Accelerated perspective (n) - an intentional exaggeration of perspective often in a stage setting to permit a shallower than appears actual stage depth
Bucciarati continues to lead us down the city streets of Naples to an undisclosed location as he explains the foundation and the inner workings of the Passione gang. I half listen, already knowing such information but keep an ear out for anything Uncle Alec might've missed, no matter how unlikely that would be with his skillset.
"Passione is a pretty big gang organization. First, there are groups made up of six to ten on underlings, like my team. Then there are capos like Polpo who command those teams. They reign over a particular region, making it their turf. These teams include specialty teams, such as an assassination team and a drug team. Despite being from the same gang, I really don't want to involve myself with those teams or their capos. And the one who stands at the top is the boss. The boss only has contact with the trusted subordinate he considers his right hand, and we have no way of knowing who or where he is. Gang members in this city hate standing out, as it can quickly lead to their assassination. So even the capos will dress normally to blend in with the crowd, and some even have cover jobs."
'Normal, ha!' I scoff mentally.
"That goes double for our boss. He won't reveal his identity to anyone. If we go snooping around, we're detected immediately. I know plenty of guys this has happened to." Bucciarati states the hard truth grimly. He turns to face the
A break in the one-sided conversation is followed by the Passione soldato stopping in his steady walk to face Giovanna and I.
"So, Giorno, Aurora, in order for us to get close to our mysterious boss, we need to be acknowledged. We can't defeat the boss unless we earn acknowledgement and trust with someone close to the boss. So first oh, we're going to get stronger. We have to climb up to the position of capo. Of course, the three--"
Bark!
Camo makes himself known, appearing to have been forgotten amongst their numbers. Bucciarati's expression of surprise turns to an impressed upturn of his lips.
"The four of us can't do that alone." The ravenette corrects himself, earning happy pants from my Doberman. "A team we can trust...That's what we'll need to defeat the boss."
He then continues to guide us to a quiet little eatery.
★★★
"Hey, Fugoooo." A rather childish voice whines, boredom clearly evident in their droning of their friend's name. "It's such a nice day outside. It wouldn't hurt to skip out on studying for one day." The young man the voice is associated with taps his pencil against a mockingly blank page in his notebook. "I'm just not feeling it today."
He is a teenage boy with a rather childish face of average height and built gangly. His dark hair is very messy with a fringe over his purple eyes. He sports a dark, slim vest and pants with lighter colored accessories, including an orange bandana and matching wrist bands, and a light orange short skirt with yellow squares all around.
A waiter approaches the table with a serving of strawberry cake. "Thank you for waiting. Here's your strawberry cake."
"Set it there." A teenager of above-average height, medium build and large black irises points to the food trolley left at his group's table while continuing to read the book in his hand. He dons a uniquely shaped headgear with a diagonal grid pattern and the front shaped like an arrow pointing downward, a turtleneck crop top cashmere sweater with a design similar to his hat, and tiger striped-leather pants.
A third young man, flanking the dark-haired teen's side at the table, sighs. His build borders between slim and average with spiky, orange hair with his large bangs going down the right side of his face. He wears a two-piece suit filled with holes on the sleeves and legs and has a watch on his left wrist, a belt to support his pants and a tie with a strawberry pattern. His shoes have the same strawberry pattern on the front of them.
"Listen, Narancia." He sets his hand on the messy-haired boy's shoulder. "You're amazing. It's hard to ask someone to teach you something when you haven't really even been to grade school." He encourages, like he's talking to a child. "But you even learned your multiplication tables! You can do this. Just do as I've taught you. You've got a good head on your shoulders." Fugo leans back in his chair, holding up a notebook with a simple multiplication equation.
16 x 55
"Okay, ready? What's six times five?"
"Six times five...Six and five..." Narancia suddenly sits up straight, looking his tutor right in the eye. "Thirty?"
Quite pleased that his pupil got half the answer right on his first try, Fugo smiles proudly. "Correct! See? I knew you could do it! You're basically halfway there!"
