Gold And Sapphires (JJBA)

Invitation invites Hesitation

"Right so..." The older one clears his throat, "We came here to tell you something, but..." His eyes wander to Mista. "He can't be present."

Giorno's smile is light, and his eyes are far darker—when he kindly responds: "I apologize if this makes trouble, but Mista is staying."

"Right, right." The man responds, a small nervousness in his eyes. "Okay."

A few more moments pass with no sound to fill them—Giorno speaks again. "So? What's your business?"

The younger, who hadn't spoken till then, finally opens his mouth. "This." There's a tremble in his tone, a stutter to his words as he hands over the ruby wax sealed letter to Giorno's outstretched hand.

Sapphire eyes look it over with interest. On the bottom corner, in shaky Italian, it was signed Holly Kujo. For just a second Giorno's fingers hesitated to break open the wax seal.

Holly, Holly Kujo. The name came up clear from his memory; she was the one his fath-Dio had nearly killed, wasn't she?

Shortly after Giorno's rise to the throne of Passione; a man from the Speedwagon foundation had visited him. He wasn't particularly high ranking—nor did he have a stand. But he had knowledge—and maybe that's what mattered. He told Giorno of his father Dio, and he told Giorno of the crusade to Egypt. And Giorno never got the full story but he did get the full picture.

In turn—that meant that he knew ....Dio had nearly killed the woman known as Holly Kujo.

(Haruno hesitates.)

Quickly, decisively, Giorno's fingers peeled off the wax and pulled out a handwritten letter.

Blue eyes moved rapidly.

Blue eyes stopped.

And widened.

For a second Giorno wondered just what he was reading, and if this letter had been meant for someone else. But it clearly, clearly, as clear as day, was meant for him and only him. Or else the words wouldn't have been so painstakingly written in a foreign language, and it wouldn't have Giorno's name plastered all over it.

All at once someone had run their hand over Giorno's painted face and smeared his smile downward and creased his eyebrows—because by all-the-gods-Giorno-didn't-believe-in, he was not expecting this. Not at all.

His eyes ran over the last sentence, again. And even as Giorno went deeper into turmoil his mouth went back to its same curve and the crease on his forehead faded out of existence.

--So after quite a bit of contemplation we decided to invite you. You don't have to come or anything, but you are certainly invited! Gifts definitely are not required by the way. And while, once again, if you aren't comfortable, coming is not compulsory. Otherwise, I do look forward to seeing you there!

It felt too personal for a formal invitation. As if you could feel the sunny rays of whoever wrote it ('Holly', probably, judged by whom it was signed form.) shining through.

And really...why in the name of everything pure and good, had Giorno even gotten this letter in the first place?

Honestly, a family reunion, Giorno had never heard something like that in his life; had never been to one either. It was strange, really strange—for Giorno to get this now. And from the Joestars of all people... A small, nervous, bead of sweat clung to Giorno's face.

Mista craned his neck to read the letter, and Giorno wordlessly handed it over. (Ignoring the SWF foundation employee's protests.)

Finally Giorno spoke. The words were heavy, and lay thick on his tongue, the left him slow and paced, like syrup or molasses.