Chapter Text
The westward sun bathed the orange city of Cairo in flaming hues of red and orange burning over the horizon. Marketsellers hastily packed their daily stalls away much to the dislike of last-minute hagglers and small children. Indistinguishable chatter filled the crammed town, and feet dusted the sandy stone underfoot.
Yet the town held a tangible undertone of mystery and trouble amiss that sunset. A city of secrets and hidden powers that hid behind the hustle and bustle of the crowds.
In the midst of it all stood a tall older man; his greying hair half concealed under a tan, wide-brimmed felt hat; handsome teal eyes scanning his surroundings. The hard lines on his face and the curiosity in his eye told a thousand stories across the globe, far and wide. He stood out in the crowd as a man of pale skin and muscular stature despite his age.
Locals pushed and hurried past him, chasing their own lives in rapid Arabic, but Joseph stood tall in it all as if he had stopped time itself. In his hand was a small grainy photograph. The back view of a muscular torso and a flash of blonde hair belonging to a man glinted back at him. But what stood out the most was the enigmatic purple birthmark on the man’s left trapezius.
“Dio, huh. You’ve brought me a whole lotta goddamn questions…” He muttered gruffly to the photo. A faint smirk then dusted his lips - a sparkle of his adventurous and arrogant youth.
Joseph Joestar was here in Egypt for answers only. He hadn’t told Suzie why he was here; merely a ‘business trip’; what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. His thoughts drifted to her and he smiled faintly at the thought of his oblivious wife. Once this was all cleared up, he would head back to her in New York.
He was pulled from his thoughts suddenly as a low hum from a small bazaar emitted in the distance. The place seemed to be slowly clearing for the day, as the rest of the town, but held a desolate allure. A sign dangled dangerously from high up that stated in Arabic what Joseph guessed to be ‘Khan El-Khalili’. What he first noticed was the huge red tent planted in the heart of the bazaar. The vibrancy and sheer distinction of the tent caught his eye, and he found himself immediately attracted to it. The tent was a deep crimson and was formed of layers of silk. A cloth draped over the mostly shut entrance. He couldn’t explain it - but he felt as if this conspicuous tent held the answers to the haunting photograph he held.
Before he knew it his feet were moving under him, slowly but surely towards the silk red. The low hum reached his ears louder now: a strong voice of smooth Arabic as if they were announcing a revelation.
Joseph was now beside the curtain of the tent. Wanting to stay covert yet witnessing, he peeked through a gap in the silk and took in the sight before him.
The inside of the tent looked deceptively huge; a dim place lit with jasmine-induced candles, and old bronze chalets and trinkets littering every dark corner. The burn of incense wafted through the silk. A small sleeping Boston Terrier was curled on a rug in the corner.
But Joestar’s curiosity paid little attention to that. No; his attention was entirely on the tall man stood in the centre of the room, barefoot on a wide Persian rug.
A fortune teller of wide silk robes and fluttering tassels stood in front of two ordinary tourists who were seated obediently cross-legged before him. The man was undoubtedly alluring; with sharp olive eyes and dark skin the shade of rich chocolate. Gold jewelry adorned him from head to toe, yet the man didn’t seem to be the typical narcissistic rich man. His black hair resembled subtle bantu knots decorated with a white headband that half-covered facial scars of a thousand tales.
What stood out to Joseph the most was the aura surrounding the man in a fiery flame. For a second, Joseph stared with a million questions behind his eyes. The violent, circling flames reminded him almost of his own Hamon.
Inexplicably Joseph felt as if this man was like him.
He shrunk back a little into his hiding spot as the fortune teller then produced a card from air.
“Your tarot;..Death.” He bellowed in perfect English. The two seated tourists gasped simultaneously.
“…Death?” The woman whispered in anticipation.
The robed man smiled. He held the card to the flame’s light and studied it. The jockeyed skeleton on the surface stared back at him.
“Do not fear, friends.” The teller said a little more gently, yet still like a powerful incantation. “My tarot is not always direct.”
He continued with that same effortless grace that commanded the tent’s attention. “The tarot of Death means one chapter in your lives is ending…and another arises. It may be a new place, journey, or…relationship.”
The couple glanced at each other for a second as if their views on the other shifted. The teller smiled.
A moment paused before he swayed the tail of his robe, turning his side to them as if to clear up today’s reading. The tourists stood, paid him a silver coin and thanked him quietly.
Joseph hopped backwards swiftly as he watched the couple rise and approach the entrance: his hiding place.
Shit. Don’t want them to know I’m snooping.
Luckily the couple seemed too deep in thought about their new revelation to notice the suspicious New Yorkian too interested in assessing the structure of the tent, and left the bazaar.
He breathed a sigh of relief then resumed in his peering. He wanted - no, needed - to know what the story was behind this man’s flame. He wanted to know why he felt such a supernatural draw towards him.
