Summed up: A crazy, humorous, and slightly indecent DMC fic where our kids all know each other. It takes place while our heroes are in high school, featuring a drunk, jittery teenage Dante (who may or may not be a virgin), emo Vergil, karaoke, Dante's ambitions for an amusement park, and lots and lots of snogs and terribly abrupt transitions. Dangerous curves ahead. smile A high PG-13 for language, violence, sexual content, and alcohol abuse.
DISCLAIMER: Devil May Cry and all related characters and indicia and whatnot are © Capcom, and by no means do I claim ownership over Devil May Cry or its related characters or indicia, and by no means am I affiliated with Capcom in anyway, though I'd like to be.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: for this fiction it's a pretty much anything-goes deal. Vergil is emo, Trish is their somewhat jealous best friend, and there may or may not be some crossover characters borrowed from various stories/games/movies. This also features my own original characters as well. This means that, aside from the basic info, I'm pretty much restylizing the characters. All our plot hotties are around the age of 16-17, making them…juniors in high school? Yep, that'd be it. They're a lusty lot, so expect the rating to fluctuate from PG-13 to a slight R, for indecency and language. Sorry D/V kids, there will be no twincest (runs away as arrows come flying out of the air), and just to keep you happy, Dante sings in a shockingly sexy tenor voice. 'Cause tenors kick ass. Dante is incredibly sexy and should be a tenor. 3
I'd have to say about 85% of this story has been fabricated from my head, the other fifteen percent subconsciously influenced by my friends and various sources. References will be cited at the end of each chapter. In case you were wondering, because our heroes are at a tender age, Devil May Cry is, at this point, nonexistent. Dante will not be pulling a Buffy and slaying demons in high school. He has yet to do many, many things before answering the call of duty.
MOVING ON: And so as not to bore you anymore, here's a quick descrippy of the scene: Dante and Vergil's house on their seventeenth birthday, not so much a house as the dark, nicely creepy ornate Sparda Manor, a residence with foreboding and rather indecent things lying in wait. For the hell of it, we'll say that the parents are vacationing in hell. It's located in a town that, for the sake of it having a name, is called Haskell, although it would probably be better to remove the ASK. It's early in the evening, and there is a party. Biiiiiiiiiiiiiig party. Well, not yet, but there very soon will be. We'll see how it goes from here.
Enjoy.
- RT
CHAPTER ONE: THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS
"I can compromise with a blow-up doll."
"Trish, you are NOT WEARING THAT," Dante Sparda yelled upon the devil girl's entrance into Dante's room.
Trish stood there, pouting, looking unsettlingly like a dominatrix in very tight, very scant bits of black leather held together by bits of metal and studs. In her hand she held what looked like—was that a whip?!
"You're not my mother," the devil girl replied, looking mutinous.
Dante tsk'ed and rolled his eyes. "And I'm not letting you wear HOOKER CLOTHES just because you look like mine." He closed his eyes for a moment, considering this, and consequently going to a very bad mental place. "Especially because you look like mine."
"Right, right, I get it," she muttered, turning and preparing to flounce out like a child that had been denied candy. "You know, Vergil would—"
"I don't want to know," said Dante hastily. "Really. I don't want to know. Just—get some clothes on, for the love of God—well, not really, but—oh, screw it, Trish, just get some fucking clothes on, I don't care of you lose them later on, that's your business, but you are not running around with belts serving as your top and—er—pants, not a long as I am conscious in the room!" He paused to consider this at length, and added, "AND YOU BETTER NOT WHILE I'M UNCONSCIOUS IN THE ROOM EITHER!" He nudged her toward the door, guiding her by the shoulders. He took very great care not to let any part of him touch her below the shoulders.
Trish looked more mutinous than ever as she stepped out the door. But she was nonetheless amused at Dante's attitude toward this. "Jeez, devil boy, I'm going, don't get your panties in a bunch," she said, her eyes twinkling. Measuring his uncommon reaction, a strange question crossed her mind.
