Merfolk Mating Rituals Are Confusing

CH 12

Mista's limbs twist around themselves, like agitated eels. He was acting as the bodyguard/background damage control while the others drifted about, rounding merfolk up and squishing them into the space, and good. G o d. It was mentally taxing. He was used to moving, gliding over the heads of the pod like an ill omen and striking a sense if fear into many... But Giorno's new philosophy banned him from doing so. Mista could practically hear the teasing hum, "If we want to be better than him, we have to rule with a sense of compassion. Not fear."

Clenching his jaw, Mista takes note of two nearby morays watching him. They look nervous, constantly glancing down at his writhing lower half, so he tries to limit the frantic movements. Tries to school his expression into the blank look of quiet intimidation that he was known for... But he isn't too sure that it's working.

In fact, judging by the quick look of curiosity a small, pastel pink dumbo octopus flashes him as she settles next to a much larger, orange-blonde leopard seal... It doesn't seem to fool anyone.

Then again, Mista muses as he watches even the most reclusive of their pod, the Hitmen cluster, come swimming from the depths, it's hard to keep up a tough look when you have the visible marks of a punishment - well, attempted punishment - branded beneath your gills. Mista winces internally at the memory, knowing that if he had still been in control, Mista may have been trying to regrow some limbs right about now.

In an attempt to keep his limbs their usual colour, Mista takes a shaky gulp of water and expels it through his gills. He's still struggling not to let the sickly green of shame bleed down into the limbs, when Fugo slinks past, and Mista has to switch from keeping shame off his body to keeping rage off.

That fucker got off scott-fucking-free.

Grinding his teeth again, Mista leans back against the colourful coral reef they had decided to use as the meeting space. Flicking his eyes over the pod, his mouth relaxes. Passione was a massive pod. Probably the largest it's ever been, all thanks to Giorno's efforts 4 months ago.

But there were complications that came with it; the sheer size of the pod made it hard to get everyone in one place, and quick announcements like this could take all morning if no one was willing to quiet down long enough for the Don to say his piece.

If this lasts too long, Giorno isn't gonna be happy.

'Then again,' he muses, 'Giorno has just been unreasonably pissy'.

Ever since Mista and Fugo had their little spat three days ago. It got to the point that even Narancia, ever the lovably oblivious goof, had started to take note. Hell, it wasn't just Gio either! Bruno had also started to gain a rather nasty attitude.

Mista had theorized it was because (Y/N) had fled in the middle of the courting process, Abbacchio (horny ass) had wondered if it was because they had missed her ovulating window, Narancia hummed that it may be because she had started to ignore them, and Fugo just told them to shut the fuck up.

Mista zones back in when two mermaids drift past, the jellyfish wondering what was with the abrupt meeting. Her friend, a dolphin, shrugs and Mista chuckles internally. This one was gonna be particularly interesting, and he was already mentally preparing himself to hold back any aggressive mers who may not react well to the news. There was no telling how the pod, the Hitmen in particular, would react. Worried for their leader's safety, Bruno had specifically requested that they keep an eye out for anyone who seems suspicious... And make sure Risotto wouldn't immediately charge up front to directly challenge Giorno.

Flexing his limbs, Mista can feel a grin twitch across his face. He hopes someone tries something. He's been itching to let off some steam.

In the midst of his subtle stretching, Narancia materializes beside him, lower pelvic fin fanned irritably as he leans over Mista's right shoulder. "Hey dude! We've been signalling for you to settle that cluster over there or the past two minutes!" Flexing his dorsal fin, and not bothering to look at his younger clustermate, Mista mumbles.