SPF 30

Warning for a mostly-naked gangster. I mean how else are they supposed to see and compare the tan lines. Vaguely inspired by http://youdontknowthings.tumblr.com/post/51994355017, which is not the original artist's post but is as close as I could get.

"No way. Giorno's got the worst of it because he has the boob window so he's got a heart plastered across his chest. Anyway, he burns and I just tan." Mista pats his browned stomach. "I'm starting off darker than he is, y'see?"

Trish raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You have a permanent pale turtleneck burned into your skin. That's worse than a heart."

"S'not that pale," Mista grumbles, pulling morosely at the edge of his sweater. "Look, it's really not that bad." He runs his fingers over the line between tan and brown skin. "Now, Giorno, he's got a great big pink heart on him."

"I've got what?" Giorno asks. He's balancing a precarious arrangement of paperwork in both hands, tall enough to cover his chest.

"Here, let me." Mista takes half the papers and gestures with his chin at the sunstained mark where the fabric of Giorno's coat is cut away. "See? Totally worse than mine."

"What's worse?'

"Your tan lines," Trish cuts in. "Since you boys have apparently never heard of sunscreen."

"So that's the secret," Mista says, as Giorno glares.

"I burn easily. Got it from my father. I do wear sunscreen, thank you."

"I wondered how you stayed so pale." Mista holds his wrist up to Trish's arm, making his stack of papers wobble. "Geez. You're like a ghost."

Trish sticks out her tongue at him. "You're just overcooked."

"It's caramel-toned."

"It's a fashion disaster is what it is. I don't even want to know what kind of marks that hat has made on your forehead."

"Well, anyway, I'd better be helping Giorno with these. Where were they supposed to go?

"Down this way, but it isn't urgent. Just set them over here. I'd rather continue our current discussion."

"Only if we leave my hat out of it."

Trish snickers. "So you're not going to admit that it looks like you've got a-"

"An-y-way! Look, I'm not that pale underneath," Mista interjects as he rolls up his sweater to ridiculous height, puffing out under his armpits.

"You look like you've been dipped in coffee and it soaked up beyond the submersion line."

"Such is the price of beauty," Mista sniffs.

Giorno rolls his eyes. "Says the least qualified person in the room. You wouldn't know fashion if it shot you in the gut."

"That's fair," Mista says. "That's definitely fair. A lot of things shoot me in the gut and I don't know most of them until it's too late. But I don't like it coming from a guy with a boob window and ladybug nipple caps."

Giorno goes momentarily pink in the face but squares his shoulders and keeps a facade of dignity and confidence with his smooth "Let's not get off-topic."

"Actually," Trish pipes up, "that's what started the whole discussion. Who has the worst outfit, or at least the one that produces the worst tan lines? I say it's Mista, since he's stuck with the bastard child of a crop-top and a turtleneck burned into his skin until winter."

"And I say it's you, GioGio, because you have a great big pink heart emblazoned on your pecs. What's next, a peace symbol? You're in the mafia. You have a reputation to uphold here."