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the-bar-sinister · 3 months ago

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Sandstorms and Starfall (48038 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 11/?

Summary: When Vivi makes a midnight escape from the palace of Alabasta and flees the country in an attempt to get stronger and rejoin the Straw Hat pirates as a full crew member she finds herself unsure of her path forward. That is until a chance meeting brings her face to face with her former enemy, and former hero, Sir Crocodile who agrees to help her on her quest to find a devil fruit for herself.

It's surprisingly easy to make peace with the former warlord, if not to forgive or trust him. But the longer she spends around him, and the former Baroque Works agents helping her find her way through the Grand Line, the more she finds that the troubles in her heart are not the simple ones that she expected to be facing.

catch up here

The incident that had interrupted Vivi's heart to heart with Captain Crocodile was as serious and potentially deadly as it was stupid. She had heard about the insane weather the further on the Grand Line that one sailed, but this was her first encounter with it.

A rain of frozen fish, some of which were the size of a person.

Vivi had been absolutely awestruck. Like, yeah—outside of Alabasta the weather could get weird, randomly changing from calm to a hurricane in mere moments. But this was something on a whole other level.

The fish had sent the boat rocking, and damaged some of the woodwork here and there—but when the men had gotten on it, they'd done all they could to intercept.

Marianne had made the deadpan crack that 'at least they didn't have to worry about refrigeration'

Crocodile had come up on deck and immediately took over from Daz, barking orders at the crew. They'd already taken in sail, and were navigating across the short end of the storm. There was no way to dodge individual fish, so all they could do was mitigate the damage.

It was the first time Vivi saw Crocodile using his devil fruit powers to any serious degree since Alabasta. Torrents of sand smashed huge blocks of ice out of the sky and away from their ship.

Vivi wasn't sure what she could do, but she was set on doing something, even as her eye was drawn to Crocodile's powers' flow and decimate the projectiles falling their way. When smaller ones came falling, Vivi used her peacock slashers to slice through the ice and reduce the possible damage. Zala fell in near her, projecting spikes to stab into the ice blocks and using her surprising strength to use the 'icepick' like holds on them to toss them off the ship or into her captain's blasts of sand.

The storm, thankfully, vanished as quickly as it had appeared leaving the crew on deck breathless and surrounded by quickly melting ice and slush– and quite a few dead fish.

Marianne ran out onto the deck and lifted a particularly large one with a muted smile and declared rather firmly. "Dinnerrrrrr"

Vivi pressed her hand to her face, laughing. The whole thing was absolutely absurd. Only in the Grand Line—only in the grand line would they be assailed by literal frozen fish.

Crocodile laughed. "Alright, crew, grab the big ones and I'll sweep the minnow's off the fucking deck. I can't believe I was interrupted by another goddamn rain of fish."

"Interrupted, eh Captain?" Zala asked with a casual smile as she leaned on the wall.

Vivi turned bright pink, trying not to catch anyone's eyes as she directed some of the men to grab the larger fish.

"My morning reading," Crocodile drawled, lifting his chin imperiously. He waved his hook with a smirk. "What are you lot looking at, get back to work!"

The rest of the day, work on the ship kept Vivi busy– too busy to have a moment alone with the captain, whether by accident or design. She'd 'joked' about it being some kind of act of fate that had gotten in the way of what was shaping up to be a passionate decision—but the longer things conspired to keep her apart from Crocodile the more she was starting to believe it.

She worked hard, as she often did, tending to the rigging and working with Karoo to run about making sure everything was properly secured after the storm. Karoo seemed—dubious of her. Maybe he could sense something was off, which was exactly why she was doing everything she could to keep the both of them distracted.

As she wrapped a rope around her hand and yanked it back into place—she wondered if she was growing the same as Crocodile. Her skin a healthier shade, muscles where the life of a princess had softened her….she hoped so. The train of thought didn't quite derail her from thinking about the way Crocodile looked during their training.

"Geeze…" she murmured softly, standing on Karoo's back enough to reach a higher rope.

Karoo quacked at her, as if trying to keep her on task. From the tone, it was easy once again to feel like he knew something was up. Could he smell Crocodile on her? She had no idea how sensitive a duck's sense of smell was.

