Dion Belmont, pt. 1
Leingod
Immaculate Blooming Lotus
I figure it might create more interest in this thread if I post snippets and stuff. Also, some of my quest ideas might work better as stories anyway...
---
Joestar Mansion, Liverpool, England – 1888 AD
Sir George Joestar roused himself to consciousness slowly and with difficulty. Normally, this might be a sign of a deep, restful sleep. But in his current state, it merely served to highlight how weak and tired he felt. Though once a proud, strong figure, his sickness had wasted him away; he could hardly stand unaided, and walking was almost out of the question. His sleep was deep, it was true, but it was hardly restful; he felt no less tired now than he did before his nap. Nonetheless, he turned his attention to the cause of his wakening.
"Is it that time already, Peter?" he asked, addressing the old butler standing at his bedside. George had always had a impeccable sense of time, which had served him well in life; it certainly felt like his nap had been cut short."Are Jonathan and Dio back from their game?"
"Not yet, sir, my apologies," the butler replied, sounding a bit put out and apologetic at the same time. "It's just that you have a... visitor. A rather rude one if I may say so, sir. I tried to tell him you were in no fit state to receive guests, but he insisted that you would want to speak to him."
George frowned. Most of his acquaintances knew by now that he took a nap at this time of day until his sons returned from university. "Did he give his name?"
"He gave his name as Count Dion Belmont, sir," Peter answered. "He showed me some of your letters to him to prove his identity, as well as his signet ring."
"Dion Belmont?" George asked in surprise. Though the two certainly had shared correspondence, George had never met his son in person. He'd only met the previous Lord Belmont in person once, and though they became fast friends, they had communicated entirely through letters and the occasional telegraph over the years, which had been taken up sporadically by the count's young son, beginning when George's last letter was returned unopened, with a letter of explanation from Dion that his father had died in an accident. Unable to travel to the funeral at the time, George had sent a letter expressing his condolences, which had become an occasional correspondence.
George struggled to lift himself up into a sitting position, but quickly began to feel dizzy. "Peter, help me up, would you?" he asked.
"Sir, if you wish I can simply ask Lord Belmont to return at a later-"
"Nonsense, Peter," George interrupted. "Simply help me up and escort Lord Belmont up here. I'm honestly a little curious as to what could have brought him here."
"Of course, sir," Peter said, helping George into a sitting position before leaving the room to fetch the young count.
Once he'd left, George felt his eyelids growing heavy, and decided to rest them. He'd had less and less energy as this illness went on, and even sitting was growing to be something of a chore. He tried his best to seem hale and hearty when his sons were around, but they were very clever young boys, and he knew he wasn't really fooling either of them. Dio had kept a stiff upper lip, but Jonathan was growing more and more worried.
George only realized he'd begun to doze off when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps, soon followed by the door reopening and Peter introducing the two.
"Good afternoon, Lord Belmont. It's a pleasure to finally meet in person," George said happily, mustering his energy to banish the tiredness from his voice.
"And an honor to meet you as well, Sir George," the count said, in a soft and melodic, almost hypnotic voice with only the barest hint of an accent. The two shook hands; George could tell the count recognized the weakness in his arm, but he made no comment and only frowned slightly.
George considered the young man standing before him. He looked much like his father had, for better or worse. Though he had only met the old Lord Belmont once, he had been struck by his appearance and noticed he was hardly alone. Few men had felt comfortable with Lord Dion's father, and George would bet that the same was as true of the son as it was for the father.
Like his father, Dion Belmont looked... almost inhuman, if he was honest. Completely flawless, porcelain-white skin, hair that was such a light blond it looked as white as snow in the right light, and strange gray eyes, and features that looked like they belonged on a Greek sculpture. It was as though someone had animated an austere marble statue. It made them seem proud, distant and strange; though George had realized that behind the old Count Belmont's haughty marble facade lay a keen wit and a kind soul, he doubted many others could.
"So what brings you here to Liverpool? From what I recall of Italy, I can't imagine you'd come here for the scenery," George asked.
The small smile the young count gave him did much to humanize his features, the slight wrinkles they created helping to chip that eerie perfection. "Though I'd never miss the chance to boast of my home's beauty, Sir George, I've found England has its own charm to it.
