K_S
Unrepentent Giovanni and Rocket fan
- Partners
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Intro: When The Bough Breaks, The Penny Drops
She spoke in a string of near-incomprehensible syllables. It was the note of near tears to her voice that kept him on the line and not hanging up out of spite.
When her voice, warbling on the edge of terror, did not settle, he barked his orders.
“Daisy, Dolcezza, breathe.”
When she managed to draw a few breaths, proving Daisy was not totally insensate, Giovanni guided her through a breathing exercise. Despite the edge to his voice that had snapped her to reality, the pattern was delivered in a soft, soothing tone.
When she didn’t sound on the edge of hysterics, he dared one inquiry. A near-tender “Are you safe?”
Her response, a near monotone, as shock stole all the crack and wobble of her earlier fears, had him up and killing everything in his office. Her whimpered, “Yes, no, I... I don't know what to do?” was a whispered background as he was locking his door.
Checking a low growl, he waved off the Mademan that'd cued up to guard him. He wasn't leaving on Business, and the current Capo di Capo of Kanto had made his stance clear. Family matters in the famiglia were affairs that didn't warrant muscle. Personal affairs weren't to be handled on the clock. And MadeMen were not meant to draw on lower Capos to make a point.
Even if that one incident, where a wildly overprotective Capo had taken three associates with him to scare the ever-loving hell out of a bastard who'd dumped his little girl in public, was, by nearly all the famiglia in Virdian, considered a fair use of Mob resources.
Better he not, so he waved them off, because if he enlisted these men, he'd likely be using their resources to dispose of bodies.
Shoulder braced to better hold his phone against his cheek. Giovanni worked his coat to obscure his Work uniform. As he slipped his arms into the right sleeves, working his team and tools into the appropriate pockets, he offered a stream of irrelevant chatter. Contest scores, and gym statistics, silly irrelevancies, tales of old rivals and their downfalls.
One particular ribald tale managed to summon a croaked laugh. He was taking the stairs from the back exit of an old Sakaki warehouse two at a time.
On a stair landing, with a window large enough for a flyer 'mon to plow through with a rider in tow, he stopped, fussing with buttons and options.
"Daisy, are you alone?"
A whimpered no, made him lower his tone. He couldn't reach for softness. Not with a million anxieties swirling in his gut.
"Do I need to call an ambulance?" And Grace, to make sure she was attached. She'd kill him if he didn't.
"I.. I don't think so."
Deep breathe, thin down this crisis, this sounded infinitely worse than when she'd been dumped, but not on par to when that crazed fan had accosted her in her home. He'd purloined a Rocket psychic type that time, nearly been teleported on the girl's assailant.
She'd gotten a front-seat viewing of what he was capable of that night. And she'd been, understandably, leery of calling him when shaken.
Which made this call go from mildly concerning to flat-out alarming.
"Do you need a first aid kit?"
Because if she was hurt, fuck the Don, he'd take recant that decision on guards and grab the three of them and order them to pack shovels.
"Taking a deep breath, gathering her courage, she spoke.
But in that silence before, he heard it. The soft omnipresent crackle that alluded to phone signal blockers. The whispered crinkle marked her as being on the edge of a property that used the near sci-fi level tech.
Only four facilities in Kanto bothered. Silph, the League, the Kanto Interpol offices, and the Kantoian Starter and Exotic 'mon rehabilitation facility.
The last was known among the lay as Professor Samuel Oak's Pokémon Ranch.
Revelation set his hackles to rise; he considered the window with thinned black eyes, hand clasped over the Pokeball of a particularly noiseome flyer...
"I'm at Oaks." redundant that. "And.. Is... Is Grace there?"
The warble s back, the crack of fraying composure.
Not physical pain.
He turned on his heel, not quite sprinting, but he'd be at his car in a moment. From there, it was a twenty-minute scenic ride between the warehouse and the edge of the Reserve.
He'd likely be at her side in fifteen if he minded the traffic laws.
(He wouldn't, he'd make if in five)