Vivi looked down at him as she grabbed the rope and checked it for frays. "I'm grabbing it, Karoo! Gosh! What's ruffled your feathers?"

He quacked again, tossing his head as if to say 'you should know'.

Vivi flushed and pointed down at him as her footing wobbled. The rope was fine—sure, a little banged up but not to any kind of level where it'd be a structural problem.

She held tight to it. "Maybe I should! But I've got no idea how you'd know, MIster! Nothing's happening!"

"Weh!" Karoo did not seem to believe that at all.

Maybe it had something to do with the approaching bootsteps. Ones she was already becoming familiar with.

For the first time she almost fumbled the rope, flushing a little as she caught herself on Karoo's back. The supersonic duck was already up in arms over her just smelling like Crocodile—and now here he came.

Recent memories came back to the forefront, a bright flush crossing her face at the feeling of his lips against hers in the cozy but close-held cabin. Her face was warm—her stomach so full of butterflies that she felt almost dizzy with the way they spun and whirled inside her. But she gripped the rope tighter and looked over her shoulder with a smile.

"H-h-hey Captain Crocodile!"

"Am I distracting you?" He chuckled roughly as he approached. "Looking a little wobbly there."

Karoo's reaction to Crocodile's arrival didn't help. The duck whipped around to stare menacingly at the captain, further throwing off Vivi's footing on his back.

"N-no, I'm fine, you're not—Karoo you idiot, stop wiggling!"

Her foot slipped on his saddle—and she found herself falling backwards with a squeak, the rope going taut around her hand as she tumbled towards the deck.

She landed squarely in Crocodile's arms as he stepped forward to catch her, the rush of the fall leaving her breathless and dizzy.

Her head spun as she looked up at him with a shaky edge to her smile, sure that the ferocity of her flush showed through the mussed cerulean locks of her hair. For a moment, she couldn't think of anything to say—he was warm, solid, he'd caught her before she hit the deck—but she had to stop herself from staring.

She tried to catch her breath before she murmured a thank you.

Karoo had gone and made it worse, not that he'd acknowledge it.

"Fine, eh?" He grinned down at her with his long smile, eyebrows raised in an expression that was certainly patronizing, but somehow still a little endearing.

Karoo quacked loudly– Vivi wasn't sure if he was going to scuttle away, or possibly bite the captain.

"I was fine until Karoo had a fit." She huffed, sticking her tongue out at him impishly. Somehow— she couldn't find the will to stand up and pull away. Not yet. "Careful, he might bite you."

Crocodile showed no sign of putting her down anyway, and gave Karoo a dubious look. The two of them stared at one another for a long moment.

"Doesn't like me much, does he?"

"Weh." Karoo snapped and gave the former warlord of the sea a haughty look, as if the duck was above him.

She couldn't help but sputter a bit in amusement before she huffed and rested her head against his chest.

"He's still pretty mad about Alabasta. Ducks hold grudges for 10,000 years you know."

"I didn't know they lived that long," he drawled, not breaking his gaze with Karoo. "Or should I expect trouble from his descendants?"

Vivi laughed, finally letting go of the rope as she gave Karoo a long and warning look. "Probably. So hopefully he doesn't meet a nice lady duck to settle down with. You'd be haunted by angry ducks for generations."

She felt her heart beating in her chest, the feeling of his arms around her sending tingles of excitement through her. "Karoo, be nice."

"Weh!" He snapped, but he finally broke the tense stare off between him and Crocodile.

Croc laughed and shook his head, finally setting Vivi down on her feet. As he did, the back of his hook ran up her spine. "Well, he didn't bite me so that's something, right? I suppose I can't blame him for his grudge."

Vivi's body shivered at the brush of his hook, only thinly separated by her thin top from her bare skin. She bit her lip to keep from making a noise, and smothered it with another laugh.

"At least, right! I can't blame him either—but, w-well. Circumstances were circumstances. Things are changing. Besides, he gets along real well with Daz, so he must know you're all not THAT bad."

"Maybe I should do like Daz does and fatten him up for dinner." Crocodile's grin turned a little feral, and for a moment Karoo looked concerned. Then he looked away in a huff. "I'm kidding, of course."

