Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the plot. That's why I'm poor.
The loud crash coming from the front door of the shop he called home jerked Dante awake from a particularly entertaining dream he was having – it involved Dimebag Darrell, a lawnmower and lots of fire. He made no move to indicate being awoken though; he stayed as still as he possibly could, not removing the magazine he had left open on his face.
"Fucking piece of shit!" someone yelled from across him, followed by another crashing sound, that of iron hitting the floorboards.
He heard another huff and tried to keep his breathing as even and relaxed as possible.
"Oh, cut it out – I know you're awake," snapped the person, as Dante sighed irritably while removing the magazine from his face.
So much for relaxation.
"The hell happened to you?" asked the red clad hunter tiredly, eyeing the blonde demoness who was looking very, very pissed off about something.
"This fucking – whatever the hell this is," she yelled, pointing at the discarded weapon on the floor. It was a familiar looking scythe, colored electric blue and still crackling with demonic lightning.
"Not only does it not want to work for me, it fucking sabotaged me!" Trish continued, jabbing another accusing finger at the weapon.
"Sabotage?"
A rather prominent vein popped from the blonde's forehead. "You know that guy who was going to pay us a hundred grand for getting rid of those Blades hanging out by his vineyard? He's only paying us fifty."
"Huh? Why?"
"Cause when I tried to shake his hand, this piece of shit," she roared, throwing the discarded scythe a heated glare, "decided to shock the living fuck outta him."
One silver eyebrow raised, Dante stood from his desk and walked over to his still fuming partner and the large scythe still lying motionless on the ground.
"Nevan, you wanna explain this?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest. "That was a pretty big client we just almost lost."
A few crackles of energy emanated from the supernatural blade, getting stronger and louder, before completely obscuring the view of the slaying implement entirely from view. A cloud of purple smoke covered the immediate vicinity, but Dante could already make out the familiar shapely silhouette from behind the purple plume. The squeaking of what was sure to be a hundred or so bats rang throughout the shop.
The red haired succubus crossed her arms beneath her rather large breasts, which were completely bare except for her long crimson locks that covered the necessary areas. She heaved a frustrated sigh.
"Sorry about that, Sugar, " she cooed, sidling over to Dante, clad in nothing but the bats that served to cover her lower half like a living skirt. "Blondie here just doesn't use me the way you used to."
The succubus laid one delicate hand on Dante's forearm as she gave him a sly wink.
"You never play with me anymore," she pouted at the silver haired man, who smiled back.
"Yeah babe, sorry 'bout that..." he began, until he heard.....was that a growl coming from Trish?
"Play? You are a Devil Arm. You are meant to serve your wielder with utmost loyalty!", seethed the blonde demon, glaring heatedly at the succubus.
Nevan grinned cattily, one fang visibly protruding from her lips.
"And so I will, if he'd just let me come out and play once in a while" , she purred, trailing one finger across Dante's chest.
Trish scoffed and stalked off. "You two are impossible."
"What'd I do?" asked Dante dumbfounded, ignoring Nevan's increasing advances. "Look, babe, Trish is my partner. You can't do stuff like that; she's putting her trust in you when she uses you in battle."
"I know, I know, Sugar. It's just that..." she said, sounding quite contrite before catching herself.
She had been about to let slip some potentially awkwardness-inducing things she found out about her recent wielder, like the way the blonde seemed intent to prove herself to Dante, or the way she had tried to emulate Dante's fighting style the best she could, or the way her energy fluctuated wildly when she began putting the moves on Dante.
It was a pity really; as unimaginably powerful of a devil he was, the boy (he still was just that, compared to her and her full blooded compatriots anyway) was still a human being and boy, did they grow fast. Forgot about things easily, changed their feelings in a snap and outgrew stuff just like that.
It might have been a long time for him, but a decade was as fleeting as a second for her. She could still remember the soft caress of his rough hands around her as he created beautiful melodies from her in her other form. She could feel the adrenaline from his veins flowing into her own as the jagged guitar riffs flew from his fingers, not at all paying attention to the demonic hordes about to try and slaughter him.
It was a distinct honour for her to fight alongside him but surprisingly, she felt more alive when he played with her outside of battle. He would put on the jukebox and played his heart out along with the music, pretending the demonic skulls nailed to the wall were the faces of admiring fans.
She was a succubus, and it was in her nature to seduce men (and women, on more than one occasion) out of their secrets but she had needed no seduction to get a few from him.
He had admitted, offhandedly a while back, that he would've liked to have been a musician, one of those heavy metal-rock 'n roll types.
She asked, a little jokingly, if she could come along for the ride if it ever happened. His eyes, so full of life and optimism back then, shone at her.
"Count on it."
As loathed as she was to admit it, he had outgrown her, in more ways than one. His eyes, while maintaining their youthful fire, had lost something.
Maybe now, the demonic skulls were just skulls.
And she....well, she was just a Devil Arm.
And she would continue to serve him loyally, even if he would never again used her the way he used to.
"I'm sorry, Sugar. I'll be good next time," she replied, moving away from Dante and bowing with a flourish. Another crackle of electricity emanated from her and the familiar glowing scythe took the place of the succubus.
"Atta girl. Hey, Nevan?"
"Mmm-hmm?" she murmured, using telepathy to communicated whilst in her weapon form.
"You like Jimi Hendrix?" he asked, strumming the first few bars of 'Foxy Lady'.
"I like it when you play it", she replied with a contented sigh.
It didn't change anything. She was still just a Devil Arm and he would continue to deny himself his dreams just so everyone else could have theirs.
But for one moment, it was just him, her and the music.
A/N: Yeah, you know when you get a sudden hit of inspiration but it has nothing to do with any of your previous fics? ^_^;; Ehehehe, just a small break from writing the final chapter of 'Hermetica'. As with my pen-name, I do love playing the guitar, with Darrel 'Dimebag' Lance Abbott of Pantera and Jimi Hendrix being only two of my favourite guitar players.
I'm actually thinking about doing another chapter, but I'll try and get the epilogue of 'Hermetica' first :D Read and review guys!