"But you are right that I'm not here to sight-see; I am, in fact, here on business of a sort. There's a... precious artifact that I'm interested in, and I've heard it can be found somewhere here," he explained. "However, I felt it would be remiss not to call on you while I was in the area. Though unfortunately I neglected to give you forewarning, so I fear I've inconvenienced you."
"Not at all. It was about time for me to be getting up anyway; my sons will be back from their rugby game soon. Perhaps you could stay and meet them? You're only a few years their senior, and I'm sure they'd find you excellent company."
"And I don't doubt I'd find the same in them," the count replied with a smile. However, it soon turned into a frown. "Sir George... Forgive me if I sound impertinent, but it seems to me now that I've seen you that you may have downplayed your condition in our last correspondence."
"I assure you, you've merely caught me while I'm at something of a low ebb," George lied, giving a chuckle that was much weaker than he'd hoped it would be. At least it didn't devolve into a cough.
The count didn't seem convinced. "Sir George... did my father ever speak to you of his time in the Orient, studying among Tibetan mystics?"
"Indeed he did! Quite riveting stories he told, too, of the miracles he saw them perform," George replied happily, quite content to change the subject. "Sitting on beds of nails and the like. Astounding stuff!"
"My father learned a great deal from those mystics, and he passed those teachings on to me," the count explained. "Among those was a method those mystics used to heal people of all manner of maladies and injuries with but a touch. While I make no claim to be a master..."
"Please, Lord Belmont, you need not go to any trouble on my account," George assured him. "I have my own doctor who sees to my needs every day, and I have no need of some Oriental remedy."
"Perhaps. But if for no other reason, may I make the attempt for my own sake? If your condition does not improve, I should hate myself for not having done what I could when I had the chance. And after all, if I fail, nothing will be lost by either of us."
George blinked, then sighed. "I suppose were I in your position I should feel the same. To be honest, I've never put much stock in all this mysticism, but you're quite right to say that it would be selfish of me to deny you the opportunity, particularly when I'll be no worse off either way."
---
Hmph. Acting so excited over a worthless game, Dio thought contemptuously as Jonathan Joestar all but sprinted back home, flush with victory, so excited to inform his old fool of a father. Of course he made sure to act excited as well, though still more subdued. Damn fool.
Then again, with as far gone as he must be by now, I doubt Old Joestar will be able to muster any enthusiasm at all, he thought darkly as they reached the Joestar mansion.
It truly was remarkable, that poison he'd gotten from Ogre Street. Indistinguishable from disease when applied in the proper dosage, and even if someone was suspicious and tried to check for it, it was unidentifiable to Western medicine! The perfect crime!
But how to top myself with Jonathan? Dio thought as he and his erstwhile "brother" entered the mansion. How to kill him in a way that can't be traced to me?
"Good afternoon, Peter!" Jonathan exclaimed to the old butler, who was tottering down the steps as quickly as he could. Dio stifled a frown at the sight of him. The doddering old wretch would be the first one Dio sacked when he took the Joestar fortune for his own; he was far too loyal to the Joestars to be retained.
"Master Jonathan! Master Dio!" the old man cried out, almost wild-eyed with passion. "Your father! Lord Joestar, he's-!"
Jonathan and Dio both stopped short in shock. Did he bite the dust already? Dio thought to himself in surprise. I suppose he wasn't as stout as I'd thought...
A look of fear and horror on his face, Jonathan practically hurled himself up the stairs, Dio following close behind, his own features mirroring his "brother's," even while inwardly he was already plotting. I'll have to change my schedule a bit, keep Jonathan alive a few months longer to divert suspicion...
Jonathan flung open the doors to George Joestar's rooms, Dio just a half-step behind him, ready to pretend to be shocked and distraught.
As it turned out, he had no need to fake his shock.
Sir George Joestar stood tall and proud as he hadn't for many months, almost as hale and healthy as he was before Dio had begun to poison him.
"Father!" Jonathan cried, shock giving way to incredible jubilation. "You're... you're cured! You look as though you were never sick at all!"
"And I feel even better," the old man proclaimed happily, standing tall and proud as he had all his life.
Dio, meanwhile, was still in shock, his thoughts racing. How!? How!? That Chinese piece of shit, was his poison defective!? No, that's impossible, it was working so well! What the hell happened!?
"Dio, isn't it amazing! Father's cured!" Jonathan shouted, jolting Dio out of his trance. Realizing what he needed to do, Dio plastered a smile onto his face.
