JJBA fluff/One-Shots

Guido Mista {Reflexes}

You had just reached the train stop in Bologna. It was the halfway mark between Florence and Milan, so that was a relief. You were ready for the train ride to be over, however. Your body was stiff and sore, despite your efforts to stand and stretch.

People filtered in and out of the train, bumping and shoving each other out of the way. You internally grimace when someone sits down next to you. You huddle your arms and legs close to your body as to not make any contact with the person. Your gaze shifts to your shoes. There was like a million other seats for this person to chose, and they sat RIGHT next to you. The intercom sputtered out something that you couldn't quite make out. The doors slid closed and the train started to move.

You were fine for about five minutes before you started to get antsy again. You bobbed your legs up and down and twitched your fingers. You tried to distract yourself by looking at how you had laced up your shoes. Left to right, right to left, left to right... Your eyes wandered to your seat-mate's shoes. They had white boots with a strange black strap around them. A very... interesting choice of footwear.

"Are you holding up alright?" The person next to you asked. You lift your head to look at them.

The man sitting next to you had strange attire that matched his boots. He was sporting some orange tiger print pants that nearly burned your eyes with their color, an odd, blue sweater crop top looking thing, and a weird ass hat with what looked to be an arrow pointing to his forehead. The hat reminded you of that bald kid with an arrow tattoo from a show you watched when you were younger. He also had a purple revolver holstered at the front of his pants. That was probably the easiest way to shoot your own penis off, but that was his problem. The man waved a hand in front of your face.

"Is anybody in there?" He asked again. You snapped out of your flabbergasted state.

"Yeah, I think I'm fine," you respond, "the train ride is just getting to me." He let out a chuckle.

"How long have you been on this train?" He inquires.

"I don't know, about an hour? It feels more like a million years if you ask me," you grumble, leaning back in your seat.

"Where are you from? You do-"

"You're asking a lot of questions," you snap. He puts his hands up in defense.

"I'm only trying to make friendly conversation," he responds.

You sit in silence for a few minutes before pushing your paranoia aside.

"I'm from (h/t)," you say, quietly.

"(H/t)? That's nice," he says.

You proceed to ask him questions. After a few minutes, it turned from small talk into a full blown conversation. You would tell him about yourself, and then he would tell you about him. You learned that his name was Guido. Guido Mista.

While he was talking about something or other, you noticed a guy standing from his seat. Your attention shifts from Guido's blabbering to the fast approaching man. He was concealing something behind his back. He slowly stalked down the aisle. You nod and look at Guido briefly before returning your gaze to the threatening looking figure. By now, the man was close to Guido. He had stopped walking down the aisle. He took the item out from behind his back. A shiny, metal... bat?! He raised it above his head, ready to swing at Guido. Before the threat could strike, you shot across the seat at your new 'friend'.

It happened in an instant. You had shoved Guido down into the cushioned seat and drew the revolver from it's 'holster'. You pulled back the hammer of the gun and shot the man in the face. You watched in disbelief as the man fell to the floor. A loud scream and commotion breaks out in the train car.

You looked down at Guido. His face is bright red and his mouth is wide open.

"How did? What? Buh," he stutters out. You shake your head at him.

"I don't know either," you pant.

You pull yourself off of him, quietly apologizing for slamming him in the seat and practically squishing him.

"Oh, uh, here's your gun back, Guido," you say, holding the revolver out to him. He takes it from you gingerly.

"Just call me Mista," he says, still in shock. "How did you manage to do that?"

"I honestly don't know," you admit, "just a reflex, I suppose."

Mista re-holstered his gun.

"Well, thank you anyway, for saving me," Mista says.

I feel like I'm going to explode from shaking so bad. It's like performance anxiety but I don't need need to perform any time soon? Anyway, Mista is my favorite from part five, so have a Mista-Bista oneshot in a very belated celebration of part five!

~Ghost