Tomato chic doesn't work for everyone, doll. Looking at her was something of an assault on the retina. Yourself included. Maybe if there was a way to turn down the contrast on her she would resemble strawberries and cream rather less. Needless to say -- or she did feel the need to say it, but maybe not until she knew exactly who she was dealing with -- Livia did not do colours that were quite that bright. There was no need for it unless you were afraid of getting lost in the dark. And in those circumstances, red was still the wrong colour. No, she had no qualms at all about pulling apart anything about a family member, right down to the literal sense. Why should she? They had placed themselves in the same godforsaken arena as everyone else did the moment they drew attention to themselves and she couldn't care less if they had only done so because someone more important than them had told them they had to. Oh god, it was curtsying. She didn't give a fuck if that was mockery -- if you were going to fake that kind of courtesy you did it right. "Of course you are." Did she sound convincing? She damn well hoped not. The part of toll collecting she fucking hated was the part where she was expected to do what she was told, when she was told, even if they hadn't told her yet. Like not telling her a brat would be dropping by for a heart to heart.
Cocking her head ever so slightly, she looked this Ladonna DiRo-something over once more. Though she wasn't pleased with what she had already been told and gestured to an area that became decidedly emptier after she snapped her fingers at the little breathing irritations taking it up, angling her thumb over her shoulder. It was difficult for her not to allow her face to break into an outright smirk, though. She had been a toll collector before she chose to retire; this was a polite warning. As polite as a Styx warning was ever likely to become from anyone with a spine, at any rate. Welcome, potential fuck-up. That is the chopping block. Let us introduce you to your executioner. You know -- just in case. Because she'd do more than just remove a few fangs if a Styx fucked up in her neighbourhood. "The name means nothing," she informed her, straight off the bat. "But as a label, it works." Somewhere in Livia's mind it had just been written on a post-it and stuck to a polaroid. "And how, exactly, would you consider yourself to be of use? Think before you answer this one; it's not a pissing contest."