CrimsonDynamic's profile picture. Tonight, there's gonna be trouble. Some of us won't survive. See, the boys and me mean business, busting out dead or alive. [JJBA OC. Art Credit to Siirakannu]

Theo Callos

@CrimsonDynamic

Tonight, there's gonna be trouble. Some of us won't survive. See, the boys and me mean business, busting out dead or alive. [JJBA OC. Art Credit to Siirakannu]

"Ah. But enough thought. I have . . . invitations to write . . . ."


"Hrm. Italy. How long has it been since I saw you last?" Humming softly as he watches the ocean waves.


He holds up a flask full of dark red fluid. "Hrm. The first Joestar, but not dead. An unfinished work is still disgusting . . ."


"Ah. So this is the power of the Joestar bloodline. How wonderful."


"DIO. You didn't want me near their residence, but I hope you don't mind a few letters sent. After all, a new piece requires an exhibition."


"Ah. How to draw the Joestars out to me? Well, I suppose the simple way is to invite them. Hrm. Yes. That should be simple enough."


"This commission is troublesome, but my muse is singing to me. I need their blood."


He hums to himself, his canvas dripping red as the waves wash against his ship. The passengers groan softly, holes dripping crimson.


Theo Callos reposted

The empty boat docks, the woman hopping off onto the wooden pier. Where was she today? She didn't care.


"Hrm. This comission . . . How should I start? Perhaps from oldest to youngest? Or the other way?"


"Hrm. Switchblade. Bowie knife. Stiletto. How fun. How fun."


"Mhrm. Yes. Perhaps . . ."


He pauses for a moment. ". . . . Did I hear beetle brownies?"


What has this man drawn? A large landscape drawing of the entire city, drawn only in wonderful shades of red and pink.


"Finally. The picture is done."


"Hrm." He wipes a streak of red . . . paint? off his cheek, eyes half lidded in irritation. "How troublesome."


A sudden blaring of the T.V. caught his attention. A warning set out for an escaped Serial Killer. A man only know as The Red Painter.


"Hrm . . . I need more materials . . ."


". . . . . . ." Slowly closes his windows as he feels the noise is about to get much more loud.


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