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Private Don't Fear the Reaper, Baby Take My Hand

Pannacotta Fugo

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Context Before you Jump In


October 31st

Halloween. A holiday Fugo cared nothing for. But what he did know was that it was annoying. Not wanting to have to deal with trick or treaters ringing his doorbell, he had decided to go for a walk tonight. Best to leave his housemates to deal with all that bullshit.

Still, there were plenty of people wandering around. Children going door to door, adults escorting them, and other people having the exact same idea as him. As Fugo wandered, lost deep in thought, he scarcely noticed how late it was getting. If he had, perhaps he would have been able to avoid the fate that would soon befall him. As it was, though, he was out in town when a bunch of fairies decided to pull some mischief.

One second, Fugo was walking. The next second he had collapsed on the ground, all limbs completely limp. Try as he might, he couldn't manage any movement. Face first on the pavement, missing a tooth from the force of his fall, he started yelling... well, at least his voice wasn't paralyzed.

"What the fuck! Who the hell did this? Show yourself, asshole!" he yelled uselessly into the sidewalk, unaware of the gleefully gossiping fairy culprits flying away after taking in his pain and suffering. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Goddamnit, someone help me!" Blood trickled out of his mouth, stemming from where his front tooth had been dislodged. Unfortunately, he wasn't even able to roll over. Everything, literally everything except his mouth was paralyzed.

He would continue to scream obscenities and pleas, mostly a combination of the two, into the ground until someone actually bothered to come over and help him. Which might take a while, considering that it was late at night and there weren't too many others around.
 
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Justin bustled down the street, eager to get back home after another unsuccessful day trying to hunt down Lara or Dr Hardy. The motorcycle he’d BORROWED had run out of gas, so he’d dumped it in the middle of the road half a mile back.

He glanced around the street, hoping to find another motorcycle or a car or even a bus he could BORROW, but there were no vehicles parked up by the sidewalk. At first, he’d been confused and even a little scared of the people passing him, dressed as ghosts and witches and vampires and werewolves and black cats and superheroes and cartoon characters and, and, and, until he’d remembered with a jolt that it was Halloween. He lost track of dates easily. The time of day, also.

Justin must’ve looked out of place in his letterman jacket and pale jeans, which he’d once BORROWED from a college student that he’d killed in an alley. He was a college student now, just like he’d been a cop after he’d killed a cop. His bulky Polaroid camera dangled around his neck by its sturdy strap. He hadn’t had the opportunity to take anybody’s picture today, although judging by the screams of ASSHOLE and FUCK, FUCK, FUCK that might very well change soon…

It was BAD to shout and swear. Usually, people only did it when they were about to HURT somebody. Justin bristled at the thought, pulling his switchblade out of the pocket of his letterman jacket, but he didn’t pop the blade up just yet.

He stalked over to the source of the threatening sounds, finding a blond haired man with an unpleasant sharp face screaming into the asphalt. Blood oozed from his mouth. Justin HAD to get a shot of that at some point! This guy was CRAZIER than any of the patients that’d been in both the GOOD and BAD hospitals, and Justin had known people who’d eaten PENCIL SHAVINGS and BUG POOP.

"Why are you SHOUTING that way?” Justin reprimanded him, his voice irritated yet soft, a quiet emphasis on certain words. “People are SCARED of you.”
 
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Fugo had been screaming into the pavement for several minutes before a new voice rang out in the otherwise quiet night. Almost instantly, despite his previously incensed state, the teen stopped yelling fruitlessly into the air. His directionless rage dissipated, fast as a summer storm, leaving only a normal level of indignation and frustration at his current state.

Something rubbed the young gangster the wrong way about this stranger, though. His words sounded slightly wrong, like they were trying to hard to stress pointless words that didn't need any special emphasis. "Why do you think, asshole?!" he retorted back with a biting tone of voice. "Can't you see the blood? I was just walking around when suddenly most of my body stopped moving and I fell right here!" He ran his tongue over the spot where a tooth once resided. Giorno would be able to make him a new one, so it was only a temporary inconvenience, but it hurt like hell in the moment.

