[There is a certain sensory satisfaction in a hot drink. Giorno knows this even for himself, although he has never lost the ability to taste or smell or see. He knows it because it's been a helpful way to ground himself through the worst times. When he was very small and his stepfather was being too much of himself, he would suck ice to feel the sharp cold against his teeth. And it's different, of course it's different, but the principle . . . the principle is the same. Find reality, find peace, wherever you can.]
[It's a leader's job to bring peace to his people. To his family. And Bruno is his.]
[The smile he gives Bruno now is wide, proud, one of those rare Giovanna smiles that is unrestrained and unrelentingly bright. These are questions he's happy to answer, the stories in his life that seem like happy endings, even if the rest of what he's been through hurts to recall. He rests his chin on his hand and talks about his family, the half that continues to strive for excellence despite all their losses; the half that will rule the world one day, if he has anything to say about it. Which, of course, he does.]
Fugo came to your funeral. Which was quiet, of course; I didn't think you'd want anything lavish. He isn't . . . happy about the new arrangements, but he's back. I'm giving him space for now, letting him work at some distance until he's ready to swallow his pride. But I believe he'll come around. [A brief pause, and his smile softens somewhat.] He misses you, more than he says. I don't think he regrets his choice, but if he could have been there at the end, I think he would have.
Trish is - Trish is amazing, Bruno. [Which is ridiculously effusive praise coming from Giorno.] She's taken over the books completely, identifying problem areas it would have taken me too long to find . . . She's a natural, and people trust her. Not the way they trust me - just because she tells them the truth. And they underestimate her, too. She's learning to take advantage of that. She's my right hand. I could do it without her, but not as well. And I wouldn't want to.
Mista . . . [He takes another sip of his cappuccino, but his eyes are warm over the rim, and he drums his fingers lightly on the edge of the table as he lowers it.] Mista doesn't deal with change as well as Trish does. He's not flexible. But I push him, and he learns, because it's me. And so he's adjusting. He'll do well. It's just a matter of time, and having patience and faith.
[Faith isn't exactly the word for what Giorno has, most of the time. Generally, it's drive. But for Mista, he allows himself faith.]
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[It's a leader's job to bring peace to his people. To his family. And Bruno is his.]
[The smile he gives Bruno now is wide, proud, one of those rare Giovanna smiles that is unrestrained and unrelentingly bright. These are questions he's happy to answer, the stories in his life that seem like happy endings, even if the rest of what he's been through hurts to recall. He rests his chin on his hand and talks about his family, the half that continues to strive for excellence despite all their losses; the half that will rule the world one day, if he has anything to say about it. Which, of course, he does.]
Fugo came to your funeral. Which was quiet, of course; I didn't think you'd want anything lavish. He isn't . . . happy about the new arrangements, but he's back. I'm giving him space for now, letting him work at some distance until he's ready to swallow his pride. But I believe he'll come around. [A brief pause, and his smile softens somewhat.] He misses you, more than he says. I don't think he regrets his choice, but if he could have been there at the end, I think he would have.
Trish is - Trish is amazing, Bruno. [Which is ridiculously effusive praise coming from Giorno.] She's taken over the books completely, identifying problem areas it would have taken me too long to find . . . She's a natural, and people trust her. Not the way they trust me - just because she tells them the truth. And they underestimate her, too. She's learning to take advantage of that. She's my right hand. I could do it without her, but not as well. And I wouldn't want to.
Mista . . . [He takes another sip of his cappuccino, but his eyes are warm over the rim, and he drums his fingers lightly on the edge of the table as he lowers it.] Mista doesn't deal with change as well as Trish does. He's not flexible. But I push him, and he learns, because it's me. And so he's adjusting. He'll do well. It's just a matter of time, and having patience and faith.
[Faith isn't exactly the word for what Giorno has, most of the time. Generally, it's drive. But for Mista, he allows himself faith.]