Fiore (Giorno x oc)

1

“Say Hi to Uncle Okuyasu for me!” I shouted as I waved goodbye to Koichi.

“I will! And it was nice to meet you, Fiore!”

He turned to the plane entrance and walked away, back to Japan.

I sighed and tugged on the bottom of my dress.

“Let’s go home,” I whispered to myself as I turned away.

I navigated through the waves of people in the airport and made my way to the lines of taxis and flagged a familiar one down.

I guess I should tell you a bit about myself.

My name is Fiore Nijimura, my uncles are Keicho and Okuyasu.

My mother was their older sister, she was disowned from their family when she met my father (who was a foreigner from Italy) and got pregnant with me. My uncle Keicho was 4 at the time and my uncle Okuyasu was 2.

My mom traveled back to Italy with my father, but he left us and she put me up for adoption, eventually figuring out that she couldn’t take care of me.

I was stuck in the system until I was 12, and I snuck onto a plane to Japan and somehow arrived in Morioh where I met my uncles and got shot with a stand arrow and survived.

My stand’s name is Milkshake, and they are more of a healing stand, taking blood sugars and turning them into healing foods.

I got along really well with my uncle Okuyasu since we were only two years apart.

We all found that my mother never reached out to them when she left, so where she is remains a mystery.

And for me? Well, I’m a genderfluid, Italian and Japanese street racer who, as far as I know, is an orphan, with a dream to find her parents.

“We’re here sir,” the old man driving the Taxi said as he tipped his hat.

“It’s ma’am today vecchio amico(old friend) but thanks for the ride,” I replied, placing a few lyra in his palm before climbing out of the car.

That Taxi driver has driven me all over Italy. He’s been making sure I’ve survived since I first met him on my way to the airport when I was 12, and he’s always been there for me.

“Got it il mio bambino(my child), oh! Before I forget, I grabbed some food for you on the way to the airport,” he said, handing me a paper bag full of foods like pasta, vegetables, fruits, and other ingredients.

“Thank you Silvano, addio(farewell)!” I shouted, running to the small apartment behind me.

I placed the bag on the kitchen counter, and pulled out ingredients for my favorite food pasta al nero de seppia, a recipe I learned from Silvano.

Chopping, slicing, mixing, and boiling. All needed to make the pasta.

A poured a helping onto a plate and sat down at a small table beside a window, watching cars pass by on the street as I ate.

Once I had finished, and cleaned the squid ink off of my face, I placed the dish in the sink and ran to my room to get changed for racing.

I wore black pants and a long sleeved turtleneck.
I pulled my dyed light pink hair into a tight bun to keep it out of my face and grabbed my helmet. I pulled on my boots and ran out the door.