Vivi smoothed out her skirt, head still spinning from the drop—and the proximity to Crocodile. It was surreal wasn't it? The way they fell into this easy patter; even after Alabasta, now that she'd forgiven him. Even after that shared, intimate kiss.

Even after being interrupted before it became something more. The way they joked—even if it was at poor Karoo's expense. The handsome curve of his smile and the brush of his hook sent such a feeling through her.

It couldn't be love, could it? She swallowed, and flashed a smile. "Of course, I know you wouldn't eat Karoo, Crocodile. He's too cute to be a morning meal, right Karoo?"

"Too fat for the morning meal, anyway. We can get at least two dinners out of him. Cute dinners."

Karoo's feathers pinned and his tail feathers fanned he turned around indignantly, showing his behind to the captain, who again, only laughed.

Crocodile shook his head. "Well, your duck's grudge aside, Vivi there was something I wanted to ask you."

Vivi turned her eyes from Karoo's antics and back up at Crocodile's face with a tilt of her head. "Y-yeah Crocodile?"

He shrugged fluidly, but something in his posture , or the set of his jaw, told her he was a little bit tense. Nervous, perhaps. "If you wanted to continue our conversation from this morning, I'd be happy to have you in my cabin for a drink after dinner. Otherwise, I think we should postpone our training sessions until we make shore on Mystoria."

Continue their conversation… or postpone their training. That made Crocodile's thoughts seemingly very clear. He didn't think he could train with her without finishing what they'd started. which was… what exactly?

It was hard to say—they'd been practicing their talent for haki—but it became pretty clear that there was a distraction in the room. Eachother. She'd started… something… when she'd leapt up to kiss him to break him out of his spiral of self-doubt. But what was she trying to do? Woo him?

She felt herself flushing as she stammered wordlessly. "A d-drink huh?" she murmured. "...I could use a drink."

"I'll be in my cabin with one after dinner then." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a half smoked cigar, putting it in his mouth. "If you don't show up, I won't hold it against you."

His hook briefly brushed her cheek, and then the captain turned and started away down the deck.

The ghost of his hook lingered on her cheek as she reached out in a wave, calling out on impulse "I'm looking forward to it, Croccy!"

An invitation back to his room to finish what they started—maybe, maybe if she didn't chicken out, maybe she'd be able to figure out exactly what it was they'd started.

And where it'd lead.

The rest of the afternoon had seemed to fly by in a haze, and dinner with the crew was the same kind of lively affair that Vivi had come to expect, and enjoy, since the beginning of their journey. Eating together in the cramped galley space had a familiar camaraderie to it, reminding her all too well of her time with the Straw Hats, in a way.

They laughed together, teased—Marianne had taken to drawing during dinner and showing off her doodles between bites of fish, and Zala was in high spirits enough to start joking around about her assassination career with Daz. It was lively, it was FUN—but her eye kept being drawn back to Crocodile and the promise of a drink after dinner.

She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, the way Crocodile's eyes seemed to return to her face more than they usually did, despite the constant bids for attention from Daz, and from Bentham, and all the others.

Bentham had even put his feet up in Crocodile's lap!

Vivi felt herself flushing throughout, sure that the others had noticed as she leaned on her hand and cast glances to meet his eyes before quickly averting. Even through Bentham's flirting—very open flirting—he still seemed to notice her across the table.

But she did her best not to let it get the better of her. She joked and laughed—told stories of her own and prodded them out of Bentham and at least attempted to with Crocodile.

Anything to distract from the butterflies as they returned to her chest.

Dinners usually lingered a while, and Captain Crocodile usually lingered a while after them with one of his cigars, but this time he excused himself almost right after the end of the meal. Vivi watched him shove Bentham's feet away with a grin– and pat his cheek– before giving the crew a wave.

His eyes met Vivi's one more time before he stalked off.

"Well! Croco-babe's in a mood tonight," Betham teased, giggling and glancing around the table.

Vivi watched him go for a moment as she nibbled the last of the bread on her face with a flush. "H-he certainly is. He's probably got something he wants to d-do tonight."

"Wonder what that could be." Ben grinned slyly.

Daz reached across the table to refill his mug. "Whatever it is, it's his business. Not gossip."

"Spoilsport."

