It's nearly been 10 weeks since the you-know-who squad had joined the hellscape that is the casino, and they'd barely even made a dent in their embarrassingly high debt.
At the very least, everyone had finally gotten their definite job, save for Pucci and Doppio. It wasn't that they weren't good at what they did, as they were frighteningly skilled at their respective jobs, it was more so that it was subject to change. Such is the privilege of hard workers like them.
Kars, when he found himself especially bored, would often think back to the file he saw the night he snuck into his managers office. The assistant role, or something like that, was more than likely still vacant.
He couldn't help but feel that those two, who showed the most tenacity and enthusiasm for their work, were being considered.
That aside, he should probably focus more on the fact that his once marveled powers had long diminished, and that you were likely to blame.
It was only after he'd step foot into the casino that he felt himself become smaller, not in size or pride, but as though he had immediately lost all defense he had. The strange, unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability that overcame him in a cold wave wouldn't seem to leave no matter how he tried to shake it off.
The rest of the staff looked to be in no different of a condition. Dio was far more irritable, Kira became quiet, (at least more quiet than before), Doppio started getting surprised by every little thing, and even cool-headed Pucci was seen... Well, losing his cool.
That led to the same curious question every seemed to have but no one bothered to express. What happened to their abilities?
Many looked to you as a prime suspect, as it was unclear just what sort of power you possessed, if any at all, and whether or not it was you that was directly affecting the rest of them.
During their lengthy stay at the casino, the debtors had a vague idea of what everyone was capable of doing outside of their little clique. Vendetta was the only outsider, including yourself, that they knew little to nothing about.
So naturally, a plan had to be made. They'd have to play detective once again to figure out jut who was behind the absence of their stands and what not, and just who would go and look for the answer.
"You can count me out." A voice rose among the chatter. All eyes turned to look at Pucci. "I'm not interested in whatever it is you're doing."
"Why not? We know you're in the same trouble as us, no point in not trying to fix it." Kars said, turning his palms up.
"I actually don't have the same problem you all have. I'm content with whatever Mx. (Y/n) has planned, and I'm sure that when the time comes, they'll trust us enough to give us what we've lost back."
"I doubt it," Kira added. "We've been here long enough to know how fine cut they are; a single thing out of line would mean our heads. They'd like to keep the chances of chaos an absolute zero, and the best way to ensure that is to take away all power from us however they can."
"While that explanation would be enough, I'm more curious as to how they do it. There's no such thing as an anti-matter in terms of stand neutralization. This building isn't made of something that can nullify our abilities. There's something else to it."
For once, something half-smart actually managed to leave Doppios mouth, and for a second he felt quite proud of himself-- until all of the others' talk managed to excel his own.
In the end of the squandering, of which was mostly between Diego and Valentine as it normally was, it was decided that one person would go pick around in Vendettas office, and the other would look through your own. It just came down to who would do it.
Kars wouldn't go on the premise that he had already went before, alongside Kira, who also denied the opportunity for a second snooping. Doppio also refused, as the last thing he wanted to do was anger you again.
After all, the things you do to Dio when he pisses you off aren't pretty.
However, when Valentine suggested he go check your room, he was shot down despite his generous volunteering. "You wouldn't get shit done before you'd get caught," Diavolo mocked.
In the end, the weight of the mission was shouldered onto Diavolo and Diego, the earlier in charge of your room, with the latter handling Vendettas.
The moment Diavolo went into your room, something told him his fate was sealed. The tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall foretold his nearing doom, but his hands couldn't help but scour along the endless papers on your crescent desk, and flip through the files in your drawers.
There was not a single thing about you in any of those files he'd managed to peek inside, though then again, why would your own personal belongings reside among others, easily capable of being lost or mixed up?
That was what prompted him to check your bedroom, unnerving as the thought was. Some large spare room off to the side in your office had been renovated into a basic bedroom, with only a medium closet, a tabletop, a vanity, small bathroom, and large bed.
Everything was neat and tidy, not that he'd expect less from an uptight prick like yourself, and began to wonder where he'd check first. Being a master hider himself, he instantly began to check all the places on might stick said documents out of sight.
While it was common knowledge you had a house of your own, off in some richer, posh area of the country, it would be stupid to leave such important things behind, and you were not stupid.
The box inside your closet, the bin beneath your bed, the underside of your table and on the backside of the headboard. Nothing was in any of those places, and all too quickly, he began to get anxious.
Get out, get out. The voice in his head seemed to echo the speech of another, a plead, a warning. Get out of that room.
But to look a little longer surely wouldn't do any harm, he assured himself, thin fingers nimbly flipping past paper after paper. Give it some time, and he'll find it. Everything always works out for him, because he was Diavolo, and Diavolo always got what he wants.
There was a buzz in his pocket, a single message it seemed, he had gotten from someone downstairs. He already knew who it was, and what it meant.
"Oh, dear. Who do we have here?"
Time was up.
"A roach in my clean office, getting his dirty hands all over my neat things."
He barely had the strength to look up. You were standing right behind him, shadow cascading unto his body in a thick blanket of malice. He could feel it, that impeding power that would make any ill-protected person tremble; and with he himself being as vulnerable as he was, he could only be twice as frightened.