"It's incredible!" he exclaimed. "But... how?"
"Just some obscure knowledge from the Orient," came a voice neither Jonathan nor Dio recognized. Turning to the source of the sound, they saw a strange-looking man, almost like a marble statue come to life, standing to the side of the room.
The hairs on the back of Dio's neck stood up at the mere sight of him, and the cold, piercing gaze the man disguised as a casual glance sent him into a cold sweat. Who is... how did I miss this man!? I never for a moment realized his presence!
"Don't sell yourself short, sir! Those techniques of yours are truly miraculous!" George Joestar replied. "But where are my manners? Jonathan, Dio, this is Count Dion Belmont, the son of an old friend of mine and the restorer of my health."
"A pleasure to meet you both," the strange count said. "Though my exchanges with Sir George are hardly as frequent as I'd like, he's told me much about you two all the same."
"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Belmont," Jonathan said sincerely, shaking the count's hand with great enthusiasm. "We're truly in your debt. Words can't express how glad I am that Father is alright!"
"Yes, you truly are a miracle worker!" Dio added, swallowing his true thoughts. Once Jonathan was done mimicking a water pump, he shook the man's hands and looked him in the eye.
That one look, short as it was, told Dio all he needed to know. He knows... he thought with horror. These eyes... can they see right through me!?
The count's piercing eyes took on a stormy cast when they settled upon Dio, their gaze judging, condemning. Is it supernatural? Or did he just see my face in that moment when I let my guard down when I saw the old fool was cured? Which is it!?
"But how did you cure Lord Joestar?" Dio asked, feigning simple curiosity. He said it was Oriental knowledge. Does he know about the poison!? Did he give him the antidote!? No, even if it was just an antidote, he wouldn't have recovered so much so quickly!
"I and my father both studied with Tibetan mystics who could heal things such as illnesses and injuries with but a touch," the count explained, his judging eyes never leaving Dio's face. Dio called upon all his acting experience, honed from his years playing the good little orphan boy taken in by the kind aristocrats. But it was maddening; he couldn't tell if it was working!
Finally, that piercing gaze left Dio and turned back to George Joestar. "But Sir George... what I found was that strange toxins had built up in your body. I expelled them from your body, and repaired the damage they caused... but I have no idea as to what caused them to be present in your body in the first place. So while I've treated you now... there's no guarantee it won't simply happen again, unless we can identify the cause."
"Do you have any ideas on what might have caused it, sir?" Jonathan asked, hanging on his every word, desperate for a way to keep his beloved father from falling ill again. It made Dio want to grind his teeth.
"For only Sir George to have fallen ill... I hesitate to say it, but perhaps an enemy of yours may have decided to resort to poison...
The count suddenly held up a hand. "But of course I have no proof of this! Let's not jump to conclusions! We'll simply have to see how the situation develops. I'll be in town for a while looking for a certain item of archeological interest to me I've heard is somewhere around here, so if anything happens, please inform me. I'll let you know what hotel I find a room at."
"Nonsense! You'll stay here!" George cried out. "I'll not sentence my savior to some hotel when I've got a perfectly good mansion!"
"I would hate to impose... but I would hate to impugn on your hospitality," the count said with a smile that made Dio's blood boil. He had only just met this man, and already he hated more than almost anyone he'd ever met.
"Excellent!" Jonathan exclaimed. "Lord Belmont, perhaps I can help you with finding your item? As it happens, I've been studying archeology at the university."
It was only for a second, but Dio could see the count's eyes flicker toward him. "That would be wonderful, Mister Jonathan. I'm always happy to speak with a fellow scholar of archeology. Perhaps we could have discussion on the subject right now?"
He turned to Dio. "Oh, but you two were going to tell Sir George all about your rugby game, weren't you? I would hate to deny you that opportunity."
"Oh, don't feel so bothered by it. Dio here can fill me in while you two have your talk. Isn't that right Dio?" George asked, putting a hand on Dio's shoulder with fatherly affection and an equally fatherly smile.
The very sight made Dio want to retch, or at least to slit the old bastard's throat.
But instead, he merely forced another smile. "Of course!"
As the two walked away, Dio took an opportunity when George looked away to glare hatefully. You don't fool me, you son of a bitch. You're informing Jojo of your suspicions of me... Well fine! I'll kill you as well as the Joestars! I'll make you suffer for this! I'll make you curse the day you ever thought you could stand in the way of DIO!