Vivi ducked her head in embarrassment. "I ha-have no idea. No Gossip though, t-that's for the best. By the by—I think I'm going to be turning in earlyish tonight."

Marianne looked up with a tilt of her head. "To the ladies cabin?"

Daz caught Vivi's eye. "Didn't you tell me you were going to spend some time with Karoo?"

He was giving her an excuse– if she wanted to take it. Which meant that he knew exactly what was going on. No surprise, given how close he and Crocodile were.

Vivi flushed deeper, giving him an incredibly thankful smile as she tried to shrink from the crew's scrutiny. "Yeah—I was going to go spend some time with Karoo . He's been grumpy lately. Hope you all don't mind."

"Not at all," Daz said immediately, forestalling any other objections. "Let the old grump know I say hello."

Zala raised her eyebrow at the two of them while Vivi stood with a lopsided smile "I'll pass it along, promise!"

She looked over her shoulder at them. "You guys enjoy dinner! I'll see you later!"

After that, Vivi found herself alone in corridors of the ship's below deck, with the prospect of making her way to Crocodile's cabin– or the alternative of doing absolutely anything other than that.

She waffled for a moment. On one hand, logically she knew she should take a step back. She was obviously emotional, drawn in to his charms. She should take a step back and remember why it was that she was shutting down that old crush in the first place.

It was sensible. That was the logical, responsible thing to do…so why did she find her feet leading her towards the man's cabin?

One foot after the other. It wasn't a long walk, just all the way to the stern of the ship, the end of the long, narrow hallway. The only sound was her footsteps, the groan of the ship's timbers in the rocking sea, and the gentle murmur of continued conversation from the galley.

Her good sense or her heart? Which should she follow? It was the question that played over and over as she wandered the bowels of the ship.

It seemed the answer had come to her when she found herself standing outside Crocodile's door, knocking gently upon it.

There was a flutter of activity from within, and then the door clicked open. Captain Crocodile stood framed by it in front of her, tall and imposing as always, his coat discarded and his shirt sleeves rolled and pinned. There was a trail of dark hair up each of his forearms, interrupted by old puckered and shiny scars– but none so visible and obvious than the one that peeked just above the polished shine of his hook.

"I wasn't sure if I'd see you or not this evening, Viv. Come in."

"I was kind of going back and forth, myself." She smiled shyly as she stepped into the room. Her eyes lingered on him—on his arms, the scars marking a long history of memories, and the place where his hook set over his arm.

It was a rare sight, but one she wasn't unhappy to see. She bit her lip "I heard you had a drink ready for me."

"Sure do." He gestured to the table in the small room where a couple of glasses with ice and a large bottle of whisky had been set out. "Can't wait til we upgrade ships. On Mystoria I hope. Missing my old ship's state room just about now."

Crocodile chuckled, and as she stepped inside he closed the door. She felt his eyes lingering on her from behind her.

She shifted, letting herself pose a little to catch his eye despite herself. Was she trying to attract him?

Of course she was—she certainly was attracted to him, even if her good sense still grumbled that it was a bad idea, she still couldn't quite keep herself from trying to draw his eye to her as she slid into one of the seats.

"I'd bet. I never got to see it, what was it like?"

He slid into the other chair- more beside her than across from her, but angled so that they were still facing one another. He tugged the cork on the whisky out with the tip of his hook and poured a generous measure for both of them.

"Had a bed about the size of this whole room for one thing," he said with a wide grin, his dark eyes narrow. He slid one of the glasses toward her. "Big map table. Desk. The wardrobe was a piece we hauled out of an old mansion, all carved with roses. Used to have a big stuffed gator sitting on top of it."

His grin turned soft— nostalgic certainly, as he talked about his old ship. Vivi had never seen it. It must have been at least fifteen years since Crocodile had.

Vivi took the whiskey glass from him with a smile, tilting it back and forth in her hands as she listened.

"It sounds like it was beautiful, Croccy. I mean—that wardrobe sounds like something straight out of a palace. And that bed sounds—gosh." She giggled as she took a sip. "...did you catch the gator yourself?"

The amber liquid hit her lips, rich and smooth and warm like honey, with a finishing burn of alcohol. Crocodile had broken out the good stuff.

It really was the good stuff—high quality and delicious. The kind that could sneak up on you because it was nice enough to drink.