"I kind of need to scream and get people's attention, if I don't want to spend the night like this!" Fugo added. "So help me, get someone who will, or leave me alone to scream some more!" He had no time for this guy if they weren't going to provide assistance. And, if they were planning on taking advantage of his helpless self... well, they'd soon find out that a stand user can't be made helpless by something as simple as paralysis.
 
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Justin scowled darkly, unimpressed with the crazy man calling him an ASSHOLE. He would’ve stalked off in disgust, but the crazy man’s crazy story held his attention.

“Really? Not a muscle?” he asked, putting a finger in his mouth. “Were you bitten by a bug? A snake? I saw a documentary on snake venom once. There’s this venomous snake in South East Asia, which likes to eat other venomous snakes. You’d think that was DANGEROUS, right? Like it was risking its life every time it wanted a meal? Nuh-uh. Nope!”

Justin crouched down next to the crazy man, rolling one of his pant legs up to the knee. “No puncture marks here! The snake’s EVOLVED so that it's the one with the superior venom. It overloads its dinner’s nervous system, short circuiting them like a… A CAR BATTERY being OVERCHARGED by the VOLTAGE REGULATOR or something. It PARALYZES them.”

He nodded to himself thoughtfully, confident that the crazy man had been bitten by a snake from South East Asia. He’d seen that documentary on the snake venom at the GOOD hospital. They’d used to let him watch a lot of documentaries at the GOOD hospital, until he’d started scaring the other patients by yelling about snakes in the showers and sinks and toilets. Snakes with blue patterned bodies and red heads, as though they’d tried to wash their faces in a bucket of paint… Or blood.

Justin rolled up the crazy man’s other pant leg, but discovered no mottled puncture marks. He scooted over to his head, intending to check his hands and arms next.
 
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Well... he couldn't exactly fault the man for coming up with an explanation like that. Near total paralysis didn't tend to happen without some sort of spinal cord injury or poison. "I would have noticed if something bit me," Fugo retorted. "Anything that could cause total paralysis with a bite wouldn't also need to be painless. Would be totally... Hey, I said I'm fine!" he continued, quickly switching lanes when he felt hands rolling up his pant legs.

Unfortunately, due to his current state, he was unable to fight back. A sudden surge of fear ran through his head. Good Samaritans weren't the only type of person one was liable to run into on the streets. Back home, crazed drug addicts who wouldn't hesitate to stab a man and steal their wallet were also not uncommon, this time of night.

"Hey! Hey, stop that!" he protested, no longer using any profane language that might set this guy off. "Nothing bit me!" Unbidden, the hands investigated his other leg. "See, I'm totally fine. Look, you can just leave me here! I'm going to be fine so you really don't need to trouble yourself."

Despite his protests, though, Fugo could feel the presence moving towards his upper body. "There's no goddamn way a snake would get to my arms or head without me noticing! Just leave me alone!" he exclaimed, voice betraying his incredible discomfort. If Justin would try making contact with the teen's body again, he'd suddenly feel an invisible force grip his hand and force it back as Fugo's stand would unconsciously manifest to defend him.
 
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Justin withdrew sharply from the crazy man, rising back to his feet. He was unaware of how close he’d come to discovering something even CRAZIER about the crazy man.

“I guess you’re right,” he admitted thoughtfully. “You WOULD notice a snake trying to slither up your body, especially a blue one with a red head. THAT’S the type from South East Asia with the super venom. I sure don’t ever wanna meet one of them. Heh, heh!”

Unless it was on the other side of a vivarium. They’d used to have a big tank of fish in the GOOD hospital. Justin had liked peering in at them, sometimes knocking on the glass or dropping a pebble from the garden in with them. It’d often had him wondering whether planet Earth was really one enormous fish bowl. Was there a giant out there in space, peering in at the people fish, knocking on the glass or dropping a pebble in with them? Was that why they REALLY got earthquakes and thunder and lightning and avalanches and floods and volcanic eruptions?

“Want me to drag you to a hospital?” Justin asked. “I wish I could find my professor friend. He’d know how to help. Dr Hardy knows how to help EVERYBODY.”

Justin grinned his big chimp grin. He was the one giving the help now, which was weird and different, but not in a BAD way. It gave him a sense of control over the situation, a sense of control over the crazy man on the ground. He liked that very much.
 
