Turbinio

Naranjo Grass

''Gyro, you didn't have to do that.'' You insisted one more time.

''Shut up, (Y/N).'' Retorted Gyro, also one more of the countless times, while placing a piece of gauze in your hand.

You were watching his movements closely. No amateur; he knew exactly what he was doing, where he was touching, which muscle he was targeting. Something strange that also stood out was Gyro's hands. They were soft and fluffy, like those of a writer or an artist. The hands of the other runners, like Johnny, Pocoloco, and even Diego - although much of his dryness was caused by his stand ability - were rough and strong. Gyro also had strong hands, as well as himself, but they were uniquely delicate.

Gunslingers had hands and fingernails stained with gunpowder; jockeys and farmers had rough hands with frequent chipping; warehousemen of ships or factories had only permanent calluses and grease spots. Gyro didn't belong to any of these professions, you were sure of that.

When he was finished with your wound, he turned his attention to the grilled fish, which was already overdone. You watched as Gyro and Johnny served themselves.

The two horses of the runners, as you remembered seeing in the brochure of the second stage, were named Valkyrie and Slow Dancer. Unlike what you saw on your trip, Johnny and Gyro took very good care of their horses. They were clean and brushed, looked well-fed, rested, calm and disciplined, and had a light blanket over their backs. Slow Dancer cautiously approached Cadichon, who watched his approach with a fair amount of suspicion. The mule rolled her eyes, snorted, and retreated. Johnny's horse hesitated a bit, but remained interested in Cadichon until he got used to her company. Valkyrie, on the other hand, grazed in the spot where Gyro had left her, as if waiting for her owner's next command.

''(Y/N), aren't you hungry?'' Hear Johnny ask. ''You look tired.''

''Really? Well, I'll eat some too.''

''What do you think of the seasoning, Johnny?'' Gyro interjected while chewing on the tender flesh of the fish.

''To be honest, it's really good.'' Replied Johnny without much emotion as he handed you an aluminum plate. ''You didn't say you can cook.''

You hear Gyro let out a smug laugh and take another bite of fish. You reach out to take some. This was the best thing you'd eaten in weeks, so you devour your lunch, and this time you suppress the urge to drink a bottle of rum with it, because you still remember clearly what happened the last time you decided to drink with Gyro and Johnny - and you definitely didn't want to throw up that delicious fish.

''What an appetite, (Y/N)!'' You hear Gyro comment with satisfaction and a smile on his face. ''You seem to like my fish.''

''Actually, it's very good, Gyro.'' You agreed with a teasing smile. ''Thanks to my spices, of course.''

''Don't forget about the cook. After all, you have a pretty healthy appetite, I'd say.'' He pointed at you while holding up a crooked fork. ''I bet you would eat grass if you had nothing else.''

''I ate grass once.'' You say seriously while covering your mouth with the back of your hand to chew. ''It doesn't taste bad, but there are better things to eat.''

Gyro and Johnny looked at each other and gave a small smile, each in their own way. But Johnny looked confused, then thought you were joking.

''Really?" the jockey asked.

''Really.'' You confirm sympathetically, taking the last few bites of your fish. ''I was on the triple border. Bolivia, Peru and Brazil. These borders are usually very dangerous and precarious places for those who have never been there. I ended up getting lost in a forest called Naranjo. I had no horse, mule or wagon, so I had to make do.''