Chapter Text
It must say something about her, Ronnie thought, that she was more comfortable under a hateful gaze than a loving one—to hate, to be hated, it was easier for her. An object of hatred needed no careful handling, no measured reactions; she needn’t agonize over how to respond to someone she hated, because their response hardly meant anything to Ronnie in the long run. Filtering herself was not an issue in these cases.
And so, without pause, Ronnie met Straits’ eyes and said, “ Good lord, you look worse under chandelier light. Does that Hamon of yours do nothing to make you less repulsive? ”
It was fortunate (for him, Ronnie noted) that he was holding Elizabeth upon hearing that. Straits seized up, tensing so abruptly that Ronnie could practically hear the sudden clenching of his muscles beneath his flesh.
“You dare—” Straits snapped his mouth shut before he could complete the thought, his teeth clicking.
Before she could stop herself, Ronnie grinned, fangs on full display. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize you had such a delicate ego. Why, if that’s all it takes to irk you, then it’s as fragile as thin ice. ”
A feverish flush spread over Straits’ face. He was clearly holding back, not wanting to startle the baby— good, for if he does, I’ll drain him here and now, Ronnie thought—but the sheer strain in his face proved that he desperately wanted to spew his own venom at her in retaliation.
Before she could make another snide comment, Erina patted at the back of Ronnie’s head, her eyes disapproving. “Ronnie dear, please. We have business with him. Play nice.”
Those eyes were like sharp fingernails tearing at her heart. And while the thought of Erina becoming so unhinged and feral that she would physically tear out Ronnie’s heart was surprisingly arousing, Ronnie couldn’t rightfully turn her down. Erina knew better, of course—her sensibility greatly compensated for Ronnie’s complete lack of self-restraint, at least in this regard.
“Mmgh,” Ronnie grit her teeth. “Very well. Though you’ll have to forgive me for being on edge. After all, this man has the means and motive to kill me where I stand.”
Erina placed a gentle hand on Ronnie’s cheek. “I’ve discussed it with him, he’s sworn that he will let you be.”
Oh, of course he has, Ronnie shifted her eyes back to Straits, who had yet to fully settle himself down. Anyone would swear their allegiance to you, my dear Erina. But the depth of that allegiance is hardly something one can trust implicitly…
“Might I ask what this business he has with us is?” Ronnie looked back to Erina. “Has he agreed to be our head butler, perhaps?”
From the corner of her eye, Ronnie could see Straits bristling further at the idea. She fought back a smirk.
“Oh no, nothing as such,” Erina answered her wholeheartedly. And then, with no idea just how much her next words would shake Ronnie, she added, “He has agreed to adopt Elizabeth.”
The words hung in the air like a pungent vapor, the gravity of their meaning seeping into Ronnie’s brain with agonizing sluggishness. Why the idea of Elizabeth being adopted into a different family didn’t occur to her, Ronnie had no clue; perhaps because it was an outcome that she was dead set against. It was supposed to be Ronnie, Erina, and their baby Elizabeth—that was the one thing she craved in her eternal un-life, and here it was being ripped away from her before she could even get a taste of such bliss.
From the corner of her vision, she could see Speedwagon wincing at how severe her expression must be. Ronnie felt her lower eyelid twitch. “Excuse me?”
Erina smiled, her brows worrying together as she watched Ronnie’s face—which Ronnie was certain looked quite a state, a cycle of anger and grief already flashing across it intermittently. Petting her cold, clammy cheek, Erina spoke to Ronnie in soothing tones, saying, “Dearest Ronnie, don’t fret so. Elizabeth will remain with us until she reaches her adolescence, and this is hardly goodbye to her—she is a Joestar at heart, wouldn’t you say? Sir Straits will not keep her from us, he has assured me of that.”
“But…” Ronnie croaked out, her throat constricting. Keep calm, Ronnie told herself. Erina need not see the ugliness brought about by her own anxiety—struggling to keep her voice level, Ronnie continued, “Erina, you were the one that endeared me to the idea of child-rearing. You cannot simply plant such an unnatural urge in me and then take away the child I want to raise, that’s too cruel. I will not be a good parent if I know that I cannot keep her.”