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Crazy though this stranger definitely was, he at least was smart enough to stop feeling around Fugo's body when prompted. If they hadn't stopped things would have gotten... unpleasant, to say the least. Still, that didn't leave him in an entirely good spot either. "...Yeah, it would be very hard to miss," the teen said, reigning in his desire to start screaming at this guy for his odd attitude.

The man wouldn't know this, but the thought of being dragged to any sort of professor brought horrible memories to the forefront of Fugo's mind. Clearly the context meant it was some sort of medical professional, rather than a college professor, but his negative experiences still resurfaced regardless.

Did he want to get dragged to a hospital, though? It sounded like a good idea on paper. Something was clearly wrong, after all. But there was something about this man that made him very leery about accepting help. "I'm... not so sure about that. We're not especially close to one, so you'd have to carry me a long way. And dragging me along the ground would be... painful," he remarked, hoping that would be clear. "Just call an ambulance for me. That would be easier for both of us."

"And also... would you mind flipping me over? My face is pressing right into the concrete, it isn't very comfortable."
 
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“Okay,” Justin sighed out the word, although he felt hollow with disappointment. Flipping somebody over and calling an ambulance didn’t sound very important, but he guessed he was still providing help. Dr Hardy would’ve been proud of him. He liked making Dr Hardy proud.

Justin moved to help the paralyzed crazy man, but didn’t pick his feet up high enough and tripped over the sidewalk, landing on top of him.* He sprawled there in stunned silence, before erupting into a fit of shrieking laughter, his mouth close to the crazy man’s ear.

“Oopsy daisy!” Justin burbled and tittered as he scrambled back to his feet. He paused to inspect his bulky Polaroid camera, relieved to find that there were no nasty scratches or dents on it from his fall. It was a very hardy camera. He’d once used it to bash in somebody’s skull.

Justin reached down to take the crazy man’s wrist, but snatched his hand back in sharp realization. “You nearly tricked me. I haven’t taken your picture yet.”

He crouched down by the crazy man’s head, raising his camera and snapping a photo of the blood around his mouth. Baring his teeth in a grin, Justin plucked the Polaroid out of the FILM EJECTOR SLOT, eyeing it hungrily. The ruby gleam of the blood in the picture stole away his breath.

Waggling his eyebrows, he slipped the photo in his pocket, then made to take the man’s hand.


A dare I was given in Thread Challenges!
 
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In contrast to the stranger's disappointment, Fugo was quite happy that his request wasn't ignored. That is, until he felt a heavy weight fall on him. The teen hissed with pain as his already scraped and bruised body was pushed harder into the concrete. A chill ran down his spine in response to the undeniably crazy laughter right in his goddamn ear!

All his instincts were telling him to shove the man off his body, but the muscles didn't respond in the slightest. He felt incredibly trapped, even after the man got off him and stood up.

And the man was saying something...? "Huh? Picture... Tricked? The hell are you...!" he began to ask, cutting himself off at the sudden flash of light. It wasn't in his eyes, but in this dark street it was impossible to miss the flash of a camera. "Hey, you're supposed to ask before taking someone's picture!" he angrily exclaimed, still barely managing to keep himself from lapsing into obscenities out of fear of setting this man off.

He would have had more angry words to say, if it weren't for what happened next. The instant that Justin's hand closed around Fugo's own, the teen's entire body shuddered. His arm shot backwards, out of the grasp, and he instantly fell limp again. "Um... What the hell just happened?" Fugo asked no one in particular, too confused to be angry. "I could move, for a second there! Do that again!" It was ridiculous, to think that having his hand held was some sort of trigger, but he had seen stranger and more specific effects before. He couldn't discount the possibility.
 
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“Right,” Justin burbled laughter. “You’re SO right. I should’ve asked permission.”

Dr Hardy would’ve been disappointed in him. He would’ve said that he was being rude and… DISRESPECTFUL. Those had been his words when Justin had used to take his picture without asking or even warning him first. He’d spoken them in a quiet, gentle way that indicated the incident would not impact how much he liked him. They would remain FRIENDS.

He hoped the crazy man would become his friend, since Justin had given him so much help. But then the crazy man shuddered and let go of his hand? Was he really paralyzed or just LYING to him?

Justin stared down at him dubiously, but nonetheless reached out to take his hand again.
 
