Chapter Text
There was no doubt about it- if Giorno wasn’t an honest to god teenage gangster - he’d be such a fucking nerd. Mista’s seen the guy head to bed at nine on the dot every single day since he first joined the group. No fucking exceptions. Not even when they were all travelling on the road- their lives in literal peril, he’d just fucking zonked out at the stroke of nine and awoke at the exact time it was his turn to take over for Narancia watching Trish.
And it wasn’t even just that.
When they all went out to eat, (which was nearly always) he made certain to order something with a variety of vegetables in it- it was like his mother was behind his back, scolding him over thinking about maybe ordering pizza for once...
Giorno Giovanna also drank wine like an honest to god aristocrat- despite the burning fact that he was a fucking fifteen year old delinquent. He even did the dumb swirly glass thing that pompous shitheads did when they were around the vineyard restaurants!
Overall, Giorno was a weird, contradictory dude that Mista could not quite get a clear idea of. He was an anachronism to the general mafia dog lifestyle- it was like he was born to be the leader, not the lackey. And no one else had quite gotten the memo yet.
And for that, well, Mista had great respect for the guy. He was level-headed, intuitive, loyal… Everything a squad of misfits could possibly want in another member… But Mista had always wondered what Giorno would be like if he ever loosened the reins on that prim composure of his...
He was still a teenager, after all- just what was it that made him tick? What was he like when he started acting his age for once?
It was burning a whole in Mista’s mind… It kept him up at night sometimes- he found himself tossing and turning about until Fugo threatened to melon ball his eyes out if he didn’t stop fucking moving .
...But he just had to know!
So, when Abbacchio and Bucciarati go out to go get groceries- Mista cracks open the stash of alcohol he’d been keeping in his bag for a rainy day.
And boy was it rainy today. Literally and figuratively. The squad was, once more, holed up in a hotel room together- waiting for the clouds to clear so that they could head out again.
It had been a day of idle restlessness that none of them could truly stand, (haha, stand .)
Mista could see Narancia fidgeting on the floor- Fugo was tapping his finger on his leg over and over again- they were all restless and agonisingly bored.
Not only that- but the two people that would probably be the main protestors to this idea were gone for the afternoon … Meaning that It was just the five teenagers- Giorno, Mista, Narancia, Fugo and Trish all trying to amuse themselves away from the prying eyes of any enemy stand users… Alongside Bucciarati and Abbacchio.
And truly- the best way to amuse oneself on a rainy day was to get shitfaced with one’s friends.
“Ohoh, Mista! You’ve been holding out on us, have ya?” Narancia grins at him, staring at the glass bottle with hungry eyes. He made an effort to snatch it out of Mista’s grasps but Mista anticipates the motion and swipes it out of his way.
“You can’t even drink, you’re like seven.” Fugo chides, looking nonchalantly over at Narancia with a weary gaze. He looked mildly perturbed over the peace and quiet being interrupted- but that was, perhaps, all a farce of superiority that he liked to withhold over them all.
“Bitch, I’m older than you!” Narancia replied, a pout on his face.
“Yes, but I don’t ask Bucciarati to cut my steak.”
“He does it the way I like it!” Narancia whines, not quite flustered enough to warrant genuine embarrassment. Mista isn’t quite sure he’s capable of anything close to shame, anyhow. Unbothered by this revelation- he then turns back to Mista, “come on, gimme gimme!”
“If I give it to you it’ll all be gone in ten minutes!” Mista growls, moving the bottle away from those evil mits of Narancia’s. After all, if Narancia drank all the booze, there’d be no way Mista would complete his mission. “We should play a game instead!”
Fugo clicks his tongue, “seriously?”
“You don’t have to play.”
Fugo shuts his book, scowling, “oh i’ll play , and i’ll win.”
“You don’t even know what we’re playing!” Narancia complained- crossing his legs on the carpet nevertheless.
“Oi, Giorno, come play with us.” Mista calls over the recluse reading his book in the corner.
Giorno looks up with a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Come on, newbie, you can’t be a nark- count this as your true initiation into the gang.” Mista continues, shaking the bottle of vodka he’d smuggled into his knapsack.
“I thought my initiation was drinking Abbacchio’s piss?” Giorno replies coolly, closing his book with his usual stiff posturing.
Trish, on the other side of the lounge grimaces. “You drank piss?”
“No, not really. ” Giorno says, “I used my Stand to transform my-”
Trish rolls her eyes, “you know what? I really don’t need to know that bad.” She closes the magazine that she had been skimming and uncrosses her legs- standing up. “I’m in. I wanna play Mista’s game.”
Mista frowns, “Bucciarati will kill me if he knows I’m the one that got you drunk.”
“Well, that sounds like a whole lot of your problem, now doesn’t it? Besides… If I don’t play, they’ll be four people playing.” Trish replies primly, scratching a piece of dirt out of her fingernails.
Fuck, she’d got him there.
Mista weighs his options. If Trish played- Bucciarati would probably throw his battered corpse into the canals- but it also meant that Giorno would be more inclined to join in… Peer pressure and all that…
Did he so desperately need to see Giorno intoxicated…? So much so that he’d be willing to risk his life...?
Yes, the answer was yes. It was the only possible option.
“Alright. Fuck it. Everyone come sit down in a circle with me then.”
Fugo frowns, “What is this? Kindergarten?”
Mista rolls his eyes, tired of the high-and-mighty bullshit that Fugo was always on. “Again. You don’t have to play.” He did. Otherwise there would be four players and Mista would lose his shit.
Fugo sucks his teeth but moves to the carpeted floor nevertheless, pouting.
Jackpot.
Now there was almost no telling who was older- Narancia or Fugo. They both had their stupid childish mannerisms- it was only that Fugo was a brat and Narancia was a little shit.
“The game is Truth, Dare or…” He holds up the selection of bottles that he’d been keeping on his person. “Drink!” An ingenious title, “The person chooses someone, asks them truth or dare- and if they choose not to answer, they have to take a shot!”
There’s a collective sigh from the other four.
“Look, do you wanna get shitfaced or not? Come on~ it’ll be fun!” Mista grins, his good mood not being swayed by the mutual nonchalance shared by his teammates. They weren’t all out rightly refusing, after all.
It was the perfect game for a bunch of shithead teenagers with dark ass pasts to play.
It was a surefire way to get them all drunk when they didn’t want to answer the other’s prying questions.
Fugo glances back at the bed he had been lounging on- then out at the window, keeping the rain out. He sighs. “Alright I’m in.”
“Me too,” Trish replies, crossing her arms. Narancia nods his approval after her.
Mista watches in anticipation as Giorno opens his mouth to reply.
His heart is beating way too fast- it’s almost embarassing… But he was just so fucking excited!
“I suppose I will play too.” Giorno says with a sigh, collected as ever.
Mista laughs, mildly nefarious.
This was going to be fun.