If this were a normal day, Nancy would have fired back to his commentary with some sort of smart assed wit. On normal days, she wasn't experiencing death and rebirth in a span of maybe five minutes so the most she got out was a muttered, forceful <i>'fuck you'</i> which, if she was being honest, was a pretty impressive feat. DIO probably didn't think so but she wasn't going to let him take that away from her because at the moment, everything else was stripped: her dignity, her humanity, her self control, her life. A smart ass comment was all she had to claim and she was going to hold onto it. With the pain of death having finally subsided and her mind adjusting to the overload of sensory input with a rapid speed she'd not have thought possible, the woman leaned her head forward again and ... and what? No deep inhale to fill her lungs and calm her pulse was needed because neither of those things were essential bodily functions for a corpse. Where the existence of a deep breath might have been before now, there was only habit and silence. It rang hollow to her for only the briefest of moments before her mind adjusted to that, too, as if it were simply the natural state of being, the way things were meant to be. Her nails dug inward and she found even them to be stronger, sharper, capable of easily piercing through flesh. That not a single person had called attention to the scene was a marvel: one husk on the ground with a smashed head underfoot, a giant of a man whose aura could cow most people to their knees, and a screaming, gore covered woman who had been dead for a moment and now had a hand between her legs as though this were <i>also</i> the natural course of things. It wasn't. Everything about this was unnatural, but DIO didn't pull his punches. His fingers brought her racing back to reality as they dipped beneath the fabric to find the smooth, damp folds of her sex. Of course she was smooth. This was the kind of woman who likely groomed herself nightly. What was surprising, for her at least, was the fact that she'd managed to grow wet during the entire exchange: through her own painful death. What part was it that had turned her on? Which moment of absolutely debauchery had aroused her? Was the the moment he'd forced her to swallow his essence with a kiss, or the moment her lips had wrapped around the wound on his hand? Maybe it was when she felt her life slipping from between her fingertips? Hunger clawed at her insides, potent and feral, unlike the simple panges of an empty belly. This sensation didn't have a word but if she'd been any good for putting pen to paper, she would have described it as the apex predator realizing that the world is their prey. Each person in here could easily have been a meal if she wanted. She felt it in her bones and in the ripple of muscles beneath flesh and it scared her for just a moment: how easy it would be to plunge her hand into one of these unsuspecting clubgoers and drain the life within seconds. "Mon Dieu, I--" His Stand didn't manifest but time did indeed stop. Pain didn't catch up right away. It was ethereal, an out of body experience as her confused gaze centered down on the hand and viscera that potruded with a comical sort of disconnect. The mind had to process what it was seeing before anything else reacted. It wasn't until that hand jerked back out of her core that some sort of reality slapped her across the face -- hard enough for her brain to grasp that she was staring at her own intestines. Pain was not a second later, but this too felt like it was being processed through a dense fog. Shock could do that to a person: leave them sitting there, watching in quiet awe as the vital organs of their body coil into themselves and began to suck back inward. Disgusting, it was disgusting. She'd been eviscerated without a second thought and by all rights should have died her second death then and there at the literal hand of her Lord yet all she could do was observe as her torso sucked her entrails back inside like some sort of greedy, messy child presented with a bowl of spaghetti. It didn't even hurt. The regeneration felt as natural as breathing once had, as if it were a process that had always existed as well and was vital for her continued unlife. Just like that, the only reminder of the deranged 'experiment' was the blood on the floor and soaking her ruined shirt that sat in tatters and clung awkwardly to her skin in places. As the world swam back into clarity, the pieces fell into place. DIO had sent his hand through her without a second thought. He could have killed her. He could have always killed her. Always, her life had sat squarely in his palm but never had that fact been more apparent than it was now as she mused over the snake like patterns left on the floor by her retreating organs. He could have killed her, but he only gave a sadistic example of what she had become. Nothing could have been a more potent example. Instinctively, Nancy's fingers glided across the spot on her belly where she'd only moments ago been penetrated. Not even a scar remained to tell the story: her flesh was soft and smooth as ever and the pain of the event had passed with such quickness that she had to wonder if she'd ever felt it at all. What she did feel was hunger. Freshly turned, freshly torn, it was only natural that the creature would feel the stirrings of bloodlust. And unlike the baser zombies that they could both now create, her moral compass still sat in place. It had never exactly pointed due north but now it strained harder than ever. Could she kill? Oh, she could. It would be easy. It would be effortless. But <i>could</i> she kill? In the lap of her Lord, she squirmed and turned her chin so that she could peer at him over her shoulder. That starving look gave a gauntness to her cheeks. Blood dried on her cheeks and lips but was never given the chance to crust and flake because she wiped it away and licked it up greedily. It tasted no better than it ever had. It didn't suddenly gain any sort of savory appeal. Her tastebuds hadn't magically decided it tasted like candy and rainbows: it was still coppery, bitter, lingering but it sang to a different part of her brain: the pleasure center. Electric currents that sent shockwaves through her. Her body followed the turn of her head with unnatural feline grace so that she sat sideways upon the lap of her creator and master and rubbed her tummy as though he'd only lightly flicked her. "That was rude," and what a wonderful set of first words that was. How very... her. Yet she was distracted again by a man who had wandered too close. She tracked him with her eyes and her body coiled as if to pounce, tight and ready to spring at the slightest motion. God, she was starving. Other people had always been prey in a sense but this was entirely different, as if there now existed a new chain in the ladder and she sat on the second rung, just below DIO but above all of these cretins that sullied what should have been an intimate motion. The man made distance. Gold eyes glided back to the stone cut face of DIO and that usual crooked half smile revealed a single fang that she wore like a dimple, a beauty mark. (Why do Jojo vampires have fangs we drink with our fingers) There was so much she wanted to say. All that came out was a coo. "I've never felt so alive." But no more stomach stabs, jackass. "I swear I can taste the dust in the air. It should be too much, mon Dieu. But I just feel... invincible."