Disclaimer: Don't own, just play.
The rain wasn't falling very hard.
But, then again, it never really had to fall hard to prove its point.
Those tiny drops of water, pinging on the windows of his house, made everything more difficult than it should have been. He had tried reading to ease his troubled mind, but that proved impossible. He hardly managed through four pages. Then he tried just thinking. As it turned out, that was even worse. The rain, no matter how gentle it was this night, brought back memories he'd locked away years ago. Memories that always managed to sneak back out whenever it rained.
He gently pushed the cotton duvet back and hooked his legs over the side of his mattress. Taking the wire-rimmed glasses and sitting them down on a nightstand with one hand, he rubbed wearily at his eyes.
It was going to be a long night.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his white locks as he stood up and started walking across the wooden flooring to the door. He flicked a switch and turned out the light, heading steadily downstairs.
Each step on the old wooden staircase should have been creaking, but he'd had years of practice and each step was, consequently, absolutely silent. He took those silent steps into a small kitchen, where he opened his refrigerator and grabbed a carton of milk. Taking large gulps, he climbed back up the stairs and back into his room.
He walked to his closet and grabbed a pair of tattered, stonewashed jeans that had holes in the left knee, right thigh, and the back right pocket. He threw them on over his black boxers and grabbed a loose-fitting VAST t-shirt, slipping a worn black leather jacket on over top. Bending down, he stepped into a pair of dark Diesel sneakers and laced them up quickly, heading back downstairs.
Keys were snatched up from an oak desk and a door was shut quietly, but swiftly and then locked tightly. The man started walking down the cracked sidewalk. His feet splashing in the occasional puddle was the only noise for a few blocks. But then a raven cawed loudly, stopping the man for a moment as he looked over at the large black bird.
There was a large statue of a sadistic looking demon in the middle of a square. Old buildings were surrounding the grassy area that contained the statue that was rivaled only by a few ancient trees. The raven was perched idly on the demon's right shoulder, looking back at him with eager eyes. He stared for a moment longer and took that time to examine the odd bird. Curiosity overtook him as he saw a red marking on its throat. So the man looked harder and saw that it was a blood red "X." Just an instant later the bird stretched out its wings menacingly and cawed even louder than before, snapping him out of his reverie.
But his curiosity was not so easily extinguished.
The white-haired man blinked once in confusion and then twice in sheer shock as he glanced over at the statue. It was a perfect replica of a demon who, two-thousand years ago, turned his back on the Underworld and fought for the salvation of the human race. A perfect replica of his father.
Caught in a daze, he walked forward onto the squishy grass, moving closer and closer until he was only a few feet away from the statue. He reached out a hand and meant to touch it, just to see if it really was a statue or if it were a mirage to his eyes. He didn't get very far, though.
The raven flew off of its perch on the demon's shoulder as soon as the man's hand came within centimeters of the stone. It cawed loudly and urgently, flying to him. Instinctively, the man raised his arms to cover his face, but the bird slashed a large wound across the back of his hand anyway. The blood from the abrasion perfectly matched the red on the bird's chest. For just a moment, before the man could look, it shone silvery, as did the "X" on the bird.
Blue eyes gazed wonderingly but crossly at the bird, who only flew back to its perch. Finally taking the hint, the man raised his hands in defeat, smiling slightly. "Alright, alright, I'm going." He walked on, never looking back at the bird again.
But the raven kept looking at him.
Beneath the bird, where the back of the demon should have been, was the figure of a man, facing in the opposite direction. His face wore a decidedly wicked grin and his eyes were narrowed as if in the hunt. But he was, of course. The stone eyes shifted left, trying to follow the white-haired man but he couldn't be seen. So a long, thin leg stretched out and the man sighed as he stepped from the statue.
"Damn bird," he whispered aloud as he cracked his stiff neck, "always trying to interfere."
He turned to follow the white-haired man, but stopped immediately. Looking at the ground, he saw a still-burning cigarette tossed neatly before his feet. Leering, he tilted his head up to where the raven flew and his slate eyes unconsciously narrowed. Her left foot was resting on the ledge of the building, her left elbow placed lightly upon her knee. A lengthy coat was blowing out behind her as she watched the royally dressed man.
The man looked more interestedly to see the same raven perched on her shoulder, looking at him in cold irritation. He turned his head to look down the street to see if the other man had passed out of sight, but all he could see was bitter fog. When he looked up to catch a proper glimpse of the woman, she had slipped off into the wet night.
Dante continued walking on, gliding under the orange glow of a few streetlamps as he made his way to Cornwall's. He was walking silently with his hands in his pockets, his warm breath crystallizing in front of his face, when his right foot splashed loudly in a puddle. It was then that he heard footsteps overhead and looked up.
He turned too slowly.
There was nothing there.
Curiosity fired up, he started walking again, but stopped at seeing a soft blaze at his feet. He bent down and looked at it. It was a Dunhill cigarette. The kind he used to smoke. Now his curiosity was raging ferociously. But he continued on his walk to Cornwall's anyway.