---
Joestar Mansion, Liverpool, England – 1888 AD
Sir George Joestar roused himself to consciousness slowly and with difficulty. Normally, this might be a sign of a deep, restful sleep. But in his current state, it merely served to highlight how weak and tired he felt. Though once a proud, strong figure, his sickness had wasted him away; he could hardly stand unaided, and walking was almost out of the question. His sleep was deep, it was true, but it was hardly restful; he felt no less tired now than he did before his nap. Nonetheless, he turned his attention to the cause of his wakening.
"Is it that time already, Peter?" he asked, addressing the old butler standing at his bedside. George had always had a impeccable sense of time, which had served him well in life; it certainly felt like his nap had been cut short."Are Jonathan and Dio back from their game?"
"Not yet, sir, my apologies," the butler replied, sounding a bit put out and apologetic at the same time. "It's just that you have a... visitor. A rather rude one if I may say so, sir. I tried to tell him you were in no fit state to receive guests, but he insisted that you would want to speak to him."
George frowned. Most of his acquaintances knew by now that he took a nap at this time of day until his sons returned from university. "Did he give his name?"
"He gave his name as Count Dion Belmont, sir," Peter answered. "He showed me some of your letters to him to prove his identity, as well as his signet ring."
"Dion Belmont?" George asked in surprise. Though the two certainly had shared correspondence, George had never met his son in person. He'd only met the previous Lord Belmont in person once, and though they became fast friends, they had communicated entirely through letters and the occasional telegraph over the years, which had been taken up sporadically by the count's young son, beginning when George's last letter was returned unopened, with a letter of explanation from Dion that his father had died in an accident. Unable to travel to the funeral at the time, George had sent a letter expressing his condolences, which had become an occasional correspondence.
George struggled to lift himself up into a sitting position, but quickly began to feel dizzy. "Peter, help me up, would you?" he asked.
"Sir, if you wish I can simply ask Lord Belmont to return at a later-"
"Nonsense, Peter," George interrupted. "Simply help me up and escort Lord Belmont up here. I'm honestly a little curious as to what could have brought him here."
"Of course, sir," Peter said, helping George into a sitting position before leaving the room to fetch the young count.
Once he'd left, George felt his eyelids growing heavy, and decided to rest them. He'd had less and less energy as this illness went on, and even sitting was growing to be something of a chore. He tried his best to seem hale and hearty when his sons were around, but they were very clever young boys, and he knew he wasn't really fooling either of them. Dio had kept a stiff upper lip, but Jonathan was growing more and more worried.
George only realized he'd begun to doze off when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps, soon followed by the door reopening and Peter introducing the two.
"Good afternoon, Lord Belmont. It's a pleasure to finally meet in person," George said happily, mustering his energy to banish the tiredness from his voice.
"And an honor to meet you as well, Sir George," the count said, in a soft and melodic, almost hypnotic voice with only the barest hint of an accent. The two shook hands; George could tell the count recognized the weakness in his arm, but he made no comment and only frowned slightly.
George considered the young man standing before him. He looked much like his father had, for better or worse. Though he had only met the old Lord Belmont once, he had been struck by his appearance and noticed he was hardly alone. Few men had felt comfortable with Lord Dion's father, and George would bet that the same was as true of the son as it was for the father.
Like his father, Dion Belmont looked... almost inhuman, if he was honest. Completely flawless, porcelain-white skin, hair that was such a light blond it looked as white as snow in the right light, and strange gray eyes, and features that looked like they belonged on a Greek sculpture. It was as though someone had animated an austere marble statue. It made them seem proud, distant and strange; though George had realized that behind the old Count Belmont's haughty marble facade lay a keen wit and a kind soul, he doubted many others could.
"So what brings you here to Liverpool? From what I recall of Italy, I can't imagine you'd come here for the scenery," George asked.
The small smile the young count gave him did much to humanize his features, the slight wrinkles they created helping to chip that eerie perfection. "Though I'd never miss the chance to boast of my home's beauty, Sir George, I've found England has its own charm to it.
"But you are right that I'm not here to sight-see; I am, in fact, here on business of a sort. There's a... precious artifact that I'm interested in, and I've heard it can be found somewhere here," he explained. "However, I felt it would be remiss not to call on you while I was in the area. Though unfortunately I neglected to give you forewarning, so I fear I've inconvenienced you."
