Despite everything, Dio's lips manage to stay tightly pursed throughout the entirety of Speedwagon's dialogue, watching him with increasing intensity instead with every word left to hang in the air. He tries to hold himself as someone whose feelings aren't easily hurt, so he elects to keep his potential outcries of defiance to himself because they're just words, Dio, why are you letting them get to you? Why did he even bother trying to comfort these two? Since when have they ever been on good terms? Why did he even try to care!?
And yet he can't bring himself to raise his head to meet their eyes again.
"...I hate that I have to look at your stupid face," he mutters, his fingers gripping the side of the couch, "with a frown that reaches the floor on what should be one of the happiest days of your l̢̰̤͉̝͚i̸̮̖̜͈f̗͚̻̕e̛̯̠͓̖. I hate that the͕ ̰̼͓̞̜̞h̘̖̟͉ap̭͚͖̙͇̳ͅp̛͈͕̳̠͍i͎̳͓̫ͅe̻̺̮̘͓͔̮s̡̘̫̫̪̩t͔̲̻ ̲̬͍d̸͉͕̱̣̼a͓̱̳̝y̨̹͙͉̮̩̹̯ ̥͉͈̱̦of̡̝̯̭ ̼̲̺͕ỵ͇͔̺o̷̲̥͖̖ur life has to be muddled with͖̰̞͕̬̼ ͍̥̪͎̼̪o̳̞͚n͚̯̭̳͈͉e̗͖͈͔͍͇ ̭̲̦̥ọ̫̟̀f̛̙̲͍ t̹̩h͓̩͎̕e̺ ̪̲̠w͘o͙̘r͚̭̪̞̮̟͙st, and I ha̳t̡̺̣̼̯̜ḙ̺̬͚̜ ̷̥͙̹̣th̯̝̳͚̮̭͞a̱t͈͖͔͇̥̻ ̙͢i҉͖̹̯ṭ̯̥̲̖ ̰̱͞ͅh̰͍̖͚̠a̞͔̝͡s͍̼̬̻ ҉̺̜͔̫̣t̵̠͎̟̪͓o͖̞͇̱̖̱ ̸̤̱͖̯̝b҉e͔̘͔͕̥̯ ̗t͙͠h͞ͅạ̺̬̭̰̪̪̀t̰̞̪ ͈̩͕͎̱ͅwa̗y̶̝̦͔ͅ ̴͖̺̗̼̮f͍͓̲̥o̰̝͈̜̲̩r ̶̷̼̣͙̩̞̮̠̺ͅh͕͕͖̺e͢҉̘ŗ҉͕͓̻ t̡̯̞̰o̢͡͏̫͍͉̱ͅó̱̪̠̭͈̙̬͞ ̡̪̺̭͈͙͔̦̖̀̕a̢̧̤͍̬͚̱͠n̡͜͏̜͕̯͚d̹͖͢ ҉͚̱̠͖f̖̝͚̻͟͜͝ǫ̶̠͢r̷̨̝͔ ̹͢ę̢̩̙̰͍̙͕̹̳́v̨̢͍̙͎͞ͅe̷̡̮͕͖̞͟r̢͎̰͎͉̺͎̞̻͞͝y̲̖̰̞̹̳̙͟ơ͇͍̦̰̟͙̭͈ne else! I hatę̷̢͚̯͍͔̖ ̵̡̪̝͈̱̯̀t̘͈̖͇̫͈̙h̛҉͈̘͎̪͓̯ͅa̼͙̪͚̠̜t͓̩́ ͚̬ỵ̘̬̕o͚̤̬̱͘u̯͇̮̕ ͏̟̟͘c̤̮̟̤̘̘̙a̸̲̩͔ń̹͍̰̲̪͇̬ͅ'͚̥̼̞͢t̟̜͓̤ ̬͈̩͚͕̬́a̧̻̺͓̯͉̯̫͘͞ͅͅp̷͖̮̲͢p̨̤̮̰̗̭͝ŕ̹͈͉̭͔͖͔͎͘e̶͍̘̤͎͘c̳̯̼͖͢i̧̺̗̪̝͉͕a̱͙̮̜̤̖t̠̻̯̫̩̞ͅȩ̢̥̻͕́ ̵̢̬i͈̣̱̥͘͜t̻̣͇̼!̸̴̡̗͎̞ ͉̼I͜҉͚̬̺̝̻͓ͅͅ ̹͚͠h̜̠̤͙̪á҉҉̬̘̻̰t̖͈̻̪̯̣̜̬͓͟e̘͎̹̹͟͝ ̡̜̮͚t͚̠̞̼͞ḩ̣̪̘͉a͘҉̖t̶̛̥̝̪̝̘̩̯̀ ̫͕͕̮̪̦͔̖͜y̧͓͓̰̟̥͖̺̱ò̵͇̳u̶͍̗̦̘̠̤͕͡ͅ ̖̘̞̬̱͔̖n̡͕͜e̝̺̮̠ͅv͖̣̗̪͘e͏̳̗̪̺̻̱̣r̨̡̠͕͈̞̖̫͔͜ ̬̯͍͔͟f̧̨͎̱̭̗̣̣̮͇̞͜u̖̺͔̪̲c̛͟҉̝͕͕͇̫ḱ̛̦̝̫͍̼̻̯ͅi̥͉͉͔͍͟ͅn̵҉̵͎̗̱̬̟̠̟̼̺g͈̬͇̘͓̳̱̞̕͢ ̶̭̯̤͖̼w̛̝̻̭̼̲͍͇̳͕̠͎͠ͅi̷҉̺̻͉͟͞l̶̸͟͟͏̙̦̤̜͍̞̪̝͉̬̮̼̞͙͚l̵̢̨͈̖̹̲̱̖̲̭̟̞ͅ!̡̱̬͚̘̗͎̼͓̱̝̙̯͕͎̩̣̝͝"
But not for lack of trying, nor for lack of assumed ability. For a moment he'd had the audacity to be happy for Jonathan's marriage-
He'll go now. The point of his visit had escaped him anyway. They can yell at him later on the network or fight him in the street if they need that extra catharsis; he's not helping anyone by staying here.