"Dante?"
He turned around, his hair falling into his face as his head snapped in her direction, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. His nose was adorably wrinkled, and his ice eyes blazed with questioning.
"What?"
She paused, cocking her head to the side, and couldn't help but smirk. "Are you—are you a virgin?"
Dante looked startled for a moment, before yelling, "OUT, TRISH!" With a sort of victorious-but not-quite finality, he closed the door.
"Well, that tells me nothing," said Trish, as she stood staring at the ornate mahogany door, feeling quite defeated, and if somewhat unsatisfied.
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A half an hour later she emerged from her reserved guest room wearing a skin tight black halter top and a ruffly black miniskirt that barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Her long blond hair was down, tapering loosely over her slim body.
Dante was outside the door, leaning on the banister and waiting for her. So was Vergil. Dante's silvery white hair haloed his pale face, though even with his hair in his eyes he couldn't mask the intensely cold hard blueness of them. He was in a black shirt made out of what looked like very expensive material, and his pants were black leather, his hands shoved in the pockets, giving him an air of casual, offhand elegance. Vergil looked so much like Dante, so much that you couldn't tell the two apart, save for the faint, jagged scar on Dante's cheek. No one would know how he got the scar but Dante himself—whoever (or whatever) inflicted that scar couldn't possibly be alive to brag about it, knowing Dante. He didn't let anyone mess with him.
And because Vergil wore emo glasses. Trish wondered vaguely if it was because she had often said she liked emo guys. Since then, Vergil had been blasting Taking Back Sunday and The All-American Rejects on his CD player, brooding and staring mistily through his glasses while looking impressively good in his baggy pants and Dashboard Confessional shirt.
But today Vergil wore a shirt that looked like the white version of his twin's, and the same black leather pants.
"Much better," she thought she heard Dante mutter under this breath.
Vergil did not appear to have noticed. "Nice clothes, Trish," he said, eyeing her up and down unabashedly.
"A big improvement," Dante agreed. "At least now she HAS clothes."
"That's so cute of you, thank you, Dante," Trish replied, rolling her eyes. "Remind me to get you a stuffed animal."
"Aww. A stuffed animal for our birthday, just what he wanted," said Vergil sarcastically. "We just turned seventeen. I think a subscription to Maxim or Penthouse would be much more fitting."
"I can compromise with a blow-up doll."
Dante, looking either greatly pleased or greatly disturbed, opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short by the doorbell. It echoed ominously through the house.
"You guys better get it," said Trish lazily, as they all descended down the grand staircase, a feature like something on the Titanic. "You are the birthday boys, after all."
"Hardly boys anymore," Vergil reminded her. He and Dante went ahead of Trish, leaping from the thirteenth step simultaneously, both falling through the air with perfect synchronization and landing on one knee, looking like ninjas ready to pounce. The Sparda twins, Trish thought, half in annoyance and half in admiration. Always making a show of things.
The double doors to the manor had small windows with bars instead of glass, making it seem very disturbingly like a prison, or a dungeon. Each twin took a door by the brass ring and proceeded to pull the doors open with what appeared to be no effort, though the doors were, even for devils, very hard to open.
A girl with black hair and a very short black skirt stood in the doorway, along with two boys—one very tall, with apple-red hair, the other a green-eyed boy with ink black hair.
"Mat," said Vergil, smiling widely. The girl from his chem class. The one who fenced and wore those deliciously tight white knickers that got bunched up around her thighs and other interesting places when she lunged. "I didn't think you'd come."
Mat returned his smile, laughing. "I wouldn't have missed it," she told him, looking at both Vergil and Dante. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything." She looked at Vergil, who had not exactly been looking her in the eye (she wore a low-cut black top), tilted his head and kissed him, a kiss that, as Trish noted, went on a bit too long and used a bit too much tongue to be considered friendly. She pulled back, licking his lips and smiling, before taking a step toward Dante and doing the same thing, only she put her hands somewhere that made Dante's eyes grow the size of dinner plates.