"You're picturing me wrestling one?" He smirked, lifting his glass in a little salute before taking a long sip himself.

The image did come to mind easily—his coat off, wrestling the crocodile with his bare hands as—

She felt herself burning bright with embarrassment as she tilted back another sip to hide it.

"Maybe."

"Then maybe I did." He chuckled, and leaned his chin on the top of his hook. "Once we get a good ship, I'll have to start collecting furniture and shit again. Haven't done that in a long time."

The way he said it had a sad nostalgia to it, and Vivi could guess why. Crocodile had lost everything, and in his bitter cynicism that had grown up in the wake of that loss, had rejected the idea of holding on to things. At least, that was how it seemed to her.

Holding onto objects, holding onto people. It was all the same to Sir Crocodile when the despair had hold of him. Maybe because he'd been scared of losing it all again.

SHe leaned forward to look him in the eyes with a smile "You should, Croccy—I'll even help. When we have that ship, we'll make it just as nice as your old cabin—maybe even nicer."

"Maybe. Can't tell what the future holds, eh?" That was a big admission from him, and it came with a smile. "Like for instance, I never predicted having you in here with me over drinks. You like the whisky? It's not a bad one."

Vivi flushed and she sipped it again to prove her point when she murmured "it's maybe the best whiskey I've ever had actually. Or maybe it's just the company?"

She laughed quietly "to be honest, if you asked me only a month or so ago if I ever thought I'd be sharing a drink with you—I'd have assumed I'd gone insane."

"Most people you know would probably say you're crazy, Viv." He leaned closer to her.

Vivi huffed softly, still not breaking the contact with his eyes as they slowly drifted closer together. "Would you call me crazy, Croc?"

He grinned, looming over her as he scooted his chair even closer to hers. "No question. All pirates are insane, Viv. Just some of us are the fun kind."

"That's a pretty good point, isn't it?" She laughed. Memories of the Straw Hats—of the Baroque Works agents too—flashed through her head "well, it sounds like I'm in good company then, so I'll take it as a compliment!"

She chewed her lip. "One insane pirate to another."

He clinked his glass against hers. "One insane pirate to another. So. Pirate to pirate– I got something on my mind, doll."

The ringing of the glass still in her ears, she raised it to her lips again to take another sip. "...me too, but you go first."

Crocodile smirked and sipped from his glass. "No, no. I'm a gentleman, remember? You go first."

He looked at her expectantly. Vivi felt her heart pulse in her chest, and she had to avert her gaze for the first time since they'd started talking. Of course he'd ask her to go first—which meant she either had to lie, or be honest.

And being honest meant telling him exactly what was on her mind—'finishing the conversation from this morning'. Talking about the kiss—and what it meant. "Uhm…"

He waited. Patiently he waited. With that wide, thin smile on his face, strands of dark hair escaping his slicked back style and falling over his eyes, swirling his drink in his hand.

"Mostly about what I want to say, Crocodile," she laughed shyly, daring to glance up and let her gaze linger on his smile. "And about our training session this morning?"

"Funny enough, that was exactly what I was hoping to talk about." He drained his glass and set it on the table, pouring another measure of amber liquid over the ice. "So it sounds like we're on the same page that we gotta talk."

Vivi laughed before draining her own glass.

"Yeah, I'd say we're on the same page—I ah, I guess I sure did something impulsive, huh?"

'And that was stupid, please forget it happened' her good sense urged inside her head.

"Sure did. And I escalated it." He poured more whisky into her glass for her. "I'm real good at escalating shit, doll. It's practically my specialty."

"And here I thought that was practical leadership," she teased with a little grin. "...bu-but yeah. You sure escalated it."

And she liked it. She liked the rough and passionate kiss he'd placed upon her lips—she'd liked being wrapped in his arms "but it's not the sort of thing former enemies really share, is it?"

"Depends on the former enemies in question," he purred. She was very aware of how close he was to her. The warmth of his large body. The scent of his cologne and his hair oil mixing with cigar smoke and whisky. "Among pirates it's not exactly unheard of. Princesses less so, but thankfully we don't gotta deal with any of those, right?"

Vivi flushed again, her hair falling down off her shoulder as she shifted and leaned on the table between them with a shy smile. "That's right—not a princess in sight."

