Winter

conceptofzero:

“What’s winter in Cairo like?” Pucci’s voice has a different timber and tone over the phone, and a mild hum under his words, an electronic reminder of the distance between them. And yet, DIO must marvel at the changes that have been made. Long ago, lifetimes ago, DIO discarded his humanity without a moment of hesitation. Now he finds himself reliant on their inventions, which have only become more marvelous during the years spent in agony beneath the waves. When he was Pucci’s age, it would have taken months for letters to reach him.

Now Pucci speaks to him from a phone in his bedroom, the miracle of instantaneous electronic communication utterly wasted on him. Such is the arrogance of youth. In time, Pucci will learn to temper his sly looks and sharp barbs, and will gain an appreciation for his world.

For now, the simulacrum of his voice buzzes in DIO ’s ear. “Does it rain?”

“Yes. It’s been raining on and off for two days.” It’s dark and DIO ’s thrown his windows open, letting the scent of fresh rain roll into the mansion. It’s wonderful. He can taste it in the air. “I expect it’s the same for you.”

“It always pours during November. We’re north enough that we get snow sometimes, usually when we’re into January.” DIO can picture Pucci in his mind’s eye, sitting by his own window with the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, staring out at the setting sun. “I was reading that there are parts of Egypt that haven’t been snowed on in nearly a hundred years.”

“So I’ve been told.” Cairo is nothing like England. It rains so rarely, except for winter, and it never snows. He doesn’t miss England. It sometime seems like someone else’s memories when he thinks about them. He has so little in common with that Dio. He had that same youthful arrogance, so sure that the world would yield to his ever demand and desire, and that what it would not give, he could easily take by force.

Water cools even the hottest of iron. DIO was tempered, and now he can scarcely remember how it felt anymore to be on fire, and to be so full of rage.

He extends a hand out the window, feeling the rain drop on his skin. The water runs down his fingers, and DIO rubs them together. Every day, his control grows stronger. Soon, it will be his entirely. He wants to share it with Pucci.

“When will you return to Cairo?” DIO asks. Pucci laughs softly on the other end of the line. “I want to show you the rain.”

“I want to see it with you. And soon. Very soon. I’ll let you know the dates, as soon as they’re confirmed.” DIO can hear the mirth in Pucci’s voice. He can easily picture that sly smile on his face, and the way it turns into something more genuine, more eager. “You should come to Florida in the summer. We didn’t get a chance to go night swimming.”

“Next year.” DIO promises. He’s looking forward to it. Once this business with the Joestars has been ended forever, DIO will be free to travel once more. He’ll see Florida in summer once more. And perhaps, he will see it in spring as well. A surprise, for Pucci. A reward, for one so faithful and devoted as him.