Trish sneezed in a way that Vergil believed couldn't have been coincidental in the slightest.
Mat took her time with Dante, though, and when she had finished, her gaze traveled lazily to Trish.
"Oh. Hi. I know you from school—Trish?"
Trish looked oddly reserved. "Something like that," she managed in a strangled voice. "Be right back. I have to go get some chips." She exited, muttering something under her breath. Vergil was close enough to hear "wankers," "slutbag," and "get to third."
Mat continued, motioning to the boys who stood on either side of her. "This is Jule—" The one with the dark hair waved. "—and Luca." The red haired boy smiled, his teeth flashing like porcelain bullets.
Vergil and Dante greeted them in turn, welcoming them inside. Pretty soon more people were pouring in, some of them friends, others complete strangers, but rather good-looking strangers, so the twins didn't really mind, although Trish's lips seemed to purse into even thinner lines as more scantily-dressed girl walked through the door.
"Dunno why she minds so much," Dante said to Vergil as they nodded at a random crowd in welcome. "You should have seen what she was wearing earlier."
A funny look crossed Vergil's face. "Oh, I did."
"It was a lot worse than what most of these girls are wearing."
"Yeah, but it was really easy to take off."
"FEHH," said Dante, looking startled. "I did NOT need to know that." He hesitated. "You—you and Trish—"
Vergil rolled his eyes. "What do you think? And she sleeps over all the time."
Dante looked more unsettled. "She does?"
"Mhmmmm."
"How come I never see her, then?"
"We spend a lot of time in my room, er, going over our calculus homework."
"Verg, you failed geometry twice. You don't even take calculus."
Vergil looked rather pink in the face and tried to casually sidle away.
Dante said, "argh," or something like it, before walking off. This had been something of a revelation. A disturbing one, at that.
And Trish's question earlier—where had that come from?
An idea suddenly formulating in his head, he grabbed for a beer bottle, and started to search for Mat.
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I'm not jealous I'm not jealous I'm not jealous.
Trish found that she had to continually mutter that to herself ever since that girl kissed Vergil and Dante. She strode into the kitchens, looking for a bag of chips, which she probably wouldn't find. Oh, maybe spicy chips. Vergil seemed to like spicy chips okay.
Slore.
"What's a slore?" Vergil had asked her, their freshman year, when she used it to describe their Latin teacher as they sat through a particularly boring class. Their teacher had somehow gotten to the subject of lemurs and didn't appear to be ending that topic of conversation soon.
"A slut whore," Trish had replied, then when Vergil asked why she pointed out that Ms. McGinnis had gotten a feel of his ass. Oddly, Vergil didn't seem to mind very much, at least not about the part where his bum had gotten grabbed.
Lucia, who had been sitting next to them, her hair wavy and perfect and shining like rubies, was quick to mention that Mrs. McGinnis had gotten a feel of her ass, too.
It's not surprising, Trish thought, returning back to the present and retrieving a bag. Yes, there were spicy chips, and when Trish removed the bag from the cabinet, she found a stash of dirty magazines.
Sure, she was a blonde, and created with numinous features, but Lucia, Lucia had been perfect. All that red hair and flawless skin and her lithe, slender form and her ass, not that she had been looking.
Lucia would be here tonight. Lucia would be here, with her French accent, her nice, sharp weapons, her leather boots, and probably not much else.
Without realizing it, Trish squeezed the bag of chips. It promptly exploded in her hands.
Dante chose at that minute to walk in, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his left hand, catching Trish off guard. So he was a lefty. He looked, with some degree of shock, from the food on the floor, to the bag in Trish's hands, to Trish's strangled expression, to the pile of Pussymania magazines that were toppling onto the counter from the cabinet.
He closed his dropped jaw, and he was able to say, "Because those definitely aren't mine, you know."