Impossibly, this seemed to make Erina’s smile grow warmer, her head tilting just so as her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Whoever said that we won’t still raise a child together?”
“You can’t possibly be suggesting we steal a different baby to raise alongside Elizabeth, Erina.”
“No, no, you silly girl,” Erina giggles. “I want you to raise my child with me.”
Ronnie blinked. “… your child?”
“My child,” Erina took a step back and rubbed a circle over her own stomach, smiling bashfully. “I think Jonathan would have wanted us both to watch over it. You’ll have to wait a bit, but I was hoping… that you would stay with me.”
Ah, of course, Ronnie felt her reproachful thoughts throttle her, the revelation hitting her in much the same way a rock fired from a catapult would collide with her midsection. Jonathan’s child. They… created one.
It shouldn’t have been as much of a shock to Ronnie as it was. Of course Erina and Jonathan would have copulated, they were a happily married couple after all. And given just how long they went without seeing or touching one another, of course they would make love as soon as their vows were taken. As soon as they had a moment alone together, high on marital bliss, they would have secreted themselves away from any and all prying eyes, hands intertwined and smiles beaming across their faces as they closed and locked the bedroom door behind them…
To feel jealous was nonsensical. To feel envious was perhaps more logical, but childish nonetheless. Ronnie hated that she felt so angry about the prospect of Erina bearing Jonathan’s child—for what could she have hoped for, otherwise? Ronnie could never give Erina a child, not in the way Jonathan could have. She knew that, and yet…
“Of course I will stay with you, Erina. If you would truly have me…”
And yet… why?
Ronnie forced a smile. She hoped that Erina, seeing such an ugly display, would merely assume that it was Ronnie’s poor attempt at a smile, and not the mask that it truly was. “I would want for nothing more.”
If Erina suspected that her smile was a false one, she did not show it. Ronnie knew better.
Ronnie miserably wondered, Why couldn’t it have been mine?
The chamber hidden beneath the grand stairway in the new Joestar mansion’s foyer was dark, deathly so. The only light that Ronnie had was her own, one of the few lanterns laid out for taking at the start of the long spiral staircase that led down to its secret basement.
Her part of the mansion, as it would turn out. The spiral staircase spins around a gondola in the middle, an ambitious elevator woven into this part of the mansion that very few would likely ever see. Ronnie opted for the stairs for her first time down, her heels clicking against the cast iron steps, echoing around the tight chamber.
The shadows cast against the wall morphed into a familiar silhouette, broad shoulders bent to curve against the stone. Ronnie grimaced to herself, “You’re going to be a father. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
Jonathan’s shadow shrugged sheepishly. “I was hoping that would be the case, yes…”
Ronnie wrinkled her nose, hefting her lantern up towards the shadow. It curls further around the wall, the shift in lighting causing its upper half to swell larger. “My god, Jojo, even in this, you’re sniveling. Can’t you at least sound a little more pleased with yourself?”
“Surely you know why I held myself back,” Jonathan said, an apology laden in his tone. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. With how you feel about Erina, I…”
Ronnie snorted. “I’m hardly a child, Jojo. How did you think I was going to react? Did you think I would throw a tantrum, burn the entire mansion down?”
“Actually, I thought that you were going to take it out on Speedwagon,” Jonathan admitted. “I was preparing myself for it, even.”
“Your faith in my self-control is so pitiful,” Ronnie let out a huff, tossing her head back. “I’ve been getting along with him famously, and you are still convinced that he is my biggest target.”
“I am sorry,” Jonathan said, not sounding sorry in the least. If anything, he sounded amused; if Ronnie could see his face, she’s certain that he would be sporting a weary smile. “To think I’d let my worries cloud my senses—you’ve matured so very much, Ronnie.”
As Ronnie reached the bottom of the chamber, she rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, curling her fingers around the curved pull handle set in the door. The heavy door slid across the stone floor, opening to Ronnie’s new living quarters with a modest flourish. Blowing out the candle in her lantern, Ronnie set it aside and felt her way through the dark, making her way inside.
