★ ⁺ — TAKE A SHINE TO
content warning for descriptions of blood and violence
★˚⋆ GUIDO MISTA HAD BEEN BORN under a lucky star. Of course, there were billions of stars in the galaxy and if you weren't born under one star it was another, but Mista didn't like making things complicated. He was a lucky guy, whether or not stars had anything to do with it.
He had been an easy kid growing up. He was laid-back, carefree. If someone made fun of him, they were only one person. If he failed his test, it was only one test in the grand scheme of things. Mista let go of things without giving them much thought. He'd never quite let go of the childish urge to enjoy things simply because. He enjoyed the sky because it was blue, the playground because it was fun, spaghetti because it tasted good. There didn't need to be a finer reason behind it. Mista lived in the moment and enjoyed life as it rolled along.
Life could have been unkind to someone like Mista, but it seemed to find him amusing and buoyed him along where other people floundered. For every person that made fun of him, there were three others who wanted to be his friend. For every failed test, an assignment he should have flunked but passed somehow. Mista was lucky. Life dealt him a pretty good hand and he was nonchalant enough not to gloat about it.
He left home as soon as he was old enough to entertain the idea. His family had never understood him; to them, life was all about worry, worrying about your job, other people, your future. They thought Mista was airheaded and a little dumb, and honestly, Mista didn't see why he should surround himself with people like that. With only a backpack and his beanie, he left, not bothering to leave a note or any kind of explanation. He walked along the mag-belts outside of his apartment complex until a silver Levi pulled up beside him and offered him a ride. He could have been kidnapped. Never heard from again. But the driver was a kindly old lady who found that Mista reminded her of her grandson. She took him to the ship docks and from there, he found a transport ship in need of some help. Why they took Mista on when he was way under the minimum work age was anyone's guess. It had to have been Mista's lucky star.
It was on this particular transport ship that Mista discovered just how much of a bastard the number four was. It represented everything that was wrong and evil in this galaxy. One of the crew members was missing an eye. He had adopted a kitten from a litter of four. Another crew member had four children and they caused her no shortage of grief. Someone else's girlfriend had died at forty-four. Yet another person had been stabbed four times. Dumped four times. Lost four hundred credits. Knocked back four rancid shots. It became clear the accursed number was the adversary of Mista's good luck, and so even after leaving the ship, he took great pains to avoid it.
Unfortunately, the number took to him like flies to shit. Go figure.
Although Mista's lucky star shone down on him, it wasn't infallible. Mista didn't miraculously make it big after leaving home. He was dirt-poor almost all of the time, the very picture that Upper Space nobles lifted their noses up at. He spent his lanky, awkward years in a cramped apartment complex that housed similar riff-raff. The kids there liked him immediately, liked his candidness and his ability to consider everything water off a duck's back. He got minimum credits from odd errands and favours he collected. Despite that, Mista kept enjoying himself. He enjoyed wispy sunrises and surprised laughs and floating holograms. It might have been foolish to enjoy such a haphazard life, but it didn't stop Mista. Life was so much sweeter without the salty grains of worry.
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KISMET ─ vento aureo.
Fanfiction☆ . kismet ─ with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and a pretty-faced crew...