"What a curious thing, aren't you? Haven't you got something to say for yourself?" The conceited smile you had could be clearly heard in your smooth voice, he didn't have to even look at your face to know it was there. "Go on. Speak."
Diavolo swallowed dryly. "I was impatient. With my power gone, I'm just like the plebes playing downstairs, practically throwing their money just to earn a little more. I don't want to be like them, and neither do the others."
"And what did you think you would accomplish by coming up here and going through my things?"
"I was sure I would find a way to get them back."
"Oh, but my dear, wouldn't that only complicate things more? You all would make such a mess, and I hate messes."
"If we only had them back, then maybe we would be more compliant with your demanding work, feeling less like worker ants and more like the people we were before." Diavolo spat.
"That is what you do not understand, Solido, that is something you and the others just can't seem to grasp." You tutted, pinching his collar and leading him to his feet. "Pucci and Doppio already have their stands back."
In the slightest of ways, though in a way that left his surprise unconcealed, his face would shift. His hideous green eyes grew wide, and his teeth ground shut, as his eyebrows knit together in a perfectly plucked furrow.
"Do you know why that is, dear?" You hummed.
"Because they agreed to be your lapdogs--"
"Because they behave, Diavolo. I have no doubt that their returned powers will cause some trouble, but its a well deserved reward for their lovely obedience."
"And when the rest of you--" Your voice had considerably rose, head somewhat turned towards the door. "--Decide to accept your circumstances, only then will I allow you to have that portion of yourselves again. This time, and this time only, I'm letting you off with a warning. I expect you to have learned your lesson from this little... Mistake."
It was humiliating, being held by his collar like a stupid puppy, being scolded like he knew no better than a child. If only he had the guts to actually say something, some snarky comment, though he knew if he did he'd face the same fate Dio often did.
Not only that, but if he just submitted for a little while, played along like the mindless worker he was, apparently, supposed to be, he could get his power back, and maybe even escape the casino. No, he would definitely escape this place. Any longer here and he'd likely go mad.
"Yes, Mx. (Y/n). It won't happen again." Diavolo may have let his head hang to the ground, but that was no act of submission. If anything, it was to hide his scowl most definitely aimed at you.
"Now, that's a good boy! Go on, get back to work. We can discuss the possibility of you having your stand returned at the end of your shift, if you'd like."
All his ill hatred toward you seemed to dwindle somewhat at the mention of such possibility. Not that he didn't despise you still, to some degree, it was only that even after what he did you still managed to put some part of him at ease. Perhaps that was the part of him that was scared he wouldn't get what he wanted. Maybe it wasn't.
Of course, he knew he still wouldn't get what he wanted so easily. There would be no returning of King Crimson anytime soon, that was for sure, but at least there could be some compromise made.
There was a bit of admiration he held in the fact that while you didn't bend to the unwavering will of his desire, the undeniable fact that he would always get what he desired, you still entertained him with the thought.
He was escorted to the door swiftly, and as he walked along with you nearly right by his side, something odd began to happen.
It was maddening, a voice, not his own, invading his conscious and overriding his thoughts with a single phrase, drilling its words into his mind like a prayer.
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
Who said that?
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
But he doesn't like it here. He can't wait to get his hands on some lighter fluid and a-
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
Sure, the other guys aren't too bad to be around when they're sober, but he doesn't want to stay! Especially with that prick, AKA you, sticking around! That would be the last thing he would ever-
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
There's not much he can even go back to if he were to leave the casino, it's not like he has someone waiting for him. But he still didn't want to stay, let alone play nice-
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
...Now that he thought about it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Free food whenever, a nice place to stay, decent people to drink with...
You will behave. You will enjoy it here.
Give it time, he said to himself, and maybe he could tolerate the casino to some extent. Eventually.
His strides stop abruptly. His fingers that were barely grazing along the intricate doorknob you had oh-so specially made had halted, and he finds that his heart had forgotten to beat, once, twice, three times. Again, that feeling of danger arose, though not nearly as unnoticeable as before.
Sweat began to bead just above his brow, his nerves shot electricity through his body and left him in a shaking worry. Not a single soul he'd ever come across could have ever spun him in such a spell, and he didn't know if he liked the thrill, or despised its feeling.
Diavolo could feel it digging into his back, raking its nasty claws just along his spine in a teasing manner, a hungry cat playing with a cowardly mouse. That anxious state of his only allowed for one cognitive action to come to fruition. Turn around.
And he did, slowly, tentatively, so that he might have the chance to resume staring at the door if he didn't like what he saw, or better, changed his mind.
What he turned around to was just what he expected, and just a bit more. His own eyes, a variation perhaps, stared right back into him, a fiery green alight with a conquerors gaze, and it made him crumble. Had he been a man of weaker constitution, he would've fallen to his knees, in worship, in fear.
You look upon him, sitting in an almost too perfect posture atop the chair that might as well have been a throne, and you let your eyes wrinkle in delight as a wicked smile curls beneath them.
"Is something the matter?"
He goes to answer, but something stops him. His tongue doesn't dare lift from the bottom of his jaw, his lips let not a single breath past.
A power hungry man finds all he could hold greed for sitting right in an ordinary office.
And he thinks to himself, for the fun of it, he will behave. He will enjoy it here.