Wrinkling her nose, Ronnie groped along the wall near the door. There was a switch somewhere, she recalled; Erina explained it as best as she could, repeating all of the instructions that she was given by the eccentric that designed the inner workings of the new Joestar mansion. Gas-powered lighting was no more, Erina had said, and the entire mansion had been subject to electrification, as the designer had put it. As such, the chandeliers in her chambers were all powered by electricity, and all she needed to do to turn them on was flick the switch on the wall.
The switch that she was still having trouble finding. What on earth was she supposed to be looking for, anyway? What was this switch supposed to feel like, and how would she know when she found it? Ronnie growled under her breath. At this rate, she’d rather just sit in pitch blackness.
Distantly, Ronnie heard the secret entrance above being opened. Hurried, scrambling footsteps scurry about in the upper chamber—initially, Ronnie assumed it was Speedwagon, but the weight of those footfalls weren’t quite right. Just as Ronnie began bemoaning the fact that she could recognize that man’s footsteps, the gondola above rattled to life, the sound growing louder and louder as it descended. A source of light gradually reaches the lower chamber, shadows curling around Ronnie’s back and leaking into her room.
“Oh, oh, thank the stars and heavens above!” an unfamiliar voice chirped as the gondola reached the ground, “I had thought, perhaps, that I was a smidgen too late in my arrival—oh but then, miracle of miracles, the lady of the house told me that you had only just retired to your basement quarters!”
Ronnie found herself bewildered, stunned still for the moment. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, Ronnie glanced back over her shoulder.
A frumpy-looking individual was fumbling with the door of the gondola, apparently not thinking to put the lantern down in order to speed up the process. Their glasses, clearly expensive, were sitting askew on their nose, dangerously close to falling off. Their entire ensemble looked pricey, but with how wrinkled and stained they appeared in the lamplight, Ronnie couldn’t tell where exactly this person would fall on the rich-to-poor scale.
“And… you are…?” Ronnie found the words difficult to get out for some reason or another. She had a vague feeling that this person was the eccentric that Erina had hired to construct the interior of the mansion—and with an entrance like that, the term ‘eccentric’ still felt too mild for them.
“Dusty—ah, that is, the name is Dusty Davies, madam!” the frumpy eccentric stumbles out of the gondola, fighting with their coat as it gets caught on the gate. “Please, just call me Dusty, no need for formalities! I’ve instructed the other lady of the house to do much the same, you see, and it would be rather odd to be called by my surname in these circumstances.”
Ronnie can feel her brows furrowing as this person draws closer to her, lantern held aloft. “I… suppose so, yes.”
Dusty, apparently having no sense, reaches over with their free hand and shakes Ronnie’s hand vigorously. Ronnie’s arm flaps about uselessly, too stunned to rip her hand away—and even when she regained her senses enough to do so, Dusty had already withdrawn their hand to comb it through their short but thick, mussy hair.
“Right-right,” Dusty breezed past Ronnie, and maddeningly enough, they find the switch that Ronnie had been searching for right away. The room lights up in an instant, the electrified chandeliers hanging from the ceiling lighting up so brightly that Ronnie had to squint her eyes against it. Dusty remained unaffected somehow, waltzing right into the room with a confident strut, “I expect you’ll be wanting a full tour of your new living quarters, Ronnie?”
Grimacing, Ronnie blinks rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the light. She took a step into the room, her heels clicking against the floor as she grumbled, “You aren’t giving me much of a choice in the matter, Mi—”
“Just Dusty, my dear! I already told you, no formalities!” Dusty spun on their heel and wagged their finger at Ronnie. “You really ought to clean those potatoes outta your ears!”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Ronnie huffed a sigh. She could feel a migraine coming on, and the fact that this person doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her was throwing Ronnie off quite a bit. Not even Ronnie’s scowl seemed to be affecting Dusty, a feat that very few can claim to.
“Fine, then. Dusty,” Ronnie said through gritted teeth. “Give me the damned tour so that you may leave my presence as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, yes, of course! A fine young lady such as yourself must have quite a lot of acclimating to do,” Dusty continuing to remain unfazed by Ronnie’s usual irritable demeanor wasn’t only maddening to experience; it was just shy of annoying, harmlessly annoying, and Ronnie found herself flabbergasted for the first time in years. She simply stood by, dumbfounded, as Dusty breezed straight into the front room. “And of course, if you need assistance with any of the little electrifying oddities I’ve squirreled away in here, why I would be more than happy to lend a hand! Though it may be a little, heheh, dusty!”