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Well... at least the strange freak seemed to understand intellectually that his impromptu photography was socially unacceptable. Though Fugo got the impression that he hardly understood why, nor did he really care. Just so long as he got through this encounter without getting assaulted by a mentally unstable photographer, though, the teen would consider this a win.

Once again, the man took Fugo's hand. Now mentally prepared, the young gangster was able to keep control of his suddenly usable muscles. "Holy shit..." he exclaimed incredulously, comprehending the reality of the situation. Keeping a firm grip on the stranger's hand, he managed to get to his feet. "...I can't believe this! Paralysis that ends when I'm holding a hand? Really?!" The youth shook his head scornfully. "I really hate Pandora, sometimes. Wouldn't see garbage like this in Italy."

Using his free hand, he withdrew a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped some of the blood off his face. Nothing could be done about the injuries from his fall, not until he saw Giorno, but at least he now felt a bit cleaner. "...Alright. So, uh, thank you. Really," the youth finally addressed the one who made this possible. "It's... strange, and it's hard for me to believe myself, but I guess I can move while I have hand contact? I'd hate to impose, but I really don't live too far from here. Not too much over ten minutes. If you could just... bring me there, I'd really appreciate it." Now that he had a better grasp on what was going on, getting home made more sense than going to a hospital.
 
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The hand thing was interesting and all - well, MAYBE - but Justin’s face lit up when the CRAZY man spoke about Italy. “You’re from Italy? That’s so cool! Did you have pizza in Italy?”

Justin would’ve liked to have kept the focus on that particular country, but the CRAZY man seemed determined to fixate on his hand, which was fast growing old. Yawn. And now the CRAZY man wanted Justin to walk him back to his home... While holding hands with him?

“Hmm…” Justin squinted his eyes at him suspiciously. He was beginning to think the CRAZY man was actually a CLEVER man. One of those HOMOSEXUALS. He had invented this CRAZY story to trick an unsuspecting young gentleman into coming home with him, hoping to coax or pressurize or seduce them into doing hot, sweaty things in his bedroom.

Justin had never done hot, sweaty things with a man, nor had he done hot, sweaty things with a woman. He didn’t think he wanted to start, but he would still go with the homosexual, because he was flattered that the homosexual liked him that much. If he was pushy, Justin would simply whip out his switchblade and slit his throat, then move on to enjoy the rest of his Halloween.

“Well. Okay,” he agreed, breaking out into a toothy grin. Swinging his arm playfully, he added in a coy, coquettish tone of voice: “But you aren’t getting a kiss on your doorstep.

“Oh! I’m Justin by the way!” Struggling with one hand, he raised his camera to his face and snapped another picture of his new friend, the flash fleetingly plunging the night-time neighborhood into daylight. He laughed nonchalantly. “You can tell me about Italy while we walk! Did you have to paddle around in a boat to get around the streets? That must’ve been fun!”
 
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He was getting some seriously bad vibes from this stranger, but Fugo didn't exactly have any other options right now. Getting home was too important for him to be picky about who he used, after all. Moving unsteadily, still getting used to the fact that every muscle was working again, he gave Justin a skeptical look. "That... isn't something I have a problem with," the young gangster said uncomfortably.

This was fine. Even though this guy seemed to be getting uncomfortably flirtatious, or just enjoyed acting saying freaky things, it didn't matter. If things turned rough, he could protect himself. He had killed more dangerous men then this one, surely.

Fugo blinked rapidly at the sudden flash of light. Another photograph? He wasn't going to make a fuss about it, since he needed this guy's help right now, but that didn't equal approval. "...Justin, huh? I'm Fugo," the man said, only even giving that much info since the current plan would let this guy know where he lived anyways. A name was nothing compared to an address, in terms of how dangerous it was to him.

Just had to keep Justin entertained for a few minutes while they walked, and hopefully they could then never meet again. "Sure, OK," he began to speak, trying to get his thoughts in order before actually speaking. This conversation could be as dangerous as a minefield. "The canals are prevalent in Venezia. Other than there, people pretty much use cars or walk like everywhere else." He didn't particularly like thinking about Venice. Too many bad memories. "They're... interesting enough to use. I wouldn't go so far as to call it fun, though. Might just be because it's more normalized from my perspective, though." Just keep walking. Get out of this situation as quickly as possible.
 
