SerpentBlaze Muscovado Desert (Lilith’s Lair)
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Venom & Velvet — Lilith’s Inner Fang Pub
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Venom & Velvet — Lilith’s Inner Fang Pub
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The Platters
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*Eyeing the smoked lamb skewers as he entered the strange pub. Curiously looking around.* Why does this look like a place Dio would show up at? *sees Dio sitting nearby having a drinks…. facepalms* Yare yare daze! @lorddio
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*Helena picks up the smoked lamb skewer platter taking one of the midnight truffle risotto bites in her right hand and put it it up to Jotaro’s mouth.* Here! You’ll like this one, let’s sit down with everyone, stop worrying about Dio. He will kinda of behave. *She giggles.* And more so that you’re here. @starplatinum
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*Jotaro looks down at Helena holding the smoked lamb skewer platter he was eyeing. He opens his mouth as she puts the midnight truffle rissoto bite in his mouth and takes the platter from her.* Fine! If he so much as looks at you in a way I find offensive. I’m taking him outside and feeding him to the snakes. *Follows Helena while still taking in everything about the labyrinthine depths of the pub.* Clearly Lilith enjoyed decorating this.
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Dio leans back, the gold trim of his vest catching the emerald light. In his hand, a crystal goblet swirls with the dark, viscous contents of his drink: Blood Moon Reverie. It has the consistency of heavy port, the deep crimson color of fresh life, and a complex aroma of exotic spices and metallic sharp notes. He takes a long, slow sip, closing his eyes in sheer, self-satisfied pleasure.
The loud, rhythmic hiss of a nearby patron ordering another round barely registers. Dio’s focus is singular: the stiff, radiating discomfort emanating from across the room.
He doesn’t need to look directly at him. He can feel the resentment hanging in the air like ozone before a storm.
[Dio] (He opens his eyes slowly, allowing a languid smile to spread across his face, not changing his posture or volume, knowing the acoustics of the beast pub will carry his voice just far enough.)
“Ahhh, Lilith truly does know how to craft a vintage. ‘Blood Moon Reverie.’ A glorious title for something so fundamentally pure. One must appreciate the artistry in perfection, Jotaro. It is wasted on those who prefer the simplicity of stale coffee and grim silence.”
He swirls the goblet again, the light catching the dark liquid in a mesmerizing dance.
[Jotaro] (Jotaro’s eyes remain fixed on Dio, the brim of his hat obscuring his face slightly. His posture is rigid, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. The only immediate response is a slight, audible shift in his weight against the pillar, like a predator adjusting its stance. His voice is a low, dangerous rumble.)
“…Shut up, Dio.”
[Dio] (Dio chuckles, a low, melodic sound that draws a curious glance from a nearby Gorgon.)
“Such vulgarity. Are you enjoying the atmosphere, Jotaro? I find the company tonight vibrant. The scales, the whispers, the sheer primal energy! It’s all rather intoxicating. Though I must admit, I am surprised to see you here. I had assumed this place was too… warm for such a dour individual. Perhaps you are here for the view?”
Dio raises the glass slightly, making a deliberate, ostentatious movement that signals exactly what he is looking at. His eyes drift past Jotaro’s position toward the mesmerizing figure on the central dais.
[Dio] “Yes. Goddess Helena is quite radiant tonight, wouldn’t you agree? A stunning specimen. I have the perfect vantage point from this booth. I can observe every magnificent detail without obstruction. A position one must earn, I suppose, not simply stumble upon.”
Dio takes another, longer drink. He is deliberately emphasizing the view he has—and the view Jotaro is guarding fiercely.
[Jotaro] (Jotaro finally moves. He doesn’t look at Dio, but his right hand slowly clenches within his pocket, straining the fabric of his coat. His voice is quieter now, barely above the low noise of the pub, filled with concentrated venom.)
“I’m here on invitation, not for your pathetic spectacle, vampire. Get out of my sight before I make a mess of your face that you won’t be able to clean up.”