no subject
And yet he can't bring himself to raise his head to meet their eyes again.
"...I hate that I have to look at your stupid face," he mutters, his fingers gripping the side of the couch, "with a frown that reaches the floor on what should be one of the happiest days of your l̢̰̤͉̝͚i̸̮̖̜͈f̗͚̻̕e̛̯̠͓̖. I hate that the͕ ̰̼͓̞̜̞h̘̖̟͉ap̭͚͖̙͇̳ͅp̛͈͕̳̠͍i͎̳͓̫ͅe̻̺̮̘͓͔̮s̡̘̫̫̪̩t͔̲̻ ̲̬͍d̸͉͕̱̣̼a͓̱̳̝y̨̹͙͉̮̩̹̯ ̥͉͈̱̦of̡̝̯̭ ̼̲̺͕ỵ͇͔̺o̷̲̥͖̖ur life has to be muddled with͖̰̞͕̬̼ ͍̥̪͎̼̪o̳̞͚n͚̯̭̳͈͉e̗͖͈͔͍͇ ̭̲̦̥ọ̫̟̀f̛̙̲͍ t̹̩h͓̩͎̕e̺ ̪̲̠w͘o͙̘r͚̭̪̞̮̟͙st, and I ha̳t̡̺̣̼̯̜ḙ̺̬͚̜ ̷̥͙̹̣th̯̝̳͚̮̭͞a̱t͈͖͔͇̥̻ ̙͢i҉͖̹̯ṭ̯̥̲̖ ̰̱͞ͅh̰͍̖͚̠a̞͔̝͡s͍̼̬̻ ҉̺̜͔̫̣t̵̠͎̟̪͓o͖̞͇̱̖̱ ̸̤̱͖̯̝b҉e͔̘͔͕̥̯ ̗t͙͠h͞ͅạ̺̬̭̰̪̪̀t̰̞̪ ͈̩͕͎̱ͅwa̗y̶̝̦͔ͅ ̴͖̺̗̼̮f͍͓̲̥o̰̝͈̜̲̩r ̶̷̼̣͙̩̞̮̠̺ͅh͕͕͖̺e͢҉̘ŗ҉͕͓̻ t̡̯̞̰o̢͡͏̫͍͉̱ͅó̱̪̠̭͈̙̬͞ ̡̪̺̭͈͙͔̦̖̀̕a̢̧̤͍̬͚̱͠n̡͜͏̜͕̯͚d̹͖͢ ҉͚̱̠͖f̖̝͚̻͟͜͝ǫ̶̠͢r̷̨̝͔ ̹͢ę̢̩̙̰͍̙͕̹̳́v̨̢͍̙͎͞ͅe̷̡̮͕͖̞͟r̢͎̰͎͉̺͎̞̻͞͝y̲̖̰̞̹̳̙͟ơ͇͍̦̰̟͙̭͈ne else! I hatę̷̢͚̯͍͔̖ ̵̡̪̝͈̱̯̀t̘͈̖͇̫͈̙h̛҉͈̘͎̪͓̯ͅa̼͙̪͚̠̜t͓̩́ ͚̬ỵ̘̬̕o͚̤̬̱͘u̯͇̮̕ ͏̟̟͘c̤̮̟̤̘̘̙a̸̲̩͔ń̹͍̰̲̪͇̬ͅ'͚̥̼̞͢t̟̜͓̤ ̬͈̩͚͕̬́a̧̻̺͓̯͉̯̫͘͞ͅͅp̷͖̮̲͢p̨̤̮̰̗̭͝ŕ̹͈͉̭͔͖͔͎͘e̶͍̘̤͎͘c̳̯̼͖͢i̧̺̗̪̝͉͕a̱͙̮̜̤̖t̠̻̯̫̩̞ͅȩ̢̥̻͕́ ̵̢̬i͈̣̱̥͘͜t̻̣͇̼!̸̴̡̗͎̞ ͉̼I͜҉͚̬̺̝̻͓ͅͅ ̹͚͠h̜̠̤͙̪á҉҉̬̘̻̰t̖͈̻̪̯̣̜̬͓͟e̘͎̹̹͟͝ ̡̜̮͚t͚̠̞̼͞ḩ̣̪̘͉a͘҉̖t̶̛̥̝̪̝̘̩̯̀ ̫͕͕̮̪̦͔̖͜y̧͓͓̰̟̥͖̺̱ò̵͇̳u̶͍̗̦̘̠̤͕͡ͅ ̖̘̞̬̱͔̖n̡͕͜e̝̺̮̠ͅv͖̣̗̪͘e͏̳̗̪̺̻̱̣r̨̡̠͕͈̞̖̫͔͜ ̬̯͍͔͟f̧̨͎̱̭̗̣̣̮͇̞͜u̖̺͔̪̲c̛͟҉̝͕͕͇̫ḱ̛̦̝̫͍̼̻̯ͅi̥͉͉͔͍͟ͅn̵҉̵͎̗̱̬̟̠̟̼̺g͈̬͇̘͓̳̱̞̕͢ ̶̭̯̤͖̼w̛̝̻̭̼̲͍͇̳͕̠͎͠ͅi̷҉̺̻͉͟͞l̶̸͟͟͏̙̦̤̜͍̞̪̝͉̬̮̼̞͙͚l̵̢̨͈̖̹̲̱̖̲̭̟̞ͅ!̡̱̬͚̘̗͎̼͓̱̝̙̯͕͎̩̣̝͝"
