[ Mista was here just for the sake of having somewhere to be that wasn't his own flat, things were weird in a lot of ways for him right now but that didn't mean he was going to ignore his cat friends. He'd barely paid attention when Caesar walked in, only looking at him out of the corner of his eye and finding him vaguely familiar. He'd seen him before, he just couldn't quite put a finger on where...
So he sat there, feeding slices of salami to some of the cats that were surrounding him and to the Pistols that were rather noisily poised on the table beside him. That's where his focus was when the other man finally tried to get his attention, thankfully at least one of the Pistols had heard him and he paused when he heard that familiar whine of 'miiiistaaaaa'. He looked up with a quirk of his brow, letting out a huff of breath as he set down the snack and leaned back in his seat. ]
Does it look like I'm working? I'm just here to hang out with the cats.
[ It wasn't that he was trying to be rude, but it was the first answer that came to mind. He took a moment to make a sweeping gesture to himself. ]
...besides, these are Gucci, I can't work in these.
[ Mafia work in them was just fine though, absolutely. ]
[There's a high pitched noise that captures his attention and he glances to either side of him to find the source. It sounds suspiciously like Mister, but there's no one else in the cafe right now-let alone someone addressing them. Weird.
He's not going to ignore it, but he chalks it up to pipes noises for the time being.]
You have some expensive taste. I thought they only made luggage.
[ He paused, unaware that he was taunting one of the cats with a piece of salami. The snort wasn't intentional, rather it came out in an attempt to keep from laughing. It wasn't meant to be mean, a kneejerk reaction to something that he was hoping was a joke. ]
Yeah, like at the beginning. Dude, what century are you from?
[ Sorry, Caesar. He didn't really look like someone from a completely different era, he absolutely had to be joking. ]
[The laughter grates on his nerves in record time. A hand reaches down to the ground, where his kitty companion has since batted a multi-colored pompom ball by his feet. Maybe he's on the same wavelength as this cat. Maybe he should adopt it if it's going to predict his needs.]
1939. I only know them to popular among the elite for mindless trinkets like that.
[And he places the pompom onto his knee, aims for the guy's gucci shirt and flicks it with forefinger. That's what you get for laughing, asshole. At least it wasn't hamonized.]
If you're worrying about dirtying your outfit, this isn't the place to be. Cat hair will stick to your expensive clothes you know.
Hey, I'm not worried about getting it dirty, it's been dirty plenty of times! Cat hair's a hell of a lot easier to get out than blood...
[ It was a thoughtful musing, only nearly combative at the beginning. The fact that he was from 1939 let that first instinct to argue about mindless trinkets slide, Mista grumbling to himself before continuing. ]
I'm here all the time anyway, the owner's a friend of mine.
[ Mista, don't say it like you're the only person that knows Reimi. ]
[It doesn't surprise him the guy knows Reimi. She's a charming girl with a bit of spunk behind that gentle demeanor. It's why he came by today after all.
He eyes the guy for another second and the mewling cat by his legs rolls onto his feet. It craves!!! attention!!! Right now!! So he leans down to tickle its stomach with his fingers. Calm down, kitty. He's right here.]
What sort of mischief are you getting into that blood would be a problem?
[ He actually thought about his answer, only apprehensive in the sense that he probably shouldn't be telling absolutely everyone what his profession was. If you could even call it that. ]
Uh...
[ Shit, this is what he got for opening his mouth and not considering his words. ]
You know, fights and stuff, they happen.
[ There was an almost awkward pause as he pressed his lips into a thin line, abruptly changing the subject. ]
The noticeable pause and deflection pique his interest more than any lie this kid could've come up with.
Fights and stuff-]
Hm.
[But it's none of his business. There's an underworld here and maybe the kid's involved, maybe he's not. Fights and stuff do happen regardless of where your allegiance lies or what side of the law you reside on.]
We met at the casino and we've kept in contact ever since. She's a charming woman.
[ Charming? He wasn't sure that was the word that he would ever use to describe Jolyne, not that she didn't have the capacity to be charming but as far as Mista was concerned she had always been scary hot. Even when he thought she had put a curse on him, that wasn't important though.
He took a moment again, offering a slow nod before the rest of it registered. It was with a furrow of his brow that he perked up, irritable click of his tongue as he reached up to wipe at the corner of his mouth. ]
What the hell is that hm for? You're not seriously trying to tell me you've never been in a fight, are you?
[ Hadn't everyone been in one? Seriously? This guy was huge, how could he not? ]
[The details are unnecessary and he's sure the guy feels the same about whatever battles he involved himself in to the point where he's worried about blood on his Gucci clothes.]
And don't be so paranoid. It meant nothing and I can make whatever noise I please.
I'm not being paranoid, it just seemed like you had something on your mind when you said it...
[ Calm down, Mista. He had one last piece of salami in his hand, offering it out to one of the Pistols rather than the cats. It might have been a mistake given the fact that he almost immediately had to swat one of them away from the recipient, no matter, it's not like this guy could see any of it anyway. ]
...look, I'm still not used to the whole 'things are more relaxed here' thing so I get a little defensive. It's nothing personal, uhhh...