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“Fugo,” he repeated quietly. “That’s a weird name. Is it Italian?”

Justin had only ever heard of Italians - on TV - being called Marco or Alessandro or Giuseppe or Giovanni or Sofia or Mario or (...). He’d NEVER heard of a FUGO until now.

He listened in silence to Fugo - not Luigi or Roberto or Rosa or (...) - finding what he had to say about Venice more interesting than his fake paralysis story-slash-scam. Justin chewed on the fingernails of his free hand, nodding his head at random parts and making intrigued sounds. You were always supposed to nod and make intrigued sounds when people spoke at length.

“Mmm,” he finished, thumbnail pressed between his teeth. “Does Venice ever freeze over in the winter? You could put on ice skates and skate everywhere! And what about in the summer? Does it ever get so hot that the water dries up and all you have left are big canyons? How do you get around then!? In a helicopter?” He laughed gleefully. He’d never been in a “chopper”. He bet that was fun! “Oh! Do you have any fish in the canals? Do you need a permit to catch them?”

His eyes grew cold and distant. The fish had reminded him of a rare memory of his “paw”, back when he hadn’t made quite so many BUSINESS TRIPS. He’d taken Justin and his little sister fishing once - on private land. His “paw” had gotten into an argument with the owner, who’d wanted them to leave ‘cos they didn’t have a permit. All of his shouting and swearing had made his “paw” so angry that he’d shoved him in with the fish. Hee!

Justin had crouched by the edge of the water, holding his sister’s hand - holding her hand like he did Fugo’s - willing the flailing and cussing owner to drown, willing a shark or lake monster to gobble him up whole, willing his “paw” to wade in after him, willing his “paw” to hold his head under the surface until the water grew glass still around them.

But his “paw” had done none of those things, helping him out with a sheepish apology as though HE’D been the one to shout and swear. Maybe if he hadn’t gone on so many BUSINESS TRIPS afterwards, Justin would’ve turned out more like him…
 
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"Of course it's Italian," Fugo responded without missing a beat, trying to not let too much silence fill the gaps between their words. He still was confident in his ability to fight back if things turned ugly, but a smart man tries to avoid confrontation in the first place. Justin was an odd man, and he wasn't going to risk setting him off by remaining silent. "It means something along the lines of 'banish' or 'send away.' Also the word for a bomb carried by balloon, coincidentally." He personally thought the latter definition was more reflective of his personality.

He couldn't actually get a read on Justin's mood, though. Sure, he was making all sorts of sounds and gestures normal for one invested in a conversation... but they were haphazardly placed, like it was all for appearances rather than genuine. The man's behavior made Fugo want to rip his hand free. Only the fear of being paralyzed again kept him from restraining the instinctual revulsion he felt.

So many questions about Venice. He'd answer them, of course, but that didn't mean he'd be happy about it. One of the three most defining moments of the young gangster's life had happened there, and even associated thoughts brought those memories back. "There's only been one case in the entire 20th century of the canals freezing over to such an extent, to my knowledge. As for drying up, I can't remember any major incidents," he explained truthfully, at least relative to the year he had come from, hoping that there wouldn't be a negative reaction to shutting down those flights of fancy. "And... there are probably fish, but I don't know much about that topic."

Something had changed. It was obvious in Justin's expression and the pause in the conversation. Fugo was unsure of what to do. If he said something, would there be a negative response for interrupting his thoughts? Still, that cold expression really wasn't making the youth feel comfortable. Coming to a decision, he opened his mouth and asked "...Is there something wrong?" in the most calm and composed tone he could manage.
 
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Justin turned back to the other man with a grin, touched that he was asking if anything was wrong. Fugo must really like him! Fugo had the makings of a TRUE best friend! Justin was pleased he was taking him back to his house, so he could memorize his address and come and visit him EVERY DAY. They could play board games or watch movies or just TALK.

“Everything is RIGHT,” he corrected Fugo, smiling and waggling his eyebrows. “That was VERY INTERESTING what you were saying about your name just now. I wish mine meant BOMB or BALLOON. Do you know what mine means? It means JUST IN, like when you have a news story you want to tell people and you interrupt the middle of Seinfeld or Cheers or The Cosby Show. This JUST IN! A balloon bomb blew up Disneyland!”

