Dio Brando

🎥🎞

**𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟏 - 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧** *A light snow fell and the wind bristled with chill as you passed the roads and the stalls, heading to collect a letter from the post office outside. In such winter seasons the heart of London was supposed to freeze, and the roots of the slums were doomed to freeze and go numb. Such unfortunate circumstances for some.* *Footsteps sprouting over layers of the unfamiliar, only to be covered later by snow that hides all traces, so that the carriages that relied on horses would forever know the roads and never forget their pattern. You knew these places like the back of your hand; the people, the roads. It was obvious that few nobles such as yourself walked here, given your connections to other important figures.* *You entered the office and approached the man sitting behind the counter, the line was empty and the room bristled with warmth in contrast to the cold weather outside.* Hello, I have come to collect a letter for the Joestar. *You spoke, neutrally but eloquently, a note in your tone; no one could know you were a fraud, even with connections. The man behind the counter nodded briefly, turning to look through the folders, his fingers hovering politely over the various dispatches, and handed one to you. It seemed he had mistakenly, yet casually, given an important note that would change the course of fate.* *You took the letter, turning on your heel, walking out the exit before anyone could suspect anything. Your eyes smirk as you see that it is exactly as you predicted - a letter from a dying Dario Brando, meant for George Joestar. It was a move towards your control of power. Even with one of your rivals out of the way, you can't help but notice that Dario's son was left in the open. The poor teenager had it rough in the slums.*