[ Shit, already off on the wrong foot and they didn't even know each other's names. There was an almost sheepish grin from Mista as he brought a hand up to the back of his neck and shrugged a little. ]
Sorry, I didn't get your name, did I? I'm Mista, Guido Mista but you can just call me Mista.
[ It was only a moment longer before he pushed himself up to his feet, approaching with his hand out for a shake. ]
His eyes fall to the weird bullets-the golden cased specks with faces that float around this weird salad named rando as they eat salami.
This world is full of strange occurrences and he's getting used to the surprise of dealing with people from other worlds.
But this Guide Mista holds a hand out, offers an apology and Caesar isn't callous enough to hold a grudge against someone willing to admit they were wrong. That anger is reserved for fools like JoJo, who refuse to own up to any shortcomings.
And it's not like Caesar hadn't been quick to bite back.
He grips the guy's hand and points towards the golden shelled creatures with another.]
My name is Caesar Zeppeli. [There's a pause, and-] And what are those?
[ There was a look over his shoulder to see what he was pointing at, as if there was something else behind him other than cats and the pistols. It was always interesting to find out who had the capacity to see them. ]
Those are the Pistols, they're kind of...
[ Hmmm, that was the thing that he really didn't know how to explain it for some people. ]
...well they help me with fights, like spirits I guess? Shit, I never really know how to explain what they are.
[ He pulled his hand back, reaching down to pat the gun in the waistband of his pants. ]
They're half of the reason I never miss, the rest is all skill.
[ Mista, there's a time and a place to be cocky and this was probably not it. ]
He can't be sure because he's only seen one with his own two eyes, but their form, their description-it's reminiscent of Rohan's ability. The power to manifest a bit of help.
The cocky kid points to his haphazardly placed gun and talks about his skill-it takes all of Caesar's self-control to hold back a scoff. He's no expert with the weapon himself, but he's 99.9% sure that's not how guns are supposed to be holstered.]
[ At least things were looking up after Mista was so defensive, that cocky attitude practically radiating from him. After a moment he looked around the café, trying to find something that he wouldn't be throttled for destroying and coming up with nothing. It wasn't that things weren't replaceable, but the last thing he wanted was for Reimi to think that he was trying to ruin her business.
After letting his hand rest on the gun's grip for a moment he finally let it go, offering a hand toward Caesar before gesturing toward the door. ]
Outside, I can't show you in here, someone'd probably get the wrong idea...
[ FOLLOW HIM, CAESAR. ]
...you pick the target, it doesn't have to be a straight shot but it does have to be something we can both see from right here. Sound good?
[ What the hell was all that about? For a moment he wondered if this guy had a Stand ability but he hadn't seen anything but the movement and the bubbles. This guy just blew fucking bubbles into the air with his fingers.
Seriously, he was going to have some questions about that later but for now this almost felt like it was way too easy. That much was clear from the cocky expression on his face, Mista letting out snort as finally pulled his gun from it's makeshift holster. Just a quick check of the chamber, counting out how many bubbles he could see and noticeably skipping a certain number. He would only need two shots, maybe three at the most...
He didn't give a warning, firing off those shots and setting the Pistols loose to do their thing. And do it they did; kicking, passing, redirecting and unmistakably yelling 'yeeeeeehaaaaaaaw' as they did it. They made short work of those bubbles, that smug look on Mista's face only growing as he put his gun back and crossed his arms over his chest. ]
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So he sat there, feeding slices of salami to some of the cats that were surrounding him and to the Pistols that were rather noisily poised on the table beside him. That's where his focus was when the other man finally tried to get his attention, thankfully at least one of the Pistols had heard him and he paused when he heard that familiar whine of 'miiiistaaaaa'. He looked up with a quirk of his brow, letting out a huff of breath as he set down the snack and leaned back in his seat. ]
Does it look like I'm working? I'm just here to hang out with the cats.
[ It wasn't that he was trying to be rude, but it was the first answer that came to mind. He took a moment to make a sweeping gesture to himself. ]
...besides, these are Gucci, I can't work in these.
[ Mafia work in them was just fine though, absolutely. ]
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He's not going to ignore it, but he chalks it up to pipes noises for the time being.]
You have some expensive taste. I thought they only made luggage.
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Yeah, like at the beginning. Dude, what century are you from?
[ Sorry, Caesar. He didn't really look like someone from a completely different era, he absolutely had to be joking. ]
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1939. I only know them to popular among the elite for mindless trinkets like that.
[And he places the pompom onto his knee, aims for the guy's gucci shirt and flicks it with forefinger. That's what you get for laughing, asshole. At least it wasn't hamonized.]
If you're worrying about dirtying your outfit, this isn't the place to be. Cat hair will stick to your expensive clothes you know.
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[ It was a thoughtful musing, only nearly combative at the beginning. The fact that he was from 1939 let that first instinct to argue about mindless trinkets slide, Mista grumbling to himself before continuing. ]
I'm here all the time anyway, the owner's a friend of mine.
