[He nods slowly, the breath he draws in audible in the chill air as he walks back a good ten or twenty paces and tests the balance of the knife in his hand. It's roiling in his stomach now, the thought that he's going to do this, but there's talking about it and there's trying to make it possible to understand, and maybe some of it is just that he needs to take this back for himself, too, bit by bit.
Giorno lost friends to the power of erased time. That's the reason why it ought to be him, Jotaro thinks. Not because Dio is his father, not because he yells muda muda muda without realizing it. Because they're alike, too, in nurture as well as nature, in the losses that have made them who they are.]
Don't take your eyes off of it.
[And he urges Star Platinum to stop time.
Of the five seconds he has allotted to him, he spends four just staring at the knife, at the tree. At Giorno, frozen in place. Four seconds of nothing but listening to his heart beating and feeling Star Platinum come whispering up next to him with undisguised concern, half-curling around him in silent response to his equally silent distress.
In the last second, he braces and throws, and watches the knife hurtle through the air and gradually slow to a stop, poised in the air a foot or so from the space that he'd indicated for Giorno to watch.
His power ticks away, sapping some of his strength with it, and time resumes.]
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Giorno lost friends to the power of erased time. That's the reason why it ought to be him, Jotaro thinks. Not because Dio is his father, not because he yells muda muda muda without realizing it. Because they're alike, too, in nurture as well as nature, in the losses that have made them who they are.]
Don't take your eyes off of it.
[And he urges Star Platinum to stop time.
Of the five seconds he has allotted to him, he spends four just staring at the knife, at the tree. At Giorno, frozen in place. Four seconds of nothing but listening to his heart beating and feeling Star Platinum come whispering up next to him with undisguised concern, half-curling around him in silent response to his equally silent distress.
In the last second, he braces and throws, and watches the knife hurtle through the air and gradually slow to a stop, poised in the air a foot or so from the space that he'd indicated for Giorno to watch.
His power ticks away, sapping some of his strength with it, and time resumes.]