"Not at all. It was about time for me to be getting up anyway; my sons will be back from their rugby game soon. Perhaps you could stay and meet them? You're only a few years their senior, and I'm sure they'd find you excellent company."
"And I don't doubt I'd find the same in them," the count replied with a smile. However, it soon turned into a frown. "Sir George... Forgive me if I sound impertinent, but it seems to me now that I've seen you that you may have downplayed your condition in our last correspondence."
"I assure you, you've merely caught me while I'm at something of a low ebb," George lied, giving a chuckle that was much weaker than he'd hoped it would be. At least it didn't devolve into a cough.
The count didn't seem convinced. "Sir George... did my father ever speak to you of his time in the Orient, studying among Tibetan mystics?"
"Indeed he did! Quite riveting stories he told, too, of the miracles he saw them perform," George replied happily, quite content to change the subject. "Sitting on beds of nails and the like. Astounding stuff!"
"My father learned a great deal from those mystics, and he passed those teachings on to me," the count explained. "Among those was a method those mystics used to heal people of all manner of maladies and injuries with but a touch. While I make no claim to be a master..."
"Please, Lord Belmont, you need not go to any trouble on my account," George assured him. "I have my own doctor who sees to my needs every day, and I have no need of some Oriental remedy."
"Perhaps. But if for no other reason, may I make the attempt for my own sake? If your condition does not improve, I should hate myself for not having done what I could when I had the chance. And after all, if I fail, nothing will be lost by either of us."
George blinked, then sighed. "I suppose were I in your position I should feel the same. To be honest, I've never put much stock in all this mysticism, but you're quite right to say that it would be selfish of me to deny you the opportunity, particularly when I'll be no worse off either way."
---
Hmph. Acting so excited over a worthless game, Dio thought contemptuously as Jonathan Joestar all but sprinted back home, flush with victory, so excited to inform his old fool of a father. Of course he made sure to act excited as well, though still more subdued. Damn fool.
Then again, with as far gone as he must be by now, I doubt Old Joestar will be able to muster any enthusiasm at all, he thought darkly as they reached the Joestar mansion.
It truly was remarkable, that poison he'd gotten from Ogre Street. Indistinguishable from disease when applied in the proper dosage, and even if someone was suspicious and tried to check for it, it was unidentifiable to Western medicine! The perfect crime!
But how to top myself with Jonathan? Dio thought as he and his erstwhile "brother" entered the mansion. How to kill him in a way that can't be traced to me?
"Good afternoon, Peter!" Jonathan exclaimed to the old butler, who was tottering down the steps as quickly as he could. Dio stifled a frown at the sight of him. The doddering old wretch would be the first one Dio sacked when he took the Joestar fortune for his own; he was far too loyal to the Joestars to be retained.
"Master Jonathan! Master Dio!" the old man cried out, almost wild-eyed with passion. "Your father! Lord Joestar, he's-!"
Jonathan and Dio both stopped short in shock. Did he bite the dust already? Dio thought to himself in surprise. I suppose he wasn't as stout as I'd thought...
A look of fear and horror on his face, Jonathan practically hurled himself up the stairs, Dio following close behind, his own features mirroring his "brother's," even while inwardly he was already plotting. I'll have to change my schedule a bit, keep Jonathan alive a few months longer to divert suspicion...
Jonathan flung open the doors to George Joestar's rooms, Dio just a half-step behind him, ready to pretend to be shocked and distraught.
As it turned out, he had no need to fake his shock.
Sir George Joestar stood tall and proud as he hadn't for many months, almost as hale and healthy as he was before Dio had begun to poison him.
"Father!" Jonathan cried, shock giving way to incredible jubilation. "You're... you're cured! You look as though you were never sick at all!"
"And I feel even better," the old man proclaimed happily, standing tall and proud as he had all his life.
Dio, meanwhile, was still in shock, his thoughts racing. How!? How!? That Chinese piece of shit, was his poison defective!? No, that's impossible, it was working so well! What the hell happened!?
"Dio, isn't it amazing! Father's cured!" Jonathan shouted, jolting Dio out of his trance. Realizing what he needed to do, Dio plastered a smile onto his face.
"It's incredible!" he exclaimed. "But... how?"
