Mission 1: Speak
"So… Beatrice 'Ice' Difolco. Looks like you're set for the job."
"Um, Mr. Fredi, it's Bice. With a B," she added delicately. "Anyway, thank you, sir. Where should I start?"
Mr. Fredi peered at Bice over his wire-rimmed glasses, meticulously scrutinizing the mere slip of a girl. She smiled sheepishly and ran her hand through her long hair, sweeping it into a most unprofessional dark mess. Wayward fronds stuck up at all angles, like a crown, at the top of her head, and she endeavored to push them down with a slim, restless forefinger.
"Bice, then! My apologies!" exclaimed Mr. Fredi with a jovial laugh. The salt-and-pepper bristles of his moustache twitched slightly every time he opened his mouth. "Well, let me bring you out to the front. I'll show you the ropes."
"Alright," said Bice, unable to suppress a smile. She had taken quite a shine to Mr. Fredi, starting right at the moment she walked into his café to apply for a job. He was certainly very amiable, middle-age with hewn features and an avuncular manner reminiscent of her father, who managed a pizza joint in her youth. She was glad to be serving and delivering her preferred comfort food once again at Mr. Fredi's establishment, redolent with the homely scent of old-fashioned herbs and ingredients. It reminded her of childhood.
She tailed closely behind Mr. Fredi, moving from the back office to the front. The hem of her lacy black skirt brushed up against the doorframe, and she found herself fidgeting, pulling absentmindedly at a loose thread in the trim. Maybe she was just the slightest bit nervous, seeing as she was fresh out of college and still seeking out a more proper means of living. However, of all the odd jobs that she had taken. Mr. Fredi's assigned uniform was among her favorites. The only requirement he had stipulated was to wear a standard red and black jacket, just to distinguish his workers from those of the competition at Pizza-1. It was form-fitting a comfortable, although the two bright and dark colors almost seemed to blanch her lightly bronzed complexion, as she observed in the freezer's reflective metallic surface.
"First thing, before you start delivering," explained Mr. Fredi, "is to know where the strawberry sundaes here. We've got a regular who gives us good business, buys tons of pizza and ice cream. It's all he eats. We really don't want to lose him to anyone else."
"Pizza and ice cream, huh?" mused Bice. "Aww, he sounds like a little kid. I like that. So, what's his name? I'll be sure to treat him well…"
The little bell set over the front door, designed to alert interior servers should anyone cross the threshold, chased away the quiet's sanctity with its dissonant jingle-jangle. Its din at once set Bice's nerves on fire in responsive and tumultuous vibration. Work was about to begin.
She lifted her dark eyes, slowly, and locked her gaze with that of the single most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes were like blue, glacial lakes, glassy and knowing, silent as an unstrung harp. He exuded an alluring, mysterious, almost ethereal presence, with his rugged good looks and apparently bleached silver hair, which fell neatly to the length of his chin. Bice entertained the odd thought that his fringe, falling carelessly across his brow, obscured his vision as he blindly threw himself into a stool at the counter, the red leather cloth of his long-coat splaying out as he did so. He set his elbows on the surface, nonchalantly, and a maddening blush began to suffuse Bice's cheeks in a fitful tide of progress. The muscular contours of his chest rippled beneath their covering of a simple black top, and Bice had to steal her glance away to avoid further embarrassment. Her whole soul wavered, shook like a wind-swept leaf, at the mere sight of him.
"Speak of the devil," said Mr. Fredi. "Here he is. Dante."
"Dante," she whispered, thoughtfully, rolling his name on her tongue like a marble.
A crooked grin quirked the handsome man's lips. "So, you're the new girl. It's a pleasure. Your name is…?"
She was melting at the sound of his husky, fascinating voice, so deeply entranced that the words barely registered against the pounding of her heart. Focus, she thought to herself, because there was no time to be a superficial, lovesick fool. "I-I'm Ice. I mean, Bice, sorry. It's Bice."
"Bice. Cute," Dante commented, still maintaining that irresistible smile. "Say, Bice, do you mind grabbing me a strawberry sundae? I'd really appreciate that."
"Of course!" she said. It would be a miracle had her expression not betrayed her excitement.
"I'll leave you to that," said Mr. Fredi. He sauntered off into his office, presumably to file away papers and take care of business—or leave Bice alone with Dante. She didn't know.
"Strawberry sundaes, huh?" Bice asked, retrieving Dante's order from the freezer.
"Hey, a guy's gotta eat."
She regarded the sundae with a sort of nostalgic fondness. The strawberries, ripe and red and bursting with succulent juices, perched atop a generous helping of vanilla ice cream reminded her strongly of home, of that little ice cream parlor at the corner of Montvale and Main. It was like taking a walk down memory lane.
"I'll have to steal one sometime, try it for myself."
"Heh. Don't get yourself caught, but it's worth it," said Dante.