When he finally arrived, he opened the large, wooden door to hear his name being happily called out by the bartender. "Thom," he said as he passed by an entry into another room, never seeing the woman who was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
He sat down at the bar and rested his forearms on the wood. "I was wonderin' when you'd get here," said the bartender in his heavy English accent. "You want the regular?"
Dante yawned gently. "As always."
Thom walked over to the taps, just as a woman sat herself a seat away from Dante. He found himself mesmerized as he looked her over. Her straight, brown hair fell inches below her shoulders; she was wearing a simple, but distracting black dress and a pair of short black boots.
Dante's whiskey was placed in front of him as Thom looked at the woman. "Ah, you back again?"
"Of course, 'nother round please, Thom." She replied in her own, soft British accent.
Thom left again and that's when Dante noticed the cigarette in her right hand. It was a Dunhill. He stared at it for a moment, placing the connection, and was about to ask her about it when the bartender came back with three glasses.
"I can't believe you're still back there."
"Oh Thom, we'll probably be here until business decides to bore us again."
"I imagine that could be a while."
"With business like this, yes, it could be a very long while." Her green eyes were apologetic. "Hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind at all."
She nodded her thanks to Thom as she picked up the three glasses and went back into the room Dante had passed on his way in. He turned around and watched her as she gave a glass to a dark-haired man, and another to a blonde woman. Thom smiled and rested his elbows on the bar as he saw what caught Dante's attention.
"She's quite a catch. That is, course, if you manage to catch her."
Dante smiled and looked up. "Who is she?"
"Her name's Elise, I think I heard someone say Elise Greenwood once, but I'm not quite sure. Though, I'm surprised you've not seen her before."
"What do you mean?" Dante asked as he switched his glance back to Elise.
"She's here practically every time you are."
"I guess I never noticed her before."
Thom smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "And I see that now you do."
"Tonight… it's kinda hard not to."
Dante kept watching her as she played a game of billiards with her two friends, his eyes widening as she bent over to take a shot. Her dress shifted in just the right way, allowing him a perfect view of the tattoo on her left shoulder.
It was a raven.
She tilted her head back at him, feeling his eyes on her and knowing that's exactly what she wanted. Looking at Lily and Kris, she smiled.
"Rabbit take the bait?" Lily asked softly.
"Perfectly," she said as she grabbed her coat. "I'm going to see Marco. Teiwaz is there, isn't he?"
Kris nodded. "So is Ansuz."
"That's even better." Elise walked out of that room and up to the other one. "Cheerio, Thom."
He nodded to her as she left Cornwall's. Dante turned his head and looked at the door, then looked back at Thom, who, smiling, nodded again. He pulled a five out of his wallet, placed it on the bar, shoved the wallet back down in his pocket, and left after the woman.
He followed her for about fifteen minutes, walking through the cold, damp streets of the half-dead city. Dante was being exceptionally quiet, so quiet, in fact, that Elise had to turn around every so often to make sure he was still taking the bait.
Abruptly, she turned a corner and Dante had to jog to make sure he didn't lose her. But when he rounded the corner, he was caught completely off-guard.
It was a part of town he'd never been to.
A part he never knew existed.
He was standing in front of a large, deteriorating monastery that could have been no less then six-hundred years old. It was u-shaped and, between the two extending wings, had a large graveyard with moss-covered, half-broken tombstones. There was a path, separating the graveyard into two sides, that Elise was currently walking down.
Dante slipped into the graveyard and slid from one tombstone to the next, making his way up to the door. Elise officially lost him, but she maintained her steady gait, knowing confidently that he would follow.
Close enough to the door to hear what was said, but far enough away not to be seen, Dante sat against an old tombstone and waited. He heard the swishing of wings and looked up to see that same black raven perched gently on the tombstone, looking directly at him.
He was about to shoo the bird off when he caught a glimpse of the name on the stone. It was Stephen Malcolm and, somehow, that name seemed oddly familiar to him. But he was, again, snapped out of his reverie as the bird cawed loudly.
Dante glared at the bird and peered around the corner of the stone, looking at Elise and seeing another man standing in front of her. He was wearing white robes and looked exactly like a monk. His suspicions were soon enough confirmed.
"Brother Marco," Elise said gently, dipping her head in a small bow.
"My dear, how are you?" He asked kindly.
"Splendid, but… your vow of silence?"
"Ah, I never took one. There is too much I need to say."
She smiled at him and looked over at her raven. "Has Ansuz behaved?"
"Wonderfully and so has Teiwaz," he said as a large dog came striding out of the monastery. He stopped at Elise's feet and she reached down to pet his soft fur.
"I worry, Marco," said Elise as she stood back up again. "My mind is plagued by worry."
"Remember, my child, if you ever need aid, you can always fly here."
Dante looked up, eyebrows lowering in bewilderment, and saw both Teiwaz and Ansuz looking at him. And somehow he just knew those words were spoken for him.