Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-36289716-20190623141605/@comment-32932951-20190625200032

Pocoloco is scrathing his head, looking at all the white walls around to him to try and find an exit in aperture. Despite his literally infinite insane luck he can't find one, for the time being. 99999999999999% certain it will carve a path for him to get out in the future however.

Giorno doubts it first then just...Accepts it. He doesn't really have anything else to believe in, no logical way to explain this besides some sort of stand. He really didn't want to think of Bucciarati coming back just the result of some random person he doesn't know using their stand. No, that's just wrong. Giorno didn't doubt some higher force existed, good or bad. Someone had to make the arrows, someone had to bless Diavolo with his really freaky constant occurrences of good fortunate. Although all the deep thinking stopped there, the thought of some god up there pulling all the strings for whatever reason was scary. What would he believe in?

"Bucciarati...I have no idea what I want to believe at this point...But it sure is good to have you back."

That rare Brando smile of wholehearted sincere happyiness made itself known to the world.