[Lilith ] (Lilith, from behind the bar, doesn’t look up, but taps her long finger nails sharply on the bar. Her voice is a dry, sibilant command.) “No messes in Venom and Velvet! Or there will be venomous consequences.”
[Dio] (Dio waves a dismissive hand toward Jotaro, acknowledging Lilith with a slight incline of his head.
“See, Jotaro? Even Lilith agrees, this is not the place for you savage manners. Besides, I am enjoying my drink. And I do rather like the way your rage clashes with the smooth finish of this vintage.”
He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial tone of a man sharing an exquisite secret, even though their distance means he still has to project.
[Dio] “Tell me, Jotaro… does it truly burn you that even in a neutral zone, even when you have forced yourself into the presence of such beauty and refinement, I still manage to hold the superior position? The superior drink? The superior view? Yare Yare, indeed.”
Dio smiles, purely wide and cruel. He places the empty goblet on the small table beside him, signaling the end of the immediate interaction. He had achieved his goal: a moment of perfect, unassailable superiority and psychological torture, all while enjoying the finest blood wine the beast district had to offer.
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Jotaro’s breathing hitches. He hands Helena the platter he was holding. “Go stand with Noloty”. He takes a deep breathe. He doesn’t move his body for a moment, but the rage radiating off him instantly drops the room temperature by ten degrees.
Dio chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. “Ah, there it is. The animal beneath the high school boy façade. You want to strike me, don’t you? You want to turn this room into a bloody whirlwind. But you won’t. You’re too much of a good little soldier to disappoint your organizers, aren’t you? Too afraid of the cleaning bill.”
Jotaro slowly leans forward, his gaze fixed entirely on the polished table. He reaches up, his fingers gripping the rim of his signature cap, and pulls the brim down, obscuring his eyes in shadow.
The movement is heavy, loaded with menace.
“She said not to mess up the place,” Jotaro’s voice is a low rumble, devoid of inflection—the sound of a closing tomb.
He lifts his head, and the single eye visible beneath the cap’s shadow is burning with concentrated, blinding fury. Dio merely sneers, ready for the inevitable, restrained attack.
Then, Jotaro’s lips curl into a cold, predatory smirk—a look of calculated, terrifying ingenuity.
“She didn’t say I couldn’t pummel you outside.”
Jotaro summons Star Platinum in a flash of purple energy. Your Stand does not strike anything at the bar or the table; its immense, muscular hand shoots forward, grabbing Dio by the collar of his coat with bone-crushing force. With a massive rip that tears the fine fabric, Star Platinum drags Dio out of his chair and slams him toward the nearest exit door—a solid portal leading to the hotel’s the rear corridor eventual snake-filled courtyard. His intimidating prasence makes the snakes quickly slither away.
Dio’s shock of being physically manhandled, combined with the sudden, overwhelming power of Star Platinum, is jarring. He recovers quickly, yelling profanities a Jotaro, fueled by immortal ego and rage at this humiliation of being dragged unceremoniously through the dark floors of the courtyard.
The air hung thick and still, a cloying midnight perfume of damp earth and forgotten things. Cobblestones, slick with an unseen dew, offered little purchase as Jotaro, a titan of fury, landed another bone-jarring blow. Dio, his usually impeccably tailored suit now a ripped testament to the brawl, let out a choked, guttural cry that was more animal than man.
“ORAORAORAORA!” The relentless barrage of Star Platinum’s fists hammered into Dio’s already bruised and battered form. Each punch was a detonation, a symphony of impact that echoed off the shadowed walls of the deserted courtyard. Dio’s screams, at first defiant, had devolved into pathetic, pain-filled yelps, punctuated by ragged gasps for air.
He’d tried to summon his own strength, to weave his vampiric abilities into a defense, but Jotaro’s sheer, unadulterated rage was a force of nature. A searing pain shot through Dio’s side as Star Platinum’s knuckles met his ribs with a sickening crack. He crumpled, a pathetic heap of broken pride and agony on the cold stone. “G-gah! Stop… you brute!” he wheezed, his voice a strained rasp.