There it was again—him smiling at her, acknowledging her as a pirate rather than a princess. As who she wanted to be, not who her father and Alabasta said she was.

"Glad we're clear on that." He chuckled and sipped his drink. "I'm more comfortable among pirates, to be honest. The machinations are usually a little more open. Usually."

"Usually. I've seen a few pirates who like to take the long and winding way around, but—" She bit her lip. "I'd like if maybe the machinations were out there in the open. A-at least between us, right now."

"Saves me a whole lotta trouble," he nodded. "So, you got any machinations you wanna tell em about after that little surprise this morning? Or are you playing things by ear."

"You're going to be disappointed in me, Croc" Vivi laughed as she tucked her hair over her ear. "...I thought 'I need to distract him from feeling bad about himself' and my brain used it as an excuse to shut off and let something else lead the way."

"I wouldn't say I'm disappointed." He leaned in, his shoulder brushing hers. "Honestly, I'd say that's growth, isn't it? We've both let our head get in the way of our instincts in the past, haven't we?"

Vivi tipped her drink back, placing the empty cup on the table as their shoulders brushed.

In the past—Vivi had always had a problem with that, hadn't she? After a certain point. After her time running around with gangs in the streets and making life hell for Chaka and Pell, after her grand plan to infiltrate Baroque Works—she'd started letting her head block her heart.

That's why the Straw Hats left without her on her request. That was why she held herself back time and time again and did what she knew Alabasta 'needed' from her. That was why she never made an appeal to Crocodile when she figured out his plans. Crocodile had been the same way, hadn't he?

All those years when he let his 'plans' smother his instincts.

"I'd say we've had a pretty bad problem with it, yeah…"

"Yeah. So, I'm glad you let your instincts take over. Might have spared us all kinds of problems." He put his hand on top of hers. It was large, and warm, and surprisingly soft.

"I like you, Viv. A lot. I might be kinda falling for you. But I'm not gonna pretend to be somebody I'm not any more, so we gotta talk about that."

He turned his dark, narrow eyed gaze on her. She'd felt it on her face many times before, but never quite so open, or earnest. Vulnerable.

A part of Crocodile he rarely let show—he was opening himself to her, just like she was hoping to open up to him too.

She smiled at him, her eyes lingering on his hand before she looked up to meet his eyes. Her other hand rested atop his.

"I like you too, Crocodile." Nerves briefly tried to overtake her, to make her hesitate, but she continued "I liked you a lot in the past, but since we started spending time together again I think I'm falli…I might be falling for you too. But y-you're right. It's something we've got to talk about."

She laughed, self conscious despite herself. "We do have a complicated history, after all."

"We do. And like I was saying before that little crisis this morning, we could make it even more complicated real easy. So before we do that. Let's talk, eh?"

#crocoviv #sir crocodile #nefertari vivi #bon clay #one piece #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #ao3 #archive of our own #fic: sandstorms and starfall

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years ago

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A Japanese Cousin to the Giallo Movie: Nicolas Pesce on Piercing

Nicolas Pesce calls his work “a soup of influences.” Add a dash of Alfred Hitchcock, a pinch of David Lynch, a splash of Takashi Miike, a sprinkle of Jacques Tati for sweetness; 70 minutes later, “Piercing,” Pesce’s follow up to his 2016 debut, “The Eyes of My Mother,” brims over with vivid madness.

“Piercing” is violent on the edge of nauseating, a naughty, kinky pleasure for gauging fortitude. It’s also hyper-stylized, and that stylization puts Pesce’s influences in the background while he foregrounds the film in one particular style, giallo, that Italian thriller-horror sub-genre, fittingly a soup unto itself. Giallo comprises whodunits and slashers fueled by sex, psychology, and exploitation, but “Piercing”s primary source isn’t Italian; rather, it’s the unsettling 1994 novel of the same name by Ryū Murakami.

Murakami’s book takes place in Tokyo and orbits a man with an awful need to impale his newborn baby with an icepick; he resolves to handle his problem by taking out his murderous needs on a prostitute, but as anyone who reads these kinds of stories can guess, the prostitute turns the tables on him. Pesce’s film leaves the pieces of Murakami’s work intact, casting Christopher Abbott as Reid, the man, and Mia Wasikowska as Jackie, his target. But “Piercing” transplants the material from Tokyo to Anywhere, USA, maybe New York City, maybe Chicago, certainly not Japan. That’d miss the point of the exercise.

