I do not own Devil May Cry.
Seating herself on the large wooden desk, she threw a leather-clad leg over the other. Tapping her foot like she was listening to music, but hinting at impatience, she stole multiple glances at the clock. The heavy silence and time's echo were beginning to drive her crazy.
Tick. . .
Where could he be?
Tick. . .
Probably licking out those damn sundaes...
Tick. . .
If he doesn't get back here right now...
Tick. . .
A sharp shaped eye twitched as she considered pulling out a gun. That would seem to fix all of her problems at the moment, wouldn't it? Yes, just one carefully aimed shot. . .
. . . On second thought, it would probably be best that she left her trigger happy hands at her sides. Demons have surprisingly been rather tame this month, and how would she explain to her red-loving comrade that she had destroyed his clock?
"Yeah, the ticking was driving me up a wall, even though it was probably just you. I shattered the glass into a million pieces all over your floor and sent a nice hole through whatever was left hanging. When I am waiting, this is what happens."
Blowing the thin blonde bangs from her face, she leaned back further on her hands. She could just picture him giving her a lecture on patience.
Lovely. The last thing she needed.
And it wouldn't just be a normal lecture, oh no, it would be spoken to her in the simplest words of the English language. Not to mention that God-awful tone he would use. The one that you would use to scold a toddler. When she'd snap and tell him she wasn't a kid, he'd demand that she should stop acting like one.
Yeah, well, she has a better shot than a six year old.
Most arguements would end to something of that extent. There would always be a winner, and things would grow silent. That is, after everyone had gotten the last word(s) in. Though words weren't Trish's forte, actions certainly were.
When the male bounty hunter had wandered off to his own devices, she'd set up multiple traps around the shop. He would always hop over the obvious ones, but find himself in a tangled mess on his floor from the ones he didn't anticipate. Though it was fun, it didn't always work out. Like when a customer had decided to walk in right after she was done...Let's just say they didn't return any time soon.
Actually, that was fun too.
A gentle sigh escaping her pink lips, she looked around the shop. She didn't need to from knowing the place as well as her partner's favorite food, but it was something to do. Let's check if everything is in order, hmm?
Turning her head, her glance fell behind her to his simple wooden chair. With a ritual-like predictability, after every mission he'd plop down in that same chair, throw his feet over the desk, and lean backwards until the back of the chair hit the wall. Every time. He'd usually have some kind of magazine with him, too. The kind that Lady often teased him about dressing in drag.
Dante in a dress... she'd have to do that sometime.
Her pale blue eyes scanned the floor. A light layer of dust covered the concrete floor, to which would be cleaned soon enough. Not by her, of course. With the holsters for her dual weapons just below her hips, he knew better.
No, the floors (and entire shop, mind you) would be cleaned by a little, pink bundle of joy named Patty. She was basically tricked into being a domestic slave. The older woman usually disappeared before that conversation came up, and Dante would either be out, or dirtying the floor.
Pick one.
Sometimes Dante would enjoy tossing pizza boxes on the floor. You know, for the hell of it. When Patty deemed the place unfit to live in and a hazard to potential customers, she'd clean it herself. But one of the good thing about the ebony-and-ivory wielder was that he would make it up to her somehow.
Speaking of the other blue-eyed person, she was asleep in one of the two rooms upstairs. Thank Sparda. Had she come down and decided to ask Trish to play dress-up with her or something, she'd willingly stare down the barrel of her own guns. However, if she wanted to give the place another remodelling, she'd be completely fine with that. Seeing Dante trip over all manners of stuffed animals was amusing, to say the least.
But Trish didn't just want Dante to trip. He wasn't getting away that easy. She'd want one of those heavy black boots to fly off and out the nearest window.
Too distracted with the dreams of Dante falling over teddy bears, she failed to notice the door creak open, the mid morning sunlight pooling across the floor.
A tall, tanned and handsome figure walked through the door. He slammed the door to take away the glazing from her sky-blue eyes. Once he fully had her attention, he flexed.
"Miss me, babe?"
'Babe' was her nickname. 'Blondie' didn't work since Patty was blonde, too. Babe is usually used as a form of endearment, but he used it because she was interesting to look at. He often did when she wasn't looking.
Trish saw the unconcious lump of flesh behind him. "You've brought a gift? You shouldn't have."
"I did. This one's up for interrogation with a new murder that occured. Offering good pay to get an answer, too. He should be waking up any moment now... Watch and learn."
It was often a game they had. Always trying to prove themselves. Always trying to one-up the other. An endless stream of challenges serving the purpose to belittle the other.
Dante threw the unconcious man over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a blanket. Taking a few steps to his immediate left, he layed him down on a deep, pine green couch. Out of the two smaller chairs of the same colour flanking the longest one, he took a seat in one. He kept the remote to the tv behind him at his side incase the victim would attempt to use it as a form of weapon. Such precations were pointless, of course, but it would spare him a bump on the head, however many times he laughed at it.
Trish slid off of the desk. Instead of sitting on the other chair with sunlight illuminating her features as well as the other two men in that area, she thought she'd try something a bit more devious. She casually sauntered over to the chair behind the desk, threw herself down on it, and swung her legs over the top. She was sure to lean back and point the heels of her boots at her companion, a clear challenge. He offered a glare.
The soft groan and slight movements of the captured man's arms drew his stare. Lids gently lifted open, obsidian eyes were exposed to the sunlight, quickly shutting again against the glare of the sun. The man would have normally undone the buttons to his suit, but quickly pushed the notion away. Though it was warm, he didn't forget he was a prisoner. . .
