“My lord, I understand your intentions yet… are you sure you must take all these people with you? Will we not have anyone to guard the mansion?”
The mansion’s resident hag, Enya, had been spending the last half an hour or so trying to convince Dio that taking all of his staff to America with him was a bad idea. But, alas, it was in vain. Dio was going to see his Italian-American boyfriend if it fucking killed him. Which it wouldn’t, because he was bringing bodyguards.
“Do not fear, Enya. You are remaining with my favourite servant,” he responded, able to remain surprisingly level-headed throughout the old coot’s interrogation session.
This set her off; boomer rage was brewing. “S-so--” she spluttered, her expression betraying a feeling of, well, betrayal. “You’re going to take Vanilla Ice, Te-” Oh, God. There she goes. She was one and a half names in and Dio had already stopped listening.
“...an and that- that-” Enya fished for an insult, “- whore Mariah with you, and yet you leave I (your most trusted and loyal follower) to remain with the mansion’s bird?!”
Dio rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, casting her an in equal measures disinterested and exasperated look, “Absolutely. That’s what I’ve been saying for a while now.”
This seemed to defeat her. Fucking finally! Even such a trivial victory left Dio feeling rather accomplished in the grand scheme of things. He wouldn’t have to bring someone’s overly aggressive grandmother with him on his road trip to the US, and, admittedly, it pleased him greatly.
“I see you’re finally picking up what I, Dio, am putting down?”
Enya looked to the floor in shame, “I- I understand… I just think-”
Dio run a hand through golden hair, sweeping a lock behind his ear. “Wonderful,” he cut her off cleanly, “I’ll begin to pack then.”
Leaving no room for interruption, he spun on his heel and strutted to the doorway, leaning on the frame to cast her one more dirty look.
“And Petshop better not be dead when I come back.”
The taxi Dio had hired with his copious amounts of money was clearly not large enough for the number of people he intended to take to the airport. There was a big kerfuffle about who went in and who didn’t until Dio, already at the end of his tether after his psychological battle with Enya, hired three other cabs to have it be over with.
“Vanilla Ice, Terence and I are to take the first transport. Feel free to squabble among yourselves over the remainder,” Dio, the benevolent lord he was, proclaimed. Instantly, side eyes were exchanged as his staff prepared to have heated arguments over who was going in the middle seat.
Ushering his two ‘not-favourite’ (good leaders never picked favourites, after all) staff members into the automobile up front, he took a quick glance at the scene before him. The tension was so thick and heavy Dio could cut it with one of the knives permanently stored in his belt. With a sigh, he sat down, folding one leg elegantly over the other as he reclined in his seat - only to realise that taxi seats were not for reclining in.
“I reckon that Hol Horse ends up in a middle seat,” Dio prophesied.
“Ah, I wager that Dan gets a middle seat. What about you, Vanilla Ice?” Terence enquired, in an attempt to make light conversation. He was met with Ice’s trademark ‘Glare at Them In Silence’ technique and sighed.
“My apologies. I often forget that you don’t do the whole talking thing.”
“Not at all. I just know not to place bets with you.”
The youngest of the two D’Arby brothers cast his head to the side with a wry smile, “Ah, caught me red-handed,” he joked, holding up his hand in a mock surrender before turning to Dio once again. “America, isn’t it? Where exactly are we going, again?”
Dio inclined his head thoughtfully, giving the impression that he had to mull over the question (in fact, he didn’t; he had Enrico’s address memorised by heart after all the times he’d had it repeated to him over the phone). “We’re heading to meet a good friend of mine,” he explained, not caring to elaborate further on the subject.
“Ah, I see. Do you know his exact address?”
Dio assumed that Terence already knew the answer, so didn’t feel awfully inclined to respond. They sat in silence a bit before he opened his mouth to speak again, but Dio held up a hand and spoke before he had the chance, “Not now. I wish to just travel in silence,” he decreed, waving a finger around as he talked, as if to dismiss the premise of speaking.
“I see,” was the response, as the responder stared into his lap in an attempt to prevent any more conversation attempts. Dio sighed in relief. These days it was rare that Dio could savour a moment of silence, especially since he decided he’d employ an unreasonable amount of stand users to reside in his mansion. Regardless, he spent the remainder of the ride in the peace and quiet he so desired.
For once, Dio managed to arrive at a destination on time! Though it was a pain in the arse to organize everyone and their bags, this was quickly remedied by the fact that he could foist his copious amount of suitcases upon some of his less preferred staff members. Nothing would please him more than watching Steely Dan struggle under Dio’s four bags of designer clothes, complain for approximately two minutes and thirty-seven seconds and proceed to throw them at Hol Horse. He had to commend Hol, however, since he did actually pick them up and carry them himself. Now, if only he could do his real job - then maybe he’d join Dio’s exalted League of Favourites.
As you’d expect, the queue was as long and tedious as it would be for anyone else. It wasn’t as if Dio could kill everyone in front of him if he actually wanted to get on the plane, but hey, judging by the angry mumbling around him, he wasn’t the only one resisting the urge.
“Vanilla Ice, no matter how lovingly you hold this fucking umbrella over my head, it’s not going to improve my mood,” Dio growled, looking for someone to blame for his foul mood. Ice, clutching Dio’s anti-sunlight parasol, looked at him for a second.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Did I do something wrong?”
No, you damn imbecile! I want to argue! Dio seethed internally, clenching his fists until they were white. Through clenched teeth, he replied, “No. My bad,” It is absolutely not my bad! How many people are trying to get to America from Cairo today?! He demanded to who knows inside his head. Not to mention, the heat wasn’t making things much better for this particularly exhausted vampire either; the airport had a population of approximately a million and the temperature was similarly high in numbers. Nothing could be worse than this! (Except maybe trying to bring knives on a plane).
(Which Dio was most certainly going to try and do).