On the Job [Open!]

Things had been relatively uneventful of late. Sure, there were always the ever-present encounters with the Heartless, and they were a far cry from anything approaching pleasant, but it had only taken about a half dozen run-ins with them to take all of the strangeness out of it. It was dangerous, sure, but it was just...a part of life here, and he was already all but completely used to it. Besides, there was something much more worrisome to occupy his thoughts.


His job.

"Hermit Purple!"

At his spoken call, the familiar high-pitched whine of his Stand's activation reached his ears and the dark purple vines erupted from his arm. They coiled forward, wrapping around the object of his attention: an ancient, battered-looking, but obviously well taken care of, jukebox. The vines of Hermit Purple sank into the body of the contraption, carefully probing and prodding about its internal mechanisms, seeking out any inconsistencies or irregularities. 


His free hand came to rest on a small, portable television set beside him, another set of vines pouring out of his arm and into the small device. The screen flickered with static for several seconds, before an image slowly fazed into view, revealing the inner workings of the music-machine. "Hmmm...." The old gentleman squinted his eyes at the screen. 


The proprietor of the little establishment, a fairly jolly gentleman by the name of Mac, loomed over JoJo's shoulder, one eyebrow raised quizzically at the odd display. "Is this how you always go about your repairs?"


"Have to check what's wrong before I can actually see about any repairs..." the old Joestar man said simply. "Bar fight, someone got shoved into this thing. That sound about right?"


The owner's eyebrows shot up. "Well, yeah...that's about the way of things. How'd you figure that out?"


Without even lifting his gaze, JoJo just indicated the glass casing housing the multitude of records that were swapped out for songs to play. "The glass is cracked. It's still clear; dust and grime hasn't settled in yet, so it was fairly recent. There's still some small bits of glass on the floor, too...and one of the gears that controls the record arm is knocked loose." 


With a sigh, the old man closed his eyes, withdrawing Hermit Purple and rising up to stand. "It won't be tough to fix it...but I don't have the right tools on hand today. I'll be back same time tomorrow. Shouldn't even take an hour."


"Better service than usual around here," Mac admitted. "No sense in rushing things. Be glad to have some music back in here, though." He watched as Joseph packed up the few tools he'd brought with him. "Can't fathom how you work, though, Joestar...never seen anything like it. Looks like magic, to me."


"Not magic, Mac..." JoJo offered with no small amount of amusement in his tone. "Just some tricks of the trade." Retrieving his hat and coat, he gave a nod to the proprietor. "Try not to let any more fights break out, Mac." He gave a lazy wave as he stepped out into the chill air of early evening in Radiant Garden. One hand patted his fedora down on his head against a particularly brisk breeze. "Wheeeew... Done for the day..."

[googlefont="Handlee"]

There's so many places I want to go, so many things I want to see

When Mikleo visited radiant garden, it was mostly work or research-related. Merlin’s errands kept him busy enough that sitting and reading in a quaint neighborhood wasn’t always an option. On the rare days that Mikleo was granted this luxury, however, he splurged on his favorite book with a mocha and some fumbly-beat-y music in the background.

Somewhere along the day, the music-maker got busted. Eyebrows high and nose even higher, Mikleo kept on reading, kept on ignoring the outstanding examples of human beings involved in the fray. He kept to his own, ink-laden world – until a familiar beard graced the public establishment.

When Mikleo last met Joseph, he learned about the man’s ambitions long before the thought of knowing the man’s name came up. And even then, Mikleo hadn’t had the chance to ask. Facing death and getting the world consumed by darkness bomb certainly didn’t help.

Now, Mikleo was learning more about the man. He was a working citizen, much like Mikleo himself. He was competent in his work, not just a clown who screamed like a giant spider had grabbed his face instead of a wad of paper. He was well-liked by the ones who knew him. Mikleo still didn’t know him.

Then it was time for the man to leave, job done for the day, and somehow it became Mikleo’s cue too.

He left the building, book in hand, and tried to catch up with the man. For an elderly, he was pretty darn quick on his feet. “Excuse me,” Mikleo hailed as he joined him afoot. “Do you remember me, by any chance, back at the market?” The seraph had the decency to look sheepish as he recalled that not-so-ideal meeting. “I think we got off at the wrong foot last time,” He extended his hand cordially. “My name is Mikleo, by the way. I'm guessing you work here?”

The dream is alive and it's right in front of me

Ken