Trish just grumbled in disgust before heading out the door.
"Oh, shut up, Dante. Just shut up."
She walked into the corridors, ignoring the portraits, whose inhabitants' eyes were glowing a faint orangey-red. She had learned long ago to appreciate the vaguely creepy elegance of the manor, the cold ornate furnishings and forbidding, dark drapery. But it didn't strike her now, even with its history of containing the Spardas' demonic predecessors, who often resided here in human form, doing dastardly evil things. Apparently, Sparda was one of the few more benevolent devils in the line, as illustrated by a tapestry of the twin's great uncle Julius decapitating a peasant woman who had apparently stolen one of his prized demon chickens.
The doorbell rang. Trish sighed. Maybe it was Lucia, if she wasn't already here. Maybe it would be a horde of really hot guys.
She ran for the door, pushing through the growing crowd. With some difficulty, she was able to open one door, crack it open, and peer outside.
What. The. HELL.
That thought, among many, popped into her head, as she stared dropped-jaw at a girl with blonde hair and pale blue eyes who looked no older than eighteen (barely legal, Trish thought irritably), dressed in something that resembled a white velvet leotard, with a bit more frontal support. She had a pretty face, the face of a porn star. The girl sported bunny ears, a black bow tie, and held a carrot that looked suspiciously like it was made of plastic and was used for purposes not nearly related to eating. Trish would have bet Vergil's entire porn collection that this girl was wearing a fluffy tail, too.
And Vergil had a pretty damn big porn collection.
She must have been staring a long time, her blazing eyes that were unnervingly like the twins' boring into the girl's paler ones, because the girl coughed uncomfortably and said, "Um, h-hi—I'm here for the Spardas?"
Trish stared.
"Vergil hired me—um, this is the Sparda Manor, right? Because I'm pretty sure…"
But Trish was not paying attention at all. She was suddenly struck with an idea. Oh, it was a bad idea, one that would probably get her into a lot of trouble. But it was sadistically appealing. Oh, yes. She would jump at this chance. No way would she pass this one up.
The girl at the doorstep looked slightly scared. "Um, hello…?"
Suddenly looking up and smiling, Trish slid out the door and violently tackled the girl to the ground. Her victim let out a horrified squeak before her head hit the pavement and she went unconscious.
Now sitting squarely on Bunny Girl's hips, Trish smiled, reaching for the bunny ears still securely nestled in the unconscious girl's locks, and viciously pulled them out. She eyed them thoughtfully for a minute, and then with sudden fervor she slipped them on, a fluffy-eared crown on her own shining blonde hair.
"This," said Trish to herself with a grin, "is going to be one hell of a night."
And so that ends our first chapter, which, I admit, was a bit short, and we didn't get much Vergilness. Don't worry, we'll see more of him in the upcoming chapters—I've planned at least six. Sorry, just wanted to get this started—this DMC fic is my first on (which I will treasure for months to come), with many more to come, and not just of Devil May Cry. YAY!
Comments/criticisms/opinions/suggestions more than welcome. Reviews are nifty, kids.
An update and new chapter should be in within the next day or two. Yay! Expect a bit more of some Dante jitteriness (he couldn't have always been so smooth and seductive), the full extent of Trish's evil plan, and if Vergil wears boxers or briefs.
REFERENCES
The title of the chapter is from the very first Invader Zim episode. Invader Zim kicks ass. draws hearts around Gir's name
"Remind me to get you a stuffed animal." – Taken from a random Buffy/Kendra dialogue.
The part about Luca smiling and "his teeth flashing like porcelain bullets," is, I think, something out of one of Francesca Lia Block's works. Bless that woman.
I wrote the blow-up doll part when I remembered what our chorus director told us not to bring with us on tour in Seattle. :D
And Pussymania was a name taken from randomly in my mind. I'm not even sure if that's an actual magazine, I wouldn't know, and frankly, I wouldn't want to. OO So, I digress.
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