Silver pelt, Silver tongue

Of Course Dio would act cocky. But Rubber had an Idea to wipe that cockiness right out of the damn dog. He started to arch his neck out more to give the werewolf more to lick if he wanted as he put the most pitiful face he had, arms spread out, slowly looking up at the beast like a goat in a wolf’s den.  

Golden eyes scanned him and for a moment the snarl on his face relaxed, but soon enough, his lips peeled back again to put them back on show.

"Do you think I respond well to begging?"

His claws curl tighter, yet take care not to nick his flesh. 

"I am not your 'Lord Dio'."

"Oh playing Pop Up Werewolf huh? That’s fine…That just fine…THAT’S JUST FINE~!” He said out loud as Yellow Temperance started to appear oozing out of his body onto the forest floor. Moving slowly but ready to struck. The look on Rubber Soul face twisted up enjoying the thought of hunting his food and fur.

"I fucking love it when they hide! Oh here boy! Here boy Come on out!" He shouted as he let Temperance’s Tentacles go flying into the shrubbery and trees destroying and eating anything it found. 

Rubber knew if he made it out alive he would have to tell his grandmother the little thing about werewolves changing without a full moon. But he remember one thing one little thing that kept him alive all these years.

One thing that could save him…His Stand and his mouth. He started to undo his tie and shirt with a grin.

It doesn't take much goading for a beast driven by instinct to charge. Of course, a lower werewolf turned by him and under his will would be bound by the phases of the moon, he himself could change at will, providing the night sky was upon him.

The cracking of bones signals a transformation, his features warping and distending until they were more animal than man. His ears elongated to match his face, his bones giving way and reshaping to allow for a larger body. It becomes clear why he wears such loose pants and nothing else, which would have surely ripped off by now.

He bares his newly formed teeth and rears onto his hind legs, his voice coming in a distorted growl.

"I didn't want anything from a mongrel. You spoke to me first, I was simply out hunting for myself and my brother. Unfortunately he frowns upon human meat, otherwise I would have already mauled you."

He regresses, returning to a somewhat more normal state of appearance.

"No, I am not."

Considering how antsy he became, having to relocate recently not helping with his nerves, his legs have already cracked into a more digitigrade appearance, lacking more than a thin dusting of fur, his nails formed into claws. Rubber may even catch a hint of the tail held ridged and alert behind him.

He arched a bit so he could watch the so called Dio circle him like the wolves upon a goat back in Romania but Rubber didn’t fear him that much he could easily stop the other in their tracks if they try to pull something. So he watched back keeping calm head.

His growl continues, and the hairs, almost a fine silver fur on his back and neck stand on end.

"I did nothing. You seem familiar with the vampire my other selves are. I do not fall under their blood sucking order."

"Yet again, a man who recognizes me that I hold no familiarity for. Interesting. However."

A taloned hand reaches for his throat, twisting to press the points of each claw upwards under his chin.

"Pay check? You must be mistaken. I have never seen you before in my life."

His eyes narrow at the mention of 'Joestar'.

"The only 'Joestar' I know is my brother.I have no intentions of harming my own brother."

He paces, standing on the balls of his feet, slightly hunched down while circling him.

"Are you a hunter? Are there others?"

{{No matter how many other selves Dio had met, none of them had ever, ever done something as powerfully dramatic as taking on such a form. If it was meant to take his breath away, it certainly did so—much against his will. Though his teeth clenched, in a sort of reflection of the beast in front of him, his feet moved further back, putting much needed distance between him and his other.

"To say you have been unscathed from contact with a supernatural beast is insulting to the breed."

He growls, taking a few menacing steps forwards. Despite his size, the graceful stride remained, the wispy longer fur of a short tail sways slowly behind him, a wag of irritation rather than happiness.

"To coin a popular phrase of the humans, know your place and who the 'top dog' is."

He's somewhat wary of his alternate, but never for a second lets his commanding facade break down. He knows silver weapons were readily available when he was this man's age. Carrying a small knife for self defense was never out of the question, either. He couldn't afford to be reckless with Jonathan waiting for him and counting on him.

To avoid drawing any more attention, the wolf form fades, fur molting to the floor before simply seeming to turn to dust as if it was never there in the first place. It becomes obvious his loose choice of clothing and lack of shirt are due to these 'shifts'.

【 ✮ 】— « Or maybe I’m just a young adult who loves admiring the stars when the burden on his shoulders became too heavy for him to stand. » there was no sarcasm or some sort of hate in his voice —on the contrary, it was a calm and almost lulling tune, filled with the charisma typical of a wise, clever leader.

"I am well aware of who you are, boy. While you have no ties to me personally."

He leaves his statement open, strutting closer with all the confidence of a man with little to nothing to fear. 

"A predator has nothing to fear from a street full of livestock."

He chimes, almost musically, gesturing his hand outwards to the few people still awake at this hour. 

He had been informed before by another boy of his physical description would be a 'future child' of his. While it makes his lip quirk with curiosity, he doesn't introduce himself as such.

"My reasons are not for you to know," he offers in dry response to his question. Vanilla’s previously cold eyes flash with anger, however, at the other’s next words. 

"What exactly are you implying," he nearly growls. "If it’s that I am something other than human, I am afraid you’re grossly mistaken."

How dare he… how dare he. Vanilla takes a few steps towards the man, faint hints of malice beginning to bleed into the air about him.

Showing his irritation at the other man getting too close to his personal space, he leans forwards, puffing smoke into his face, avoiding quirking his lip in annoyance when it would almost certainly put predatory fangs on display.

"You can never be too careful. Considering how you seem to be getting all too close, why should I trust your words?"

He cants his head to the side, glaring at him through the haze of blue smoke. 

"Everybody knows the legends. Everyone also knows that those inhuman shapeshifters are also long ran out."

He has to bite his tongue, he would prefer a peaceful evening, rather than a fight. Best to try and send the stranger on his way. 

"What business do I have telling my name to someone who appears to be threatening me? I should be asking for your name to report you to the authorities for harassment."

Ah. There. He’s found what he was looking for- the sudden beginning of a “new” set of tracks in the mud. Human.

Vanilla crouches to examine them. They appear to belong to someone of above average height and weight. Though sketchy, the information he’s received about Dio thus far paints him as a tall, muscular man, with a head of the silver hair so typical of werewolf kind. Vanilla’s jaw sets… These tracks could easily belong to such a man. Again, Vanilla rises to follow the trail.

Several minutes pass and he comes upon a home. There’s a figure standing outside- tall, and apparently male. Vanilla pauses to observe him from a distance, noting that he is curiously inactive, almost as though waiting for someone, or perhaps simply standing guard. When the other spots him and nods, Vanilla makes the decision to approach. It is confident and direct.

"…Good evening," he says when he’s within earshot. His voice and expression are cold, no attempt being made whatsoever at feigning friendliness. "Can you tell me the way back to town from here?"

Now that he’s this close, it’s unmistakably obvious, even at night. That silver hair.

"Good evening... Town, you say? Simply take the road on wards, then right when it branches. Being outside so late... why might that be?"

A smoking pipe, by scent it's flavoured smoke and not tobacco, is raised to his lips, he expels curiously blue smoke after taking a short puff, the pipe soon resting back by his side. He has no interest in attacking, clearly. Although he does take note of the man's hair colour... one of his kind, perhaps?

"You are aware of the legends, correct?"

He muses to himself, looking no where in particular.

"A young man like yourself with white hair... a wonder you have not been shot on sight."