The moment Lady comes in roughly barging through his doors like she owned the place, Dante detects a slight difference in the air about her.
It seems only yesterday that she tossed him an almost empty brief case with a roll of money tossing about. It was his pay from the last job she coaxed him into taking, and from the way the lights on his jukebox blinked and how dangerously low his ceiling fan wobbled, it wasn't enough.
The pay from those jobs is never enough.
Lady says it's because Dante fails to consider his surroundings; he's too intent on getting the job done quickly. She says that if he wants to make a profit instead of breaking even (which is most of the time, much to his dismay), Dante should try for efficiency rather than speed.
Dante thinks Lady should shut the hell up and let him do his job the best way he knows how. She has no room to speak on the subject and he doubts when a demon is breathing hellfire down her throat, she's thinking about the thousand year old artifact blocking her foot from being shoved up said demon's ass.
So he won't give the issue of jobs and lack of money another thought. He focuses his mind on the voluptuous women posing on meticulously waxed motorcycles in his magazine and waits for Lady