Narancia shares in his tutor's enthusiasm. "I see! Six times five is thirty! Okay!" He takes his own notebook and begins jotting down part of the answer before continuing on his own for the remainder of the equation.
"Hey, what's the deal with this?!" The crop-sweater, arrow-cap wearing member of the group drops his book and pushing himself abruptly out of his seat in bafflement at the cake that was just brought to them, eyeing the pastry in utter horror.
Fugo turns to look at what his associate is pointing at. "What do you mean? It's strawberry cake."
"Yeah, I can see that by looking at it!" He states quickly, barely letting Fugo finish his reply, pointing his finger at the cake like it's a blight on the Earth. "It's obviously not chocolate cake or cheesecake! That's not the point here!" He sets his stern stare back onto Fugo. "There are four slices of cake! Do they want me to die?!" He jabs his thumb against his chest for emphasis.
Fugo huffs aggravatedly, seemingly having heard this tune from the young man probably one too many times. "Again with this, Mista?"
"You moron! It's bad luck to choose one from four! Choosing from five is fine. Choosing from three is fine. But when you choose from four, something bad will happen!" Mista goes into a tale from his use in hopes of getting the exasperated strawberry-blonde to understand. "When I was a kid, another kid adopted a kitten from a litter of four that was born in our neighborhood, and then the cat scratched his eye right out of his head! Of course, he beat the cat to death later."
In the middle of Mista's storytelling the fourth and final member of their group stands to retrieve himself a piece of cake. He's the tallest of the four with a slim build, yellow-purple ombre colored eyes and shoulder-length white hair that's styled into divided spikes that angle out and upwards at their ends. On his head is a serrated headpiece that acts as a headband. He also wears a dark shade of lipstick. His attire consists of a long, dark, lapel-less overcoat with laces that cross his bare chest, dark bell-bottomed pants, and black shoes. The buckle of his belt bears a silver/gold insignia of the letter "A".
Since before the whole conversation the goth-styled young man had been drowning out the conversings of his group with a pair of headphones over his ears.
He stealthily walks around to retrieve a slice of cake as the two continue to debate.
"That's just an old wives' tale." Fugo argues the logic of Mista's fear. "If you think about it rationally, when people eat a cake one slice at a time, someone's going to have to take one of the last four slices."
"That's the thing, though!" Mista barks. "This is when the restaurant should be more considerate and just bring us three slices! Talk about shitty service!"
Fugo rest his head on his hand, giving up in trying to reason with his tetraphobic friend. "Jeez... Don't eat it, then."
Mista flinches away from the strawberry-blonde like he just took a swing at him. "But I want some strawberry cake!!"
"I did it!" Narancia exclaims, having paid no attention to the argument between the two, holding up his notebook proudly with his answer. "I did it, Fugo! How's it look?"
"You're finished?" Hums Fugo. "Let's have a look."
Taking Narancia's notebook, he's met with the sight of a half-assed answer that couldn't be farther from correct.
16 x 55 = 28
"What is this?" The strawberry-blonde deadpans, struggling to keep his anger in check.
Narancia chuckles awfully sure of himself as he smirks cockily. "Am I right?"
A tense silence hangs over the table. The muteness is so thick that it could be cut with a cheese knife.
Fugo's purple eyes narrow before he snatches up a fork and stabs it deep into Narancia's cheek.
The messy, dark-haired boy rears back from the shock of the silverware digging into his cheek before his hair is grabbed by the fistful.
"You stupid delinquent! Are you messing with me?! How many times do I have to teach you this before you learn?! You shit-for-brains!" Fugo snarls, slamming Narancia's head against the table.
Mista watches from his side of the table, next to the brooding goth of their team, casually sipping his tea and attention back to his book. "Oh, boy. He's lost it now."
The angry screams from across the table are drowned out as he converses with his more collected teammate.
"You just said six times five was thirty, so why the hell is your answer even less?!"
