[Chariot isn't here, of course, but Chariot hasn't been around for two months now. His presence is an aching gap, one Polnareff is always somewhat aware of-- but he hadn't thought it would extend to everyone. He inhales sharply at that admission-- and despite himself, his eyes dart up to those fangs, too large and too sharp, before he glances down again.]
Then I'm glad I'm here.
[He glances around, then shoves aside some of the literature pushed on him, clearly a space for Giorno to sit.]
no subject
Then I'm glad I'm here.
[He glances around, then shoves aside some of the literature pushed on him, clearly a space for Giorno to sit.]
Especially if . . .
[How to say this.]
It's terrifying, not having your Stand.