But not for lack of trying, nor for lack of assumed ability. For a moment he'd had the audacity to be happy for Jonathan's marriage-
"I̦͉͎̼̤͇̖̞̣̲͕̺̟̘̭͚͘̕ ̢̧̞̰͇͝ͅh̵̺̲̟̺̀a̧̯͎̟͓͓̯̙̦t̶̨̢̹͈͓̮̗̼̭̖̙̩͚̝̤̮͉͖̲̘̀e̸̸̢̯͎̳͚̻̟͉̣͇̻̹̱̪̖̭͜͜ ̸͖̠̩͎̗̬͍͙̝̟͈̜̖̞̩̣͖̣͇́͘t̻̩̱͚̭̬̻̀͞͞ͅh̦̗͎̩̀͞a̡̰̫̖̼̗͘t̨͚̫̦̩̠̹̟̣͡ ͇̬͍͙̦͇̹́̕į̵̫̙̼̫͓͙̫̠̮̹̬͟t҉̶̱͙͓͕͇͍̰̲͎͕̝͉͙ͅ'̴̞̱͎͖̲̣̩̻̫͈͕̬͟ͅs͏̤̰̱͜ͅ-̕͞͏̵̧̬̞̞͔̙̫͚̭̠̫-̱̻̼͖̫̫͙̲̘̲̣͎̮͎͕͢͟͜ͅ"
-and so baffled that it would go without even a small gesture of remembrance-
"T̷̨̛͓͇̞͎͉̀h̢͙̞̰̼̗̼̹̙̘͍̮͕̞͍̘͢a̡̡̨̦̝̥͖̳͟t̴̸̴͚̹̪̤̻̩̬͇̱̞̗̗̗̞̪͍͇͘ ҉̹̺͍̤̠̯̥͉̱̼i̵̗͚̰̣̯͇͉͖̼̱̖͎͠͞t̴̷̥̩̜̲̩̦̟͔̼̖͚̝̟̬̬̪̘͜'̲͚̙͢͡͞s̴̡̢̨̺͇̯̦̭ ̛̫̗̝̬̲̥͙͙̟̻͝͡ḁ̶̡̭̗̠͔͈̣̮͈͇͕̭̫̮͉̯͈͡ͅl̷̵̟̘̘̥̤͉̥̮̥̠̼̘̟̪̪̪͠l̛҉̴͈͎̞̦̝͓̯̜̺͖͔͎̩̫̠̙͝͝ͅ.̢̧̢̳̦̙̥̻̝͚͔͕͚̬̟͉̘̱̖͜.̵̨̨̪̪̮̣̰̯͡.̧͏͏̭͚̘̻̫̭͓̥͓̮͖̯̜͍̦̣͉̫͘͡ͅ"
-that he'd forgotten the reason it was all cut so short was because...
".͟͞҉̗̤̙̯.̗̼̲̜̣͓̬̯̞̣̰̭͡.̶͇͚̦̯̰̞̰̼͝
".̧̢̛́.̴̢͘͟͡.̵̛͡͡i͠ ͏̸́h̕҉́a̢҉̴t̵̕͟e͢͜͝͞ ̸͢͞t̡҉̨̧͘h̵̛͘á̸t̨̀͞ ̶̨͏̵ỳ̧͘͝ó̧̡ư̷̶̶r̡͠ę̀ ̴̀r͝͡͞i̷̸͠͞ǵ͜h́͘͝t̷̵.̶̀"
He'll go now. The point of his visit had escaped him anyway. They can yell at him later on the network or fight him in the street if they need that extra catharsis; he's not helping anyone by staying here.
He certainly didn't help anyone before.