He's wrong, this isn't Polnareff. Polnareff is — he shouldn't have lost both his legs, Dio didn't even hit his legs, how could he have leapt through the air like the avenging angel he'd been if he were missing both of his legs? What about his eye? He didn't get hit in the eye (did he get hit in the eye? they took him to the hospital, they said he was fine, what happened, he can't remember) — what happened? These aren't new wounds. These are old wounds, he moves like he's had them a while. The predator would've seen that in an instant, even if Jotaro weren't looking for it himself.
Who did this? How did this happen? This isn't Polnareff, Polnareff isn't this old and this battered and this...this. How did this happen?
He's so busy staring that he can't think of anything to do but obey the request he's been given, stepping over with his wings folding up behind his back to be better out of the way. He looks like a mixture of himself and his Star Platinum, if Star were more dragon than giant: the claws that have replaced his hands and feet have thick scale like gloves and boots, and on the backs of his claws below the knuckles sits a familiar triangle pattern echoed in scale. On either side of his hat sit a pair of slim gold horns, their bases hidden nestled in his hair; down the sides of his face and neck are more scale, more violet, which is echoed in the hue of his wings and his tail.
Amid all that, there are tears in his eyes.
Who did this, he wants to ask, so that he can find them and kill them a thousand times.]
Why are you — the hell are you doing in that chair? Get up.
[Thus speaks Captain Tact, demonstrating admirably the first stage of grief.]
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He's wrong, this isn't Polnareff. Polnareff is — he shouldn't have lost both his legs, Dio didn't even hit his legs, how could he have leapt through the air like the avenging angel he'd been if he were missing both of his legs? What about his eye? He didn't get hit in the eye (did he get hit in the eye? they took him to the hospital, they said he was fine, what happened, he can't remember) — what happened? These aren't new wounds. These are old wounds, he moves like he's had them a while. The predator would've seen that in an instant, even if Jotaro weren't looking for it himself.
Who did this? How did this happen? This isn't Polnareff, Polnareff isn't this old and this battered and this...this. How did this happen?
He's so busy staring that he can't think of anything to do but obey the request he's been given, stepping over with his wings folding up behind his back to be better out of the way. He looks like a mixture of himself and his Star Platinum, if Star were more dragon than giant: the claws that have replaced his hands and feet have thick scale like gloves and boots, and on the backs of his claws below the knuckles sits a familiar triangle pattern echoed in scale. On either side of his hat sit a pair of slim gold horns, their bases hidden nestled in his hair; down the sides of his face and neck are more scale, more violet, which is echoed in the hue of his wings and his tail.
Amid all that, there are tears in his eyes.
Who did this, he wants to ask, so that he can find them and kill them a thousand times.]
Why are you — the hell are you doing in that chair? Get up.
[Thus speaks Captain Tact, demonstrating admirably the first stage of grief.]