[Even with what Jotaro might categorize as restraint, what Giorno would call mercy, it's a great deal to take in. He hadn't lied - he knew his father was a monster - but the precise nature of his monstrousness had always been something Giorno was capable of separating himself from. He had delineated the him and the me, taken great steps away from the violent legacy of his father to create a violent legacy of his own, and felt better for it - felt righteous.]
[He can't separate himself from this, not with the frank way Jotaro is telling the story, the simple and straightforward words he chooses, the pain he's hiding. He certainly doesn't feel righteous. If he were even a fraction less strong, the entire story would make him feel very small, less-than, unworthy.]
[But he knows he is worthy, and so he bears up under the pressure, and he does not break eye contact.]
[Not even when Jotaro says ancestor. His hand slips under his suit jacket and his shirt to rub at his birthmark, not a light touch this time, heavy pressure, to ground him, to remind him that he is present and he is himself. He inhales, exhales, and listens, does not break eye contact.]
[Not even when Jotaro tells him that he killed his father. It's not surprising. There was a certain inevitability to the story, a sense of fate, of destiny that Jotaro would not have been able to escape. It was easier, in a way, for Giorno to step away from his own legacy, because the only thing riding on it was his sense of self, not anyone else's survival. If it had been Bruno or Narancia or Abbacchio relying on him - maybe he would have given in to Dio's legacy quite a bit more.]
[He smiles again, his expression laced with grief - because he is human - and pride - this time, not in himself, but in Jotaro.]
I thought that might be the case. I think . . . it's not up to me to do anything about it. What would I do? Get revenge? He was never my family. He was more of a threat to me than anything else. I still don't fully understand how I lived until an age when I was capable of defending myself.
[There were a lot of moments when it was almost me. So much pain there. Giorno is not exactly kind; he can be merciful, loving towards those who love him, but he's no good Samaritan. Still, if he could, if it wouldn't be an invasion and an intrusion that might weaken a tentative, unspoken alliance, he would reach out and lay his hand on Jotaro's shoulder, communicate some manner of strength between the two of them.]
[As it is, it's bare instinct to reach into his pocket and pull out a pebble he picked up on the way to the obelisk, hand it over his shoulder to Gold Experience. In a moment, a lily is draped over his shoulder in return, fragrant and fresh; he breathes it in and allows the sensory experience to distract him from the confusion of pain he's feeling now, pain he doesn't feel he has any right to.]
You can tell me more, Mr. Kujo. If it would help. I'm stronger than I look.
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[He can't separate himself from this, not with the frank way Jotaro is telling the story, the simple and straightforward words he chooses, the pain he's hiding. He certainly doesn't feel righteous. If he were even a fraction less strong, the entire story would make him feel very small, less-than, unworthy.]
[But he knows he is worthy, and so he bears up under the pressure, and he does not break eye contact.]
[Not even when Jotaro says ancestor. His hand slips under his suit jacket and his shirt to rub at his birthmark, not a light touch this time, heavy pressure, to ground him, to remind him that he is present and he is himself. He inhales, exhales, and listens, does not break eye contact.]
[Not even when Jotaro tells him that he killed his father. It's not surprising. There was a certain inevitability to the story, a sense of fate, of destiny that Jotaro would not have been able to escape. It was easier, in a way, for Giorno to step away from his own legacy, because the only thing riding on it was his sense of self, not anyone else's survival. If it had been Bruno or Narancia or Abbacchio relying on him - maybe he would have given in to Dio's legacy quite a bit more.]
[He smiles again, his expression laced with grief - because he is human - and pride - this time, not in himself, but in Jotaro.]
I thought that might be the case. I think . . . it's not up to me to do anything about it. What would I do? Get revenge? He was never my family. He was more of a threat to me than anything else. I still don't fully understand how I lived until an age when I was capable of defending myself.
[There were a lot of moments when it was almost me. So much pain there. Giorno is not exactly kind; he can be merciful, loving towards those who love him, but he's no good Samaritan. Still, if he could, if it wouldn't be an invasion and an intrusion that might weaken a tentative, unspoken alliance, he would reach out and lay his hand on Jotaro's shoulder, communicate some manner of strength between the two of them.]
[As it is, it's bare instinct to reach into his pocket and pull out a pebble he picked up on the way to the obelisk, hand it over his shoulder to Gold Experience. In a moment, a lily is draped over his shoulder in return, fragrant and fresh; he breathes it in and allows the sensory experience to distract him from the confusion of pain he's feeling now, pain he doesn't feel he has any right to.]
You can tell me more, Mr. Kujo. If it would help. I'm stronger than I look.