He drowned out the sounds of screaming as he turned to the man on his right. "Hey, Abbacchio, are you gonna eat that cake?"
Just before Fugo could slam down Narancia's head again, he's met with a sharp pocket knife to his throat.
"What?" Narancia inches the blade closer to Fugo's neck, forcing him to tilt his head away in an effort to prevent the sharp metal from digging into his skin. "Did you just call me a shit-for-brains? It's not good to look down on others." He glares with half-lidded eyes holding an icy stare at the taller teen. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you, Fugo."
"You bastard..." Fugo rasps.
"What the hell are you guys doing?!"
The chaotic behavior is stopped on a dime as Bucciarati demanding tone bellows as he enters the room. "I could hear you all the way from the entrance!"
All attention is then given to the black-haired soldato.
"You're bothering the other customers!"
Bucciarati enters the private dining area, followed by Giorno and I.
"These are the new members I told you about yesterday. Let me introduce you. This Giorno Giovanna, Aurora Fiore and her dog Camo." Bucciarati announces.
Bucciarati's team stares at us with unimpressed expressions.
I show no sign of intimidation, holding their gazes with my blank stare.
Giorno steps forward, being the first to break the silence. "I'm Giorno Giovanna." He bows to his now peers. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Aurora Fiore." I follow, playing nice for now. "Nice to be working with you."
Mista and Narancia openly gape upon my arrival after Giorno.
"A girl?" They both gawk.
"Yes. What of it?" I remark, hand on my hip.
A moment of strained silence passes before the team goes back to what they were doing before the fight broke out, completely ignoring Giovanna and I. They didn't even question how I got Camo into the place.
"I'm sorry. Fugo."
"No, I should apologize. Please forgive me, Narancia."
"I'll study even harder, so teach me again."
Bucciarati begins shaking with anger at his team's insubordination. "Hey!" He shouts, regaining the attention of his team once again. "I'm the one who brought them here, so be respectful!"
Before the soldato could continue scolding his team members, a waiter politely interrupts.
"Mr. Bucciarati."
"What is it?" Bucciarati asks the waiter hanging by the doorway.
"There's a phone call for you."
"All right, thanks. Make sure you guys properly greet Giorno and Aurora! Got it? Giorno, Aurora, I'll be right back." Bucciarati instructs, as he leaves the room to take his phone call. "Take some time to get to know these guys."
"All right."
"Take you time."
Eventually, Giovanna, myself and Camo are left alone with the team.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the darkly dressed member of the group relieve himself into the now empty teapot. 'Doesn't play nice with newbies, huh?'
"Giorno, was it? And Aurora? Why don't you have a seat?" Abbachio speaks with a deep tone, removing his headphones in order to address us formally. "Let's have some tea and chat."
Giorno and I take up some empty chairs that were brought to the table by two of the other team members.
Two cups of piping hot "tea" are then poured for us.
"Well, drink up." He encourages, resulting in the rest of the team to gawk at the bold move Abbachio is playing. On a new guy is one thing, but with a girl present...He's got some serious stones.
"How old are you?" Abbacchio, uninterestedly, makes small talk.
"Fifteen." Giorno answers.
"Sixteen." I respond.
"Fifteen and sixteen? Ha, you're two and one years younger than me." Narancia spoke with a taunting tone.
"I honestly thought you were at least eighteen, Signora Fiore." Fugo admits.
"Just Aurora is fine and I get that alot. Happens often when you were taller than normal kids your age."
"Thank you for the tea." Giorno replies, bringing the cup in close to his mouth. The putrid smell causing a soundless choke to escape pass his lips.
The team smirks in Giorno's direction while throwing worried glances my way.
Abbacchio smirks, noting our hesitation. "What's wrong? You just thanked me for the tea that I so generously poured for you. Since you already thanked me for it, you'll just have to drink it. Or do you not want to drink it since it's not very hot?"
Fugo chuckles lowly while Narancia covers his mouth to hold back his own laughter as his shoulders shake.