"Just some obscure knowledge from the Orient," came a voice neither Jonathan nor Dio recognized. Turning to the source of the sound, they saw a strange-looking man, almost like a marble statue come to life, standing to the side of the room.
The hairs on the back of Dio's neck stood up at the mere sight of him, and the cold, piercing gaze the man disguised as a casual glance sent him into a cold sweat. Who is... how did I miss this man!? I never for a moment realized his presence!
"Don't sell yourself short, sir! Those techniques of yours are truly miraculous!" George Joestar replied. "But where are my manners? Jonathan, Dio, this is Count Dion Belmont, the son of an old friend of mine and the restorer of my health."
"A pleasure to meet you both," the strange count said. "Though my exchanges with Sir George are hardly as frequent as I'd like, he's told me much about you two all the same."
"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Belmont," Jonathan said sincerely, shaking the count's hand with great enthusiasm. "We're truly in your debt. Words can't express how glad I am that Father is alright!"
"Yes, you truly are a miracle worker!" Dio added, swallowing his true thoughts. Once Jonathan was done mimicking a water pump, he shook the man's hands and looked him in the eye.
That one look, short as it was, told Dio all he needed to know. He knows... he thought with horror. These eyes... can they see right through me!?
The count's piercing eyes took on a stormy cast when they settled upon Dio, their gaze judging, condemning. Is it supernatural? Or did he just see my face in that moment when I let my guard down when I saw the old fool was cured? Which is it!?
"But how did you cure Lord Joestar?" Dio asked, feigning simple curiosity. He said it was Oriental knowledge. Does he know about the poison!? Did he give him the antidote!? No, even if it was just an antidote, he wouldn't have recovered so much so quickly!
"I and my father both studied with Tibetan mystics who could heal things such as illnesses and injuries with but a touch," the count explained, his judging eyes never leaving Dio's face. Dio called upon all his acting experience, honed from his years playing the good little orphan boy taken in by the kind aristocrats. But it was maddening; he couldn't tell if it was working!
Finally, that piercing gaze left Dio and turned back to George Joestar. "But Sir George... what I found was that strange toxins had built up in your body. I expelled them from your body, and repaired the damage they caused... but I have no idea as to what caused them to be present in your body in the first place. So while I've treated you now... there's no guarantee it won't simply happen again, unless we can identify the cause."
"Do you have any ideas on what might have caused it, sir?" Jonathan asked, hanging on his every word, desperate for a way to keep his beloved father from falling ill again. It made Dio want to grind his teeth.
"For only Sir George to have fallen ill... I hesitate to say it, but perhaps an enemy of yours may have decided to resort to poison...
The count suddenly held up a hand. "But of course I have no proof of this! Let's not jump to conclusions! We'll simply have to see how the situation develops. I'll be in town for a while looking for a certain item of archeological interest to me I've heard is somewhere around here, so if anything happens, please inform me. I'll let you know what hotel I find a room at."
"Nonsense! You'll stay here!" George cried out. "I'll not sentence my savior to some hotel when I've got a perfectly good mansion!"
"I would hate to impose... but I would hate to impugn on your hospitality," the count said with a smile that made Dio's blood boil. He had only just met this man, and already he hated more than almost anyone he'd ever met.
"Excellent!" Jonathan exclaimed. "Lord Belmont, perhaps I can help you with finding your item? As it happens, I've been studying archeology at the university."
It was only for a second, but Dio could see the count's eyes flicker toward him. "That would be wonderful, Mister Jonathan. I'm always happy to speak with a fellow scholar of archeology. Perhaps we could have discussion on the subject right now?"
He turned to Dio. "Oh, but you two were going to tell Sir George all about your rugby game, weren't you? I would hate to deny you that opportunity."
"Oh, don't feel so bothered by it. Dio here can fill me in while you two have your talk. Isn't that right Dio?" George asked, putting a hand on Dio's shoulder with fatherly affection and an equally fatherly smile.
The very sight made Dio want to retch, or at least to slit the old bastard's throat.
But instead, he merely forced another smile. "Of course!"
As the two walked away, Dio took an opportunity when George looked away to glare hatefully. You don't fool me, you son of a bitch. You're informing Jojo of your suspicions of me... Well fine! I'll kill you as well as the Joestars! I'll make you suffer for this! I'll make you curse the day you ever thought you could stand in the way of DIO!
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