Chapter Text
Spice Girl is special. She’s like Trish's soul inside another person, totally and completely in-synch with her mind and manner. Of course, that means it's only natural for them to bond over stuff she enjoys; like movies and food and pretty up-and-coming actresses. But when Trish heard that no one else in the gang was as lucky as them, it broke her heart. How could they practically share a soul with their stand and not get along? It didn't make sense, so Trish set out to fix up those weird, broken relationships.
She created a short list of questions to ask everyone, determined to mend any difficulties the men may have with their stands. She figured she'd learn more about the closest relationships first, and that would be Mista and his Sex Pistols.
It's not hard to find him. She can hear the guy from the fourth floor, sobbing loudly for whatever reason. It's usually nothing to be concerned about, as he's probably the biggest baby in the gang, but it still sets off alarms inside Trish's head. She quickly busts through the door to his and Giorno's room, standing awkwardly when she watches the blond wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders.
"Uh..."
"K-Knock first, m-maybe? Jeeze, I c-can't get no damn privacy around h-here," Mista sputters, wiping at his eyes.
"What happened?" Trish asks, hesitantly stepping closer.
"We watched Brokeback Mountain," Giorno explains, petting his hair, and Trish understands completely.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." She puts a hand over her heart jokingly, but does genuinely feel bad for the guy; that movie is not easy. "I was gonna do the stand thing..."
"W-What? Oh, yeah, I guess we can do that now." He blows his nose and wipes his eyes again, taking a deep breath. "Okay, what did you want me to do?"
"Are you sure you want Giorno here?" she asks, tapping her little memo pad with a pen. "This is a supremely difficult test that will delve deep into your psyche and challenge your very soul."
"Hey, Gio's the l-love of my life I'd never f-fuckin', oh god, I'm just like Ennis... why couldn't they just be allowed to love each other? Why-"
"Mista, get a hold of yourself," Trish snaps, clicking her pen. "I'm not forcing you to do this. If you need time to recover, I'm willing to wait."
"N-No, I'm fine. I want Gio here, though."
"I'm literally right here," the blond mumbles, laying down tiredly on their bed. Mista shakes his head, grabbing at his arm and weaving their fingers together.
"Okay so, you're clearly ready." Trish drags a chair over towards Mista, sitting and looking down at her questions. "Bring out Sex Pistols, please."
Mista calls them out, and god this was a mistake. All six of them are sobbing, especially number Five, who goes right for his user's finger and hugs it desperately.
"Mista, Ennis and Jack loved each other, why couldn't they just live their lives together on the country?" Five asks with that squeaky voice of his, sobbing loudly.
"I know, but Cinque, don't cry or else I'm gonna start cryin' again-"
"Mista, please," Trish huffs amusedly, rubbing at her temple. "Can you make them stop?" And then the man shows them Giorno, and it's amazing how quickly they all shut up. The bullets gasp, crawling over onto the blond and cuddling up close.
"That's... adorable," Trish says, scribbling down "very cute" next to her own badly-drawn version of Sex Pistols.
"They love him," Mista explains, acting just like his stand and nuzzling his face into the blond's neck. "As do I." The other is bright red, fighting back a smile at all the cuddly attention.
"Cute," Trish mumbles, not for the first or last time yearning for a partner of her own. She stamps the thought down quickly, reading her first question. "When did you acquire Sex Pistols?"
"Uh, like, a decade ago? Maybe?" He absentmindedly curls an arm around Giorno's shoulders, draping himself tiredly over his chest. "It was after I took that Polpo guy's test."
Trish doesn't know who this "Polpo guy" is, but she jots it down anyway. "What do you like most about your stand?"
"They're all adorable," he answers quickly, petting Five's head with his finger. "And they're good at their job when they actually try."
"Oh, right. You have to feed them and stuff," she huffs with a laugh, writing down "only works when food is involved".
"They're my little boys, my sons. They have to be fed or else they'll get angry."
"Yeah, I understand." Not really, having to feed one's stand is kind of ridiculous. "Uh, what would you say you don't like about your stand? I've heard some comments floating around that you guys aren't all that close."
"Aw, who's saying that? We're very close."
"Guess."
"Abba," he says so quickly it's kind of scary. "He only sees us together when we're in battle, though. And I admit I can get kind of... irritated, when they don't cooperate," Mista says, closing his eyes when Giorno seemingly passes out, head lolling down and onto the gunman's heavily.
"Wow, he needs some sleep," Trish comments, adding to her notes. "Right through your stand loudly ogling him, too."
"Yeah, I know. He hardly ever sleeps anymore," he mumbles, voice sad. "He's trying to take on more and more work and it's too much for him, ever since Buccellati said that he was going to be the next capo. I don't know what to do."
Well, this got a little too deep for Trish. She hums, gazing at the exhausted blond. "I wanted to do Gold Experience next, but I'll just let him sleep. We're almost done here, anyway."
"Good idea," the man murmurs, rubbing gentle, languid circles across his chest. "What else do you got for me?"
"Well, uh, wait." She lifts up the paper, staring at a blank sheet. Was that really all she wrote down? Yeesh, she should've thought this out more. "Okay, I'm going to ask you... hmm, what do you think you can do you improve your relationship with Sex Pistols?"
"Nothing, we're perfect," Six speaks suddenly, who's curled up right across Giorno's throat.
"Stop eating all my fuckin' candy, first off," Mista mutters, opening his eyes just to glare at the bullet. "And my lunch. And stop whistling at Giorno; it was funny the first fifty times and now it's just annoying."
Trish laughs heartily, closing her memo pad defeatedly. "Sounds like your relationship differs between them all. That's pretty cool, but I can't really help you with that."
"Nah. I mean, they're all nice little boys, but each one of them has their own... personal difficulties. Plus, we're fine, there are worse stand-user relationships out there, trust me." Mista cards his fingers through Giorno's hair, which is the most matted and tangled Trish has ever seen it.
"That's true," she mumbles, standing up and putting her chair back where she found it. "Um, thanks for participating. I really do hope Giorno feels better, I wish I could help."
"It's fine, I guess. He just gets like this sometimes, actually. It shouldn't last more than a month," the gunman says, and something in the back of her mind tells Trish that it'll last longer than a month. She nods, giving him a smile before walking out of their room and shutting the door behind her.
That certainly didn't go how Trish planned. It seems like Mista has much bigger problems on his hands than six little bullet children who complain when they're hungry. She sighs, checking her notes and scribbling down a quick "good relationship, no intervention needed".
She hears Mista sniffle from behind their door, and she realizes that maybe his crying wasn't entirely from just Brokeback Mountain. She desperately wants to help, but there's nothing she can really do; so Trish walks away from their room as quietly as she can, making her way up towards Buccellati and Abbacchio's. This won't be easy.