Erina, where in the hell did you find this… Dusty? Ronnie pinched at the bridge of her nose and trailed along after them, putting aside any instinct to just swat at the eccentric like they were just a bug and listening carefully as they laid out the setup for Ronnie’s underground quarters.
The layout was simple. The door opened to what would be Ronnie’s living quarters, a sitting room of sorts. It was equipped with arm chairs, sofas, and chaises spaced out at a relatively friendly distance from one another, perfect for entertaining guests ( what guests, Ronnie thought). Tea tables were placed thoughtfully among them, side tables with lamps set beside each arm chair. A mighty bookshelf lined the East wall, a writing desk set beside it. Spanning the floor beneath it all was a long, lavish rug, blood red in hue with branching black patterns woven into it.
A nd towards the North end of the room laid another bookshelf, but though it didn’t appear outwardly inconspicuous, Dusty leaned in to inform Ronnie that it was there solely to keep the emergency doors to the outside well-hidden. The doors themselves were well-padded, preventing any chance of a draft—and that the doors outside were practically invisible themselves, hidden beneath a coat of false grass.
There were three other rooms, aside from the main one. A small dining room ( meaningless ), a washroom with indoor plumbing and a drying rack for her laundry ( fine enough, if a bit excessive ) and a master bedroom for Ronnie herself ( too grandiose ).
“And not only that!” Dusty swung into the next statement with their entire body, thrusting themselves bodily into Ronnie’s personal space with a wagging finger. “I’m sure a keen eye like yours has noticed the communicators in each room!”
Ronnie leaned back and away from Dusty’s protruding finger. “Those box-things with the bells and wires on them?”
“Indeed! Communicators! Telephones, if you want to be shrewd,” Dusty waggled their eyebrows at Ronnie, who failed to understand what they were trying to get across. “They are connected throughout the mansion, granting you easy access to speak with any of the people in the house! Be it a servant you require for mending a button on your sleeve, or Erina for a bit of a chat while you’re both otherwise indisposed!”
“Indisposed—what is that supposed to mean?”
“It matters little!” Dusty evaded the question and remained impervious to Ronnie’s death glare. “It’s for your convenience, as well as they convenience of anyone who wishes to drop you a line before they simply come down to see you.”
“Drop me a…” Ronnie shook her head, deciding not to ponder on what ‘dropping a line’ entailed. Though she wanted nothing more than to urge Dusty to vacate her presence, there was one more thing that Ronnie needed to confirm. “And what of the extra… communicator? You said there was one for each room, but there are clearly two of them in this main hall.”
And it looked a bit different from the other phones, on top of that. While the telephones that connected her to the rest of the mansion were uniform in their design, this extra one was a bit boxier.
“Aha-ha, you have a keen eye, Ronnie!” Dusty swung into view, slapping the side of this odd-phone-out. “This beauty is for placing calls outside of the house!”
Ronnie found little need for such a thing. Who was she going to call? The only people that mattered to her were either dead or living in the same house as her. She knew no one else with these things, and even if she had, they wouldn’t be able to afford it.
(Though the idea of Speedwagon trying and failing to operate one of these things provided her with a brief moment of schadenfreude.)
“Though I must recommend you use this for emergencies only, as it’s still in the development stages. Right now, it’s best used for calling the coppers or the firehouse.”
“And why is it here if it’s for such a thing?” Ronnie bit out. She tilted her head to the side, sneering at the boxy monstrosity. “Would it not be better utilized if it were above ground?”
Dusty shook their head, smiling with what Ronnie could only perceive as pity. Ronnie set her jaw and crossed her arms, telling herself no, it would not do any good to kill this person right now. Dusty seemed none the wiser, “Why, where else would the people of the house go to if there was some sort of emergency? In the basement, of course!”
“Ah, so you’ve turned my chambers into a shelter.”
“Well, only when such a crisis arises. We’re in times of peace now, no? So you needn’t worry about being bothered!” Dusty bravely claps one of their hands on Ronnie’s shoulder. “Plus, your personal rooms all have locks and keys that only you have access to.”