. . .for now.
The man was gently tanned, and had a brown beard. It looked like a four-day stubble. The man was rather chubby, and a double chin was evident. He looked to be in his mid thirties. Age was useless for demons, but useful for humans. That was a fact Dante often went over with himself. The only thing that really occured to him was how fragile they are.
"Who... who are you? ...Nevermind, that's not important. What do you want to know?" A deep and raspy voice had mumbled that. Trish raised a curved eyebrow. This man seemed ready to forsake whatever secrecy he had previously had in exchange for his life. Not even a fight. How boring.
"Well, your in Devil May Cry, my shop. Try not to break anything." He said that last part while shooting a sideways glance twords his blonde partner. The look did not go unnoticed.
The name gained no recognition from the self-important man, so it obviously didn't ring any bells. Dante almost didnt seem bothered. Almost.
"I'd like to know about the murder early this morning. Tell me any details your aware of, and you're free to go."
Without killing something, simple interrogations made him feel like a cop. Dante wasn't interested in rules and regulations, so he purposely looked for them to break them. The only problem to that was, since he owned his own business, he made his own rules. And it's just not fun breaking your own rules, is it?
"I recall working my shift through the night, and was getting ready to go home by two a.m. Right as my things were packed up in my office, the alarms suddenly went off. I had rushed to check the cameras for the persons appearance. There was nothing. It was like they were a ghost. Before anyone even saw them, they were gone. Police were over in minutes searching the building, and found footprints across the burgundy carpet. The footprints were made of blood. When the rooms were searched, it was confirmed the head of the corporation was murdered."
Nothing too different. Dante had heard this before. Many times.
"So... what makes you think a demon did this?"
"Remember I just talked about footprints of blood?"
White hair bobbed in a nod.
"They led to the middle of the hallway and simply disappeared. The hallway was narrow, and had no doors. It's like they just... evaporated."
Dante's mouth curled into a grin. Now things were getting interesting.
"Alright. I need the adress so I can visit this corporation."
The man seemed a bit on edge about telling the other male about the location of his work. He knew well that once he was there, he would have full access to cameras, files, and whatever else the building had to offer, wether anyone liked it or not. Normally the police would be entitled to this right, but Dante wasn't technically considered official. The man hesitantly gave Dante the adress.
He checked his surroundings. He saw a shapely blonde woman in all black attire; black boots, black leather pants, and a corset that showed off her thin stomach. It also left her figure nothing to the imagination. He guessed that this individual was as accentric as his interrogator.
He cleared his throat, rather loudly. It was a good excuse to avoid the amused look from the woman, not unlike that of a cat.
"Your wife?"
Dante was quite surprised by that question. "What?"
"That woman behind us. Is she your wife?"
He shook his head. "No...my partner. She will be assisting me when we give the building a look over."
An impish smile played with the corner of her lips as she observed. She had sat out throughout the duration of the questioning, so why couldn't she have some fun?
"Ignore my husband. He's just shy."
Dante gave her a look that could only be decoded as the simple phrase: Shut up.
That was all the encouragement she needed.
She strutted over to the pair, the grin still on her mouth and a devlish twinkle in her eyes.
She stood beside Dante and wrapped her arms around his shoulder.
"Isn't that right, honey?"
All Dante could do was grunt through clenched teeth. What did she think she was doing? She was not about to embaress him infront of a man he had just met, and under rather odd circumstances at that.
He wrapped an arm around her slender waist.
"Of course, love."
He was as good at seduction as the next. He thought he would give it a shot.
He entangled his fingers through his "wife's" left hand. "Say dear, wheres your wedding ring?"
She gave him a subtle scowl. "Oh, I had left it in our room. I didn't want to break it with our mission today."
His teasing smirk only grew as Trish coquettishly wrapped a stand of blonde hair around a finger.
"Well, why don't you go get it? It looks so lovely on you."
She resisted the urge to laugh. She loved how she was never without a challenge. She said a simple "sure" before slowly making her way up the stairs. Trish was sure to add a bit more swing to her hips, the intention to catch the eye of the man in the red leather coat. She didn't care if the other man looked; all the better. A wonderful excuse to make Dante jealous, no?
Her long mane disappeared through the second door. Dante knew she wasn't coming out any time soon, and ushered the man out with a "thanks." As soon as the tell-tale click of the door was heard, she played rabbit and poked her head out. He motioned her back down for the fear of having to deal with two female troublemakers.
Deciding to follow orders this time, she stood infront of him and looked him right in his blue eyes, clearly unafraid.
Laughter was ringing through his voice.
"Want to explain?"
"I was just sitting there. You know desk jobs aren't for me. I need something to do."
"You could have said something any moment."
"That one was the most opportune."
"I didn't know you were so desperate to have an illusionary ring on your hand."
"It worked if it put THE son of Sparda at a loss for words, if only for a moment."
And fuck him running, it did.
But a moment was all she had on him. That was fine for her.
"I know you drool over me all the time, but we have to catch a demon that appears to be an early riser. Come on."
Carefully not to disturb Patty's slumber, the two exited the warm shop.
The autumn breeze was crisp. Though it was sunny and warm, it seemed like that would change soon enough. Storm clouds were drawing nearer. That was fine though, as rain didn't bother the two.
Trish wrapped her arms around him after they were securely mounted on his motorcycle. The corporation loomed above smaller houses, like a shadow in the distance.
Dante was excited to track down an interesting sounding adversary, while Trish could only grin.
Her blonde hair shimmered in the waning sunlight, blowing a trail of tresses as gold as coins behind her.