He reached for it, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and knocked it cleanly from Bice's unsteady hand. Fruit and cream went flying through the air, almost in slow motion, as the glass clattered down to earth with a profound, dull thud.
She couldn't help but let a laugh bubble up from her throat. She ran a small hand down the front of her jacket, smearing the ice cream over the material's red and black expanse.
"I-I'm sorry 'bout that!" Dante said, rising abruptly from his seat.
Bice giggled again and waved him off dismissively. "Don't worry. No need for that. Jacket saved me." She shook her head in mock rebuke and plucked a strawberry from the crimson folds of her uniform before popping it discreetly into her mouth.
Dante leaned over the counter, napkin in hand, and dabbed gingerly at the creamy mess cascading down her front. Bice could feel warmth pervade her entire face when he smiled up at her.
"Th-thank you," she managed.
"It's no problem, compared to what I did…"
"At least I'll smell nice now."
Her hand found his, swaddled in the leather material of one fingerless glove, and guided him to a mass amount of ice cream situated at her neckline. His skin was velvety to the touch, and, for a moment, the only thing she could see and feel was him.
"What was that?" demanded Mr. Fredi's gruff shout from the office. He dashed into the open and watched, with a look of utter incredulity plastered on his countenance, as Dante helped Bice cleaned the strawberry sundae off her outfit.
"What happened?" he finally asked, able to make himself sound moderately serious.
"That was my fault, completely," answered Dante, backing away and rising to his full height. It was almost unbelievable how tall and slender he was. Bice's naturally diminutive stature paled in comparison to his.
"N-no," she interjected, "I wasn't careful enough…"
"Oh no, she's being shy," countered Dante. "Really, it's on me."
"That's quite alright," said Mr. Fredi, who then applied himself to the task of wiping the last sundae remnants from the counter with a pocket handkerchief. "Nothing serious. Don't worry about paying, Dante. I know you're perpetually in debt."
Dante chuckled softly, mostly to himself, as Bice launched into another round of uncontrollable laughter. She didn't know how else to compensate for the awkwardness and ensuing silence of the incident.
"Well, it's been fun," said Dante, his attention turned to a circular clock mounted on the wall. "I've got a job to take care of. So, Bice, I'll be seeing you around. You too, Fredi."
"Oh wait," called Bice. "Your sundae…"
"It'll have to wait." He sounded disappointed. "But, I've got a pizza on order tonight. Maybe you'll be my delivery girl."
Bice had edged her way closer to Dante, standing behind the counter, nearer and yet so far away. "I hope so. Bye, take care."
He nodded, gave a casual wave of the hand, and went on his way, disappearing almost as fast as he had arrived.
"Can… can I deliver that pizza to him? Please?" Bice asked.
Mr. Fredi's smile faded by a fraction. "Well, you see, Dante—to put it in plainer terms—is a demon hunter. Just to let you know, his line of work is extremely dangerous. A lot of our guys ran into his prey and… well, it wasn't the most fun experience out there, so…"
"…Huh. I heard rumors about the vermin around here. Good thing Dante can keep them in check. He made a living out of hunting devils... Dante, he's just so cool, am I right?" murmured Bice, spiraling off on a Dante-centric tangent.
"I suppose you could put it that way," said Mr. Fredi. He let out an amused sigh in response to Bice's zeal. "His shop's called Devil May Cry, outsider. I should warn you again, since you don't know, that it's risky to be around that place."
Bice bulked herself up and slapped a hand against her skirt pocket. "But I have pepper spray!"
"…"
"Pepper spray!"
"…You're awfully desperate to do this, aren't you?"
"M-maybe."
"You like him."
"May-y-y-y-be."
"I still err on the side of caution, you know."
"Oh, I'm well aware. But Dante! I've never seen anyone like him. He's got to be one of the nicest guys out there, honestly. Okay, so I'm rambling a bit. In short… please?" And she gave him the most angelically imploring look she could possible muster. He crumbled to pieces against the doe eyes.
"Alright, alright. But be extremely careful. Come back here at the first sign of danger, do you understand?"
"Understood!" said Bice, inwardly screaming with unalloyed happiness.
"We've still got the moped out back. You want to take it out for a spin?"
Bice nodded excitedly, and Mr. Fredi ambled into his office to retrieve the keys. She rested a disbelieving hand against her forehead, sheened slightly with flecks of sundae. Majored in forensic science, she thought to herself, and this was where she ended up. It didn't matter much to her, though, because she'd found the guy of her dreams. She'd always hated the feeling of being head-over-heels for anyone, but for Dante she would make an exception. There was a sort of secretiveness about him, a dangerous air that instantaneously provoked fascination. She couldn't say she was quite in love with him, though. He was kind-hearted and easygoing, she could tell, and she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know more about the handsome, compassionate, enigmatic Dante. That was all.
She would keep telling herself that until she believed it.
(Upcoming - Mission 2: Care)