Justin - JUST IN! - laughed at his example, but shut up abruptly at a sight down the street. He jerked to a stop, his face cold and blank, his thought processes firing like a faulty engine block.

A van was parked up by the sidewalk, which had a tilted model of a pizza mounted on the top. Some guy with a red ball cap on was hefting boxes of pizza into his arms, his eyes glazed over as though he was bored with delivering them all night. Justin could smell them - fresh baked dough and tangy tomato - even several feet down the road. It reminded him of the man he’d met a month ago, who had thought pizza was a new invention. Ham Solo. That’d been his name.

“Hey! We could get some pizza and eat it at your place!” Justin beamed sun bright at Fugo. “I hope he’s got sweet barbecue chicken. I like sweet barbecue chicken very much.”

But not with sweetcorn. NEVER with sweetcorn. Sweetcorn gave him stomach cramps.

Tightening his grip on Fugo’s hand, he started to try to pull him over to the van. The pizza guy raised his eyebrows at the sight of them holding hands, before dismissing it with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders and piling more pizza boxes into his arms. They were almost up to his chin! He must’ve been delivering them to a party… A HALLOWEEN party. Maybe they could tag along with him to the party? They could have as much pizza as they wanted then!
 
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That eyebrow waggling was not settling Fugo's nerves. He was fairly sure that Justin had an entirely incorrect view of what was going on, but the young gangster didn't want to risk any sort of outburst by correcting him. At the moment, he was at the creepy stranger's mercy when it came to getting back home.

"...That's good. It's good when everything is going right," he replied with an incredibly forced smile plastered on his face. At least his remark about the meaning of his own name had caught Justin's interest, enough to get the man out of that eerie silent state.

Fugo had to stop himself from barking out a correction on the meaning of "Justin" that had just been stated. It was derived from a Latin name that stemmed from the word for "Just" and "Righteous" and other words that he doubted fit the Justin in front of him. Best not to contradict him. "That doesn't sound... too bad, Justin," he said, still keeping the fake smile plastered on. "It's a very... interesting way to interpret it."

Unfortunately for all his hopes of getting out of this situation quickly, he now found himself faced with an unsettling reality. Justin wanted to eat at his place, and was trying to take a short detour to procure pizza for said goal. Now, once he was home, Fugo could at least retaliate against this man. And so could the other people living with him. But letting this creep inside was all kinds of wrong!

Putting his foot down, metaphorically and physically, he tried to halt Justin's movement. "No. We can't get any pizza. First of all, I left my wallet at home and I'd never force someone else to pay for me," Fugo claimed, lying through his teeth. "And second of all... Well, he's clearly delivering those. You... You do know those all have already been bought by other people, right? Even if the money might not have changed hands yet." He really hoped this would work. It wouldn't be ideal if this situation couldn't be stopped here and now.
 
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Like a dog that’d raced to the end of its leash, Justin was wrenched backwards by his hand. He turned to scowl at his new friend questioningly, finding that he had come to a stop. Was Fugo pretending that he was paralyzed again? WHY!? Didn’t he like pizza?

“But balloon bomb!” he protested reedily. “That guy’s got so much pizza! I figure he’s delivering it to a party. A HALLOWEEN party. We could follow him. The Halloween people are BOUND to invite us in if you tell them a couple stories about Italy. And if you don’t like pizza, they’ve probably got OTHER food. Like apples on sticks. You’ve GOTTA like fruit!”

They’d used to have a Halloween party every year at the GOOD hospital, where they’d had the apples on the sticks. The last year Justin had got a really good idea. He’d pulled the moist, sticky apple off and thrown it in a bin, snapped the stick in two and stabbed the sharpest end into the thigh of the patient he’d liked the least. That month it’d been the Man from the Garden.

The Man from the Garden had used to step in front of Justin while he’d been trying to take a photo of an outstretched spider web or a wire statue or a crumbly piece of bark. The Man from the Garden would smile hollowly up at the sky or at the invisible butterflies that fluttered around his head. He would NEVER smile at Justin. NEVER smile at his camera. It obviously meant that he didn’t like Justin. That he stepped in his way to sabotage his pictures and in turn HURT him.