Jotaro’s eyes, blazing with a cold, hard fury, bore into Dio’s. There was no mercy in them, only the grim satisfaction of a hunter cornering its prey. He grabbed Dio by the tattered lapels, hauling him upright with a grunt. Dio’s legs, like overcooked noodles, threatened to buckle. He whimpered, a thin, reedy sound that belied his former arrogance.
“You thought you could escape after looking at Helena with your lewd eyes,” Jotaro growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with contained power. “You thought you would walk away from my rage.” Another punch, this one to Dio’s jaw, sent his head snapping back with a sickening thud. Dio’s teeth rattled, and a fresh wave of agony washed over him, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of blood.
“Nngh…! Please…! I… I can’t…” Dio’s pleas were a desperate, pathetic dance. He tried to push Jotaro away, his vampiric strength a mere whisper against the onslaught. His hands, usually so graceful, scrabbled at Jotaro’s jacket, seeking any purchase, any respite.
Jotaro stepped back, letting Dio sag once more. The vampiric villain coughed, a violent, wracking sound, and spat a glob of crimson onto the already stained cobblestones. His body was a symphony of pain, every movement a fresh torment. He curled in on himself, trying to shield his vital organs from the inevitable next assault. “Ahhh…! It burns…! My bones…!” he cried out, his voice cracking with a primal fear.
The moonlight, filtering through the oppressive darkness, cast long, distorted shadows, making the scene feel even more nightmarish. Dio, the immortal, the proud, was reduced to a whimpering, broken figure, his every breath a testament to the raw, unyielding power of Jotaro and the relentless fury of Star Platinum. The courtyard held its breath, witnessing the brutal, visceral thrashing of a god brought low.
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Holy hell! I just passed the courtyard and there was an ass whooping that even made me run into the pub and close the door! hahahaha
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*Amused* It just wouldn’t be a Halloween Party without some bloodcurling screams and merciful begging dropping into deaf ears. *He chuckles* Excellent even Lilith! And unintentional beat down in snakes lair is exactly what was needed.
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*Zehellenia threw the crisp pieces of sweet potatoes in the air, catching them in her mouth with ease. An amused smirk exposing a bit of her fangs as she chewed* Snacks and blood! I love it! But damn Lord Dio, such a shame! That was pathetic! I’m going to have to make you lick my boots for a week straight for loosing so shamefully! *Cruely teasing him as he lay on the floor and pushing her boot against his face.*
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The air still crackled with tension, faint embers of chaos dancing in the aftermath of the brawl. Lilith stood before the pub’s entrance, one hand resting lazily on the doorframe as the scent of smoke and spilled absinthe mingled with the hiss of her serpents. Their eyes gleamed through the dim light, fixed on the scene just beyond the threshold—where Lord Dio now lay among the shifting shadows near her lair of snakes.
She sighed, slow and deliberate, her lips curving into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.
“My, my…” she murmured, her voice smooth as aged wine yet carrying the weight of displeasure. “I warned them both not to turn my establishment into a spectacle, and yet—here we are. Jotaro’s fists clearly missed the memo.”
Her serpents hissed softly, sensing her irritation, though one seemed almost amused as Dio groaned in the distance. Lilith tilted her head, green eyes shimmering with mock sympathy.
“I truly was rooting for you, Lord Dio,” she said with a slow, serpentine smile. “But seeing you plummeted so close to my doorstep… well, I must admit, it does make for quite the tragic decor.”
With a flick of her wrist, she motioned toward the bartender.
“Bring a drink—and perhaps a shovel. I’d rather not have the snakes mistake him for an offering.”
Her gaze lingered a moment longer on Dio’s fallen form, her tone softening—just barely.
“Even kings fall, I suppose. But next time, do try not to land in my garden.”
With that, she turned back into the pub, the green and violet lights catching the curve of her smirk as the doors closed behind her. @blackmephy
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