His eyes widened.
In the tent wasn’t just the robed man. Now, there was a large, red, bird-like humanoid right beside him. Its upper body was strongly built and covered in flaming feathers the colour of the man’s aura.
The man didn’t seem to pay attention to it, neither did the dog, much to Joseph’s confusion, as he packed away his tarot cards into a golden pocket.
A beat passed - then the man spoke calmly yet commanding with his gaze still on the cards in his hands.
“I know you are there, traveller.”
Joseph’s whole body tensed. How had he seen him?
He cleared his throat, regaining confidence, and stepped into the entrance of the tent, revealing himself to the man. He continued to stare at the bird companion stood tall.
The robed man continued. “I can tell you are like me, friend.”
There was a moment of silence before Joseph spoke defensively.
“Are you a Hamon user?”
“What is ‘Hamon’?”
Joseph paused - this man was not deceiving him. If he wasn’t a Hamon user, then what the Hell was this supernatural attraction? And who is the bird?
Joseph found his voice and took another step further into the crimson pavilion. His steely eyes fixated on the bird.
“Just what in the hell is that?” He exclaimed finally, as if he had seen a statue in a museum move. Joseph wasn’t sure if this man was friend or foe; he had had a lifetime of encountering powerful enemies after all. This could be another trap for all he knew…he prayed this man wasn’t another bloody vampire.
The younger man frowned.
“So you can see my stand. You are a Stand user.” He stated simply.
“What?”
The man smiled knowingly. For all he knew, Joseph was oblivious about the whole world.
“A Stand is a manifestation of the soul,” he announced, “Your ability, your…spirit. You can clearly see my Magician’s Red, can’t you?”
Joseph now looked perplexed.
“And I know you have a Stand too.”
Joseph wanted to scoff, to tell the man he’s some scamming fortune reader and be on his way. But his thoughts caught on a branch of wonders - how much did this teller know about him? What were these powers? And most of all, was he one of Dio’s minions? He studied the other man for a moment, a million questions still running through his mind. The biggest one stood out: “Who are you?”
“My name…Muhammad Avdol.” The man spoke after a pause; his voice low and clear. “I’ve had my Stand my whole life…it is my strength and pride.”
Avdol’s gaze drifted to the dusk clouding in the post-sunset sky through the tent’s open entrance. His own Stand started to fade into nothingness as an animal would return to a natural habitat. Joseph watched the spectacle like an amazed infant.
“I didn’t think there was another like myself.” He said wistfully.
Joseph was still standing there with an untrusting awkwardness; yet a sparkle of curiosity for the younger man.
A sudden spark of his signature devil-may-care attitude reignited like Advol’s flames and he smirked.
“A fortune teller, huh? Does this mean your…powers allow you to make money?” His faint wrinkles smoothed at the thought he too could make a profit of this so called ‘Stand’.
Muhammad sighed in amusement at the fact that that was the other man’s first thought. He decided to ignore his question for now.
“What brings you to Egypt, friend…?”
Joseph’s back straightened. “Call me Joseph. Joseph Joestar. The reason why I’m here…well, it’s goddamn complicated. A man…named Dio.”
———————
The Egyptian sun had now been swallowed by the night. A chorus of crickets chirped disrupting the otherwise silent night.
Joseph had finally seated himself at Avdol’s small table. Avdol then sat across from him at the teller’s seat, casually avoiding jostling the sleeping dog. Joseph looked down at the small animal.
“Let me guess, you’re going to tell me this little guy’s got powers too?” He deadpanned, eyeing the dog with a raised eyebrow. He was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Stands - and if this whole thing was linked back to this mysterious Dio Brando. He believed fully well that his Hamon had been acting strange lately; as if an irresistible force was changing his abilities as he knew it.
He was yet to figure out what.
Avdol lit the group of candles that perched between them. His face was still calm as ever, which half infuriated Joseph, half drew him in.
“This is Iggy. Yes, he is also a Stand user. But that is a story for later.”
Avdol was then moving to the china set at a grand oak chest of drawers with a grace only a confident fortune teller possessed. He poured two dainty cups of pre-stirred hibiscus tea from a flowered teapot. He didn’t offer - he gave.
“You speak of a man named Dio? Who lived just under a century ago?” He asked as he placed the fragile cup gently in front of where Joseph lounged.
Joseph nodded, revealing a folded photograph from his beige shirt’s front pocket. He placed it on the table, positioning it for Muhammad’s eyes.
“This man possessed the body of my grandfather after his death. Because of this…something…something I can’t explain has passed down the bloodline. I came here to Cairo to discover what.”
There was a beat of silence as Avdol processed this information. The man was ever calm, ever level-headed, as if no words frightened him. Joseph told himself he loathed it.
A small smile graced his full lips, like he had the answers to all queries.
“Like I have told you, Mr. Joestar. You have a Stand yet to discover. I know it.”