Before Ronnie can sarcastically inquire about what keys might those be, Dusty thrust a ring of keys into Ronnie’s face. With slow, measured movements, Ronnie took the keys from them, taking a full step back and away from the frumpy eccentric to keep herself from ripping a hole through them.
“And that, as they say, is that!” Dusty perched their fists on their hips proudly. Blessedly, they spin on their heel and all but jog in the direction of the exit. Ronnie very nearly let herself sigh in relief, but before they leave, Dusty whipped their head around as they paused at the door. “Oh—before I forget, you can use that emergency phone to contact me, as well, in case something breaks down and you need a dashing genius to come and fix it right up, heheh.”
Ronnie wrinkled her nose at them. “A dashing genius. And where, exactly, would I find one? Do you know any?”
She intended the words to sting. To push this person away. But maddeningly, Dusty laughs like it’s the best joke they’ve heard in years. “You cut me to the quick, my dear! But I shall be waiting, should you ever need a helping, albeit dusty hand!”
Ronnie bit her tongue and waited until Dusty shut the door behind them. Waited until she could hear them ambling onto the gondola. Waited until the sound of the gondola ground to a stop at the top. And then, dropping the keys onto the nearest tea table, Ronnie put her face in her hands and let out an anguished groan.
“If I have to contend with one more goddamned moron today…” Ronnie growled to herself, all but collapsing into the arm chair that she had decided is hers, no matter who she brings down here to ‘entertain.’ It is the largest one, naturally, with velvet black upholstery and elegant silver stitching. It is soft, but not too soft; it is just firm enough to keep her from sinking into cozy oblivion.
And as she sat there, letting all the tension bleed from her body in one long, heavy sigh, Ronnie felt the aches and pains of her particularly long day throb deep throughout her body.
“To think I could still feel tired like this…” Ronnie lolled her head to the side, eyes sliding shut. “I suppose I am still human, in that way.”
Part of her wanted to hear a snide voice in her head, admonishing her for believing in something so sentimental. But there was nothing but empty silence, both inside and outside of her head.
It ached.
“Dio,” Ronnie covered her eyes with one hand. “What am I meant to do now…?”
No answer.
“It was never supposed to be this way,” Ronnie said. A sick feeling welled up in her throat. “I hate not having you here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
In the darkness beneath her eyelids, Ronnie can see him. Not as a disembodied head, nor as a vampire, nor as a man—but the young boy that was her brother, back before they left the slums. He stood before her with those same cold eyes, those calculating eyes.
“I was never meant to be born. You knew that, and I know that.”
The boy that was her brother knitted his brows, turned his nose up at her. As if he didn’t know that she was aware of that much—that her existence was a fluke. Thumbing at the pocket of his hand-me-down slacks, the boy that was her brother remained silent.
“And that I was born… it was only to be by your side.” Ronnie felt the warmth of tears burning the backs of her eyeballs. She grit her teeth against the urge to let them spill, forcing them back. “We were wretched things, ravenous crawling beasts that could never be domesticated. We never needed anything but one another… or, perhaps more accurately… I never needed anything other than you, at my side.”
As if to mock her, the boy that was her brother strode forward and sat up on the arm of her chair. He had his back resting against her shoulder, bearing down on her with all of his weight. One foot dangled, while the other remained perched on the chair’s side. Rude. Sloppy. He didn’t need to put on airs for her.
“And now, I…” Ronnie said. Her chest throbbed, searing pain filling in the gaps of her being, overriding the numbness she had forced upon herself. She felt her throat catch as she spoke further, hating how vulnerable she sounded, “I don’t have that. I don’t want anything else, but I cannot have what I truly want, not anymore. How can I go on like that?”
The boy that was her brother tilted his neck back, rested the back of his head atop hers. He remained silent, but somehow, Ronnie knew he had that self-assured smirk on his face.
It isn’t what she wanted. But even if he was silent, Dio was here with her. Some part of him was here, at her side. With tears rolling down her cheeks, Ronnie let herself smile, her hand curling into a tight grip against her face.
“I suppose I’ll always be that terrified little thing, won’t I?”