

Anyways, you made this? It's pretty good!

[digiorno]

I did. I like making things with my hands.

[Like coffee. And animals.]

Coffee isn't so difficult, all things considered.

[whatitis]

I'm guessing your...uh, friend? Mr. Experience. I'm guessing he helped?

[Suddenly, he starts to rifle through a stack of papers on the bench.]

I think I still have my notes on them, somewhere...around here...I'm sure of it...?

[digiorno]

With the coffee? No, I just did that myself.

[He peers over Carlos's shoulder.]

On Stands?

[whatitis]

Well, it's pretty good coffee, in my humble opinion as a consumer.

[Finally, he reaches a specific makeshift notebook, thumbing it open to a two-page spread labeled "strange ghosts S^TANDS". The largest region of the paper is dedicated to a crayon sketch of Gold Experience...and it's not a good one. He's trying. Keeping the weird ladybug guy company is another crayon doodle of something Purple and Yelling, and a subheader entitled "STONE MASK???...", with the ellipses indicating many more ???s.

Crammed into every free space is the scientist's cramped handwriting--nearly illegible in its rambling scrawl.]

Here we go! Here. We go. That's what I was looking for.

[digiorno]

[As soon as he sees the little drawing, Giorno takes a deep breath and starts chattering excitedly and pretty incoherently in Italian. The only intelligible words are Star Platinum, which he utters while pointing at the purple and yelling individual. He tugs on Carlos's sleeve and chatters some more, very insistently.]

[whatitis]

[--AaaaaaAAAA okay that surprised him. He wasn't expecting much of a reaction at all, much less...whatever this is.]

Giorno. Amigo. Calm down...?

[?????]

[digiorno]

Questo è il mio amico! Mio amico Star--

[He huffs and scrunches up his nose, folding his arms over his chest. Gotta concentrate.]

Es . . . es mi amigo. [HUFF] You drew him!

Where is Hierophant? You're missing Hierophant.

[whatitis]

[He points at the mess of crayon that's supposed to be Star Platinum, eyebrow raised. One of his legs is bouncing against the bench--excitement rubs off on him very easily.]

You're acquainted with this one? I've only seen glimpses!

[Give him a second to fumble over words before he can get it right.]

What's...what's Hierophant? Is it another one? How many are there...?

[digiorno]

Yes! He carries me on his shoulders and likes pudding.

[He Loves Star. He also Loves Hierophant, so much that he has to fumble around for the right words for all of this love.]

Hierophant is a Stand, he's . . . green, with a mask, molto impressionante, and he doesn't look very human but he's very beautiful. He can make emeralds. And Kakyoin is very clever with him, and he can go very far, not like Star or Gold Experience - really far. And he can make all kinds of traps - you have to meet him, he's very good.

[whatitis]

He sounds fantastic! They both sound fantastic. Goodness. I want to meet them both.

[He stops, attempting to collect himself, and fails to do anything of the sort. His expression is one of open earnestness, features honest and clear.]

How many are there? I know of very few.

[digiorno]

Ah . . . how many, how many.

[He counts on his fingers.]

Hierophant Green, Star Platinum, Sticky Fingers, Aerosmith, Purple Haze . . . but you don't want to meet Purple Haze. And Gold Experience. Oh, and there's one more, but I don't know what it's called.

[whatitis]

[He's counting along, looking very intent in his own quiet way.]

...That many? Wow! Also, I want to meet all of them. Especially Purple Haze, because they already sound like a darling.

Can I meet them all? Please?

[digiorno]

Carlos, Purple Haze will probably murder you. You should start smaller than that. And less murderous.

[whatitis]

I want to meet it.

[He is Determined.]

How big can they get? Like, when you say start smaller, do you mean that literally?

[digiorno]

Ah. Well . . . Aerosmith isn't very big. But the smallest one - ones - were Sex Pistols, only they're not here anymore. They're--

[He holds out his finger and thumb a few inches apart.]

Like so.

[whatitis]

And, from my understanding, they're bound to one person alone? Even if there's more than one?

...Do you name them, by the way? Who names their powerful spiritual manifestation Sex Pistols?

[digiorno]

[Giorno makes such a face.]

My Mista does. Don't make fun, they're my favorite. [Tiny bullet children.]

[whatitis]

Is that another kind of Italian slang? Mista?

[Hesitantly, he pushes the notebook over.]

Also, if you could draw 'em, that'd be neat.

[digiorno]

No . . . Guido Mista, that's his name.

[Edging towards a sulk now, he pats the table for a pen.]

I'm not much of an artist, I can't do them justice.