So at that Halloween party, Justin had snapped that apple stick in two and stabbed the sharpest end deep, deep, DEEP into the thigh of the Man from the Garden. He certainly hadn’t smiled hollowly then! His lips had even contorted into the opposite direction! Heh, heh, heh!

Justin had been banned from the next Halloween party. He wasn’t sure if they would have banned him from the one after 'cos that was when he’d been transferred to the BAD hospital. Well, nobody was banning him from any Halloween parties EVER again.

“C’mon Fugo!” he cried, trying to tug his new friend after the pizza man.
 
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Pannacotta Fugo

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
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137
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Human
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Justin wasn't making this easy for Fugo. As unsettling as the older man was, he was still the only available option for the young gangster to get home. After all, if he tried to get Justin to leave him there'd be no guarantee that someone else would come along to help. Even though Fugo could literally melt him into a pile of goo in a moment if necessary, all that would accomplish would be leaving him paralyzed in the street again.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he'd be able to dissuade the one holding his hand. Which meant that Fugo would have to instead adapt. Come up with excuses, or at least diminish the magnitude of this diversion. "Of course I like fruit, but I really don't want to eat right now," Fugo explained, thinking up the words as he spoke. "Just... Look at me!" His mouth contorted into a grimace, in order to display the fact that he was currently missing one of his bottom incisors. "Happened when I fell. Still hurts, will be even worse if I try chewing on anything."

OK, he used an element of truth to back up his reasoning. Now, at the very least, he should be able to get away without eating even if they did go through with this. Next step was to try presenting a course of action for the likely possibility before Justin took the initiative and got his own ideas. "Look, I really don't think anyone would just let two strangers into their party and eat their food. If you really want to do this... you can try," he conceded, making himself seem agreeable so that the next part would be more easily accepted. "And if we can't get in, we'll forget about it and go back to my house." And not being let in was obviously what would happen.

If, against all odds, they somehow actually were let in to the hypothetical party that may or may not be occurring... well, that could still be turned to his advantage. With people around, he might be able to find a saner escort than Justin.

Well, he had said his piece. If Justin still insisted on dragging him along, Fugo wouldn't resist. He had to choose his battles.
 
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Justin L. McCay

Midnight Ride
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177
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Fugo did a most WONDERFUL thing. He pulled a face, revealing a GAP in his bottom set of teeth. Was that BLOOD on some of them? Oh, Justin liked that VERY much.

He went all tense, leaning in to stare starry-eyed at balloon bomb’s mouth- NO. NOT his mouth. The red void between teeth. He stared and stared and STARED until it was no longer red.

“Hold still,” Justin instructed him, voice lifting in muffled fascination. “I gotta take a picture of that.”

He raised his camera, snapping a picture of Fugo’s mouth, the flash fleetingly turning his skin as pale as candle wax. A Polaroid popped out of the FILM EJECTOR SLOT. He would’ve liked to have taken his time admiring the photo, but that would mean losing the pizza man.

“We HAVE to try!” he insisted, dismayed by his new friend’s negativity. The people just HAD to let them join their party! Wasn’t that what you did on Halloween? You let strangers eat your food? Your candy? Justin guessed pizza wasn’t really candy, but you could put candy on top.

He thought about what else you could put on pizza - dairy, meat, vegetables, CIGARETTE ASH - until the delivery boy had come to a stop outside a small two storey house. It was OBVIOUS they were having a party ‘cos the windows kept flashing red and green and yellow and purple and orange and… ANY color you could invent. Music throbbed heavily. Though Justin had decided to hang back on the other side of the road, he could feel the vibrations through his sneakers.

The pizza man rang the doorbell. It took him three tries before a pair of ladies wearing red horns and forked tails opened up and took the boxes off him. Justin tittered quietly at the way the ladies kept touching and kissing each other in odd places. They must’ve been REALLY good friends.

Once the delivery boy had left, Justin dragged balloon bomb across the deserted road. They didn’t even have to utter a single word. The she-devils eyed the way they were holding hands, smiled warmly and stepped out of the way, granting them access to the house.

“Hey! Thanks! This is GREAT!” Justin yelled above the thumping music. He reached out with his free hand. “Me and my very BEST friend here can help you carry those pizzas!”
 
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