“I didn't want to make something that felt like, you know, a J-horror movie or a pink movie,” Pesce says. “I wanted to do it in my own way.” That means beginning with Murakami, as well as the book’s fascination with Paul Verhoeven’s "Basic Instinct," and letting his other inspirations take over from there. Simply putting the book on screen, exact to a fault, has no value for him. “The book exists,” he explains, “and if you love that, that will always exist. I can't make the perfect version of that.” So Pesce pivoted by turning to Dario Argento, Mario Bava, Massimo Dallamano, and Luciano Ercoli.

Gender dynamics and sex politics, rooted in the psychosexual, are defining features of giallo. Pesce uses them to bolster “Piercing”s structure, starting with its visuals. “I felt like this was a Japanese cousin to the giallo movie,” Pesce professes. “Tokyo in my head is so colorful and bright and loud and vibrant. My version of that fell in nicely in a lot of the stylistic choices that giallo filmmakers made.” Magenta hues bathe the opening scene as Reed contemplates infanticide; Jackie’s lipstick runs as red as her flat’s walls. There are the wardrobes, too, Reed’s sharp suits and impeccable hair, Jackie’s blonde bob, slick black dresses, and the fur coat she warehouses herself in—bright colors that mirror the keystones of the giallo aesthetic.

But more integral to giallo than fashion and furniture is sex. “When I read the book, it was very much like Murakami doing a take on the ‘Basic Instinct’ style thriller,” he says, “the Western sort of psychosexual thriller, but transposing it into his world and Tokyo and that underbelly.” To get from there to giallo, he followed his instincts and mined giallo out of Reed’s clash with Jackie. If atmosphere isn’t a hint that not all’s right with Jackie, then watching her take off her black gloves as Reed pours her a drink should serve as the tip-off. “In every giallo movie, whoever wears the black gloves is the killer and the adversary,” Pesce says with a chuckle. The viewer meets the heavy immediately, and they may not even know it.

Partly that’s because Abbott plays such a convincing psychopath, but Wasikowska, no stranger to characters burdened by psychological hang-ups (see: “Stoker” and “Maps to the Stars”), is as unassuming as Abbott is menacing. The gloves are a subtle nod to giallo tradition, but Pesce happily plays with genre conventions as he hews to them. "Piercing" turns the tables on Reed, the presumed murderer-to-be, putting ownership of those gender dynamics and sex politics in Jackie’s hands. She’s in control, unlike most women in giallo, who often find themselves stalked and killed by men: “Tenebrae,” “Blood and Black Lace,” “What Have You Done to Solange?,” “Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key.” It’s a thing. (So are inordinately long titles.)

Sometimes women just get stalked, as in Ercholi’s “Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion,” but the politics of control remain the same. Not so with “Piercing.” “The beauty of the story in and of itself is that it flips all the expectations on their heads,” Pesce says. “A movie like this is set up to be, like, you meet this guy who wants to kill a prostitute, he hires a prostitute and he kills her.” But “Piercing” lets Jackie be the predator and Reed the prey, adding complexity to the tension between consent and desire that’s so essential to giallo’s spirit. “It's a movie about murder with no murder,” he laughs. For giallo purists, that might sound like a birthday party without a cake. Not that giallo formula’s never been subverted—a la Bava’s “Hatchet for the Honeymoon,” or Argento’s “Tenebrae”—but it’s uncommon practice. So the role swap makes “Piercing” unique, even empowering.

“In decades’ worth of these types of movies,” Pesce muses, “you set up a girl in the beginning of the movie who's set to be a victim and the whole movie is about proving that your male lead is the hero who's going to save her. And nah, this girl doesn't need anyone to save her. She doesn’t need any help. She’s got it all covered.” So does Pesce, hitting the giallo bases and Murakami’s book while coaxing his movie toward an identity all its own. Call “Piercing” a soup, a chowder, a mélange; Pesce’s film embraces genre history while facing forward, gruesome and tender in almost equal measure.

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