[ Mista, don't say it like you're the only person that knows Reimi. ]
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He eyes the guy for another second and the mewling cat by his legs rolls onto his feet. It craves!!! attention!!! Right now!! So he leans down to tickle its stomach with his fingers. Calm down, kitty. He's right here.]
What sort of mischief are you getting into that blood would be a problem?
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Uh...
[ Shit, this is what he got for opening his mouth and not considering his words. ]
You know, fights and stuff, they happen.
[ There was an almost awkward pause as he pressed his lips into a thin line, abruptly changing the subject. ]
How do you know Jolyne?
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The noticeable pause and deflection pique his interest more than any lie this kid could've come up with.
Fights and stuff-]
Hm.
[But it's none of his business. There's an underworld here and maybe the kid's involved, maybe he's not. Fights and stuff do happen regardless of where your allegiance lies or what side of the law you reside on.]
We met at the casino and we've kept in contact ever since. She's a charming woman.
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He took a moment again, offering a slow nod before the rest of it registered. It was with a furrow of his brow that he perked up, irritable click of his tongue as he reached up to wipe at the corner of his mouth. ]
What the hell is that hm for? You're not seriously trying to tell me you've never been in a fight, are you?
[ Hadn't everyone been in one? Seriously? This guy was huge, how could he not? ]
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[The details are unnecessary and he's sure the guy feels the same about whatever battles he involved himself in to the point where he's worried about blood on his Gucci clothes.]
And don't be so paranoid. It meant nothing and I can make whatever noise I please.
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[ Calm down, Mista. He had one last piece of salami in his hand, offering it out to one of the Pistols rather than the cats. It might have been a mistake given the fact that he almost immediately had to swat one of them away from the recipient, no matter, it's not like this guy could see any of it anyway. ]
...look, I'm still not used to the whole 'things are more relaxed here' thing so I get a little defensive. It's nothing personal, uhhh...
[ Shit, already off on the wrong foot and they didn't even know each other's names. There was an almost sheepish grin from Mista as he brought a hand up to the back of his neck and shrugged a little. ]
Sorry, I didn't get your name, did I? I'm Mista, Guido Mista but you can just call me Mista.
[ It was only a moment longer before he pushed himself up to his feet, approaching with his hand out for a shake. ]
How about a fresh start, sound good?
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His eyes fall to the weird bullets-the golden cased specks with faces that float around this weird salad named rando as they eat salami.
This world is full of strange occurrences and he's getting used to the surprise of dealing with people from other worlds.
But this Guide Mista holds a hand out, offers an apology and Caesar isn't callous enough to hold a grudge against someone willing to admit they were wrong. That anger is reserved for fools like JoJo, who refuse to own up to any shortcomings.
And it's not like Caesar hadn't been quick to bite back.
He grips the guy's hand and points towards the golden shelled creatures with another.]
My name is Caesar Zeppeli. [There's a pause, and-] And what are those?
no subject
Those are the Pistols, they're kind of...
[ Hmmm, that was the thing that he really didn't know how to explain it for some people. ]
...well they help me with fights, like spirits I guess? Shit, I never really know how to explain what they are.
[ He pulled his hand back, reaching down to pat the gun in the waistband of his pants. ]
They're half of the reason I never miss, the rest is all skill.
[ Mista, there's a time and a place to be cocky and this was probably not it. ]
no subject
He can't be sure because he's only seen one with his own two eyes, but their form, their description-it's reminiscent of Rohan's ability. The power to manifest a bit of help.
The cocky kid points to his haphazardly placed gun and talks about his skill-it takes all of Caesar's self-control to hold back a scoff. He's no expert with the weapon himself, but he's 99.9% sure that's not how guns are supposed to be holstered.]
You never miss, you say.
I'd like to see that in action.
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After letting his hand rest on the gun's grip for a moment he finally let it go, offering a hand toward Caesar before gesturing toward the door. ]
Outside, I can't show you in here, someone'd probably get the wrong idea...
[ FOLLOW HIM, CAESAR. ]
...you pick the target, it doesn't have to be a straight shot but it does have to be something we can both see from right here. Sound good?
no subject
Out the door they go and you know what? Caesar has a great idea for Mista I Never Misstashot.
There's no one around the area-it's quiet and void of anyone who may get hit with that friendly fire. Good enough for him.
The palm of hand settles on the back of his glove to unlatch the soap underneath and with a practiced inhale-
Small, iridescent bubbles appear from his fingers and raise into the air. They're tiny targets, but visible in the gleaming sunlight.]
Shoot those then.
no subject
Seriously, he was going to have some questions about that later but for now this almost felt like it was way too easy. That much was clear from the cocky expression on his face, Mista letting out snort as finally pulled his gun from it's makeshift holster. Just a quick check of the chamber, counting out how many bubbles he could see and noticeably skipping a certain number. He would only need two shots, maybe three at the most...
He didn't give a warning, firing off those shots and setting the Pistols loose to do their thing. And do it they did; kicking, passing, redirecting and unmistakably yelling 'yeeeeeehaaaaaaaw' as they did it. They made short work of those bubbles, that smug look on Mista's face only growing as he put his gun back and crossed his arms over his chest. ]
Too easy...