"Maybe he doesn't want to drink it because he doesn't want to be one of us." Mista smirks.
All eyes continue to remain on Giorno and I.
Even upon arriving back at the table, Bucciarati can make out the obvious sly feeling amongst his team.
"What the hell are you guys doing?!" Bucciarati calls them out on their childish behavior
Giorno looks to Bucciarati with an easing expression. "It's nothing. He went to the trouble of pouring this tea for us."
Glancing down at his cup, Giorno seemingly downs the liquid in one gulp.
Every member of Bucciarati's team's eyes shoot wide open in surprise.
"No freakin' way!" Narancia exclaims, disbelievingly.
"What did you guys do?" Bucciarati questions.
Giorno places the empty cup down back on the table.
"Gross! He actually drank it!" Narancia shouts as he points at the empty cup with a grossed out expression on his face.
Mista busts up laughing. "D-Dude you're hilarious! Did you seriously drink it?"
A second clink catches everyone's attention and they turn to see me eating a slice of their strawberry cake. My offered teacup sitting spotless on its saucer.
"You too?!" Narancia asks incredulously, lifting the teacup and shaking it upside-down, looking for some kind of trick.
"No, there's no way they could have! Hey, how'd you do it? Where'd you hide it?" Fugo demands.
Abbacchio's shock wears off and is replaced by disdain towards Giovanna and I.
"Hey, come on. Just tell me! Okay?" Mista implores.
Giorno offers nothing but a sly grin. "Who knows? You're all keeping your abilities secret, too, aren't you?"
The group is stunned into silence by Giorno's remark.
'So they're both Stand users?' Abbachio eyes us cautiously.
If any of them had bothered to look in close, they'd have noticed Giorno's front teeth had been transformed into a small jellyfish. And as jellyfish are 98% liquid, the offensive fluid was sucked into it, not letting a drop make it pass his lips.
"Open your mouth. There's no hole in there, is there?" Narancina hounds me for an answer.
"Is it, like, some ability to move things?" Fugo asks.
"You actually drank it for real? Was that your favorite or something?" Narancia continues to question us.
'I'm not sure what it is, but there's something about Giorno Giovanna and Aurora Fiore that makes them hard to dislike, despite the latter's icy demeanor.'
"You show us yours, we'll show you ours." I remark.
"You're cautious. I respect that." Fugo responds.
"Does Bucciarati know?" Mista inquires.
"Mine: yes. Aurora's: no." Giorno answers.
'They're not exactly a team yet, but we don't have any time to wait. This has to be decided now.' Bucciarati muddles with his thoughts. "Quit screwing around. We're going out." He announces.
"Huh? Where?" Narancia wonders aloud.
"Follow me and you'll find out. Hurry it up."
One by one, everyone follows after Bucciarati as he leads us out the ristorante.
Upon our departure, several citizens kindly greet the dark-haired soldato, every one of them baring authentic smiles in his presence.
"Bucciarati! How are you?"
"Oh, Mr. Bucciarati!"
"Hey, Bucciarati. Come by my shop again sometime!"
"I will!" Bucciarati answers over his shoulder.
"Hey, what are we going to do about a car?" Mista queries.
"We got a loner." Bucciarati answers swiftly.
"Since a certain someone destroyed our last one." Fugo reminds.
"Hey, I told you that wasn't my fault!" Mista denies.
While the rest of the group is talking amongst themselves, I notice Buccirati's gaze on a pair of elderly women watching them from across the street. I recognize one of them as Mrs. Menini. I helped save her husband's store from being torn down to make housing a few months into my stay in Italy.
The other woman I recognize as a close friend of hers but haven't learned too much about her personally. I eye the bruise across the side of the woman's face.
Her pleading eyes once set on Bucciarati have now shifted onto me. I hold a finger up to my lips. She responds with an understanding nod. Whatever was going on in this city, it doesn't just stop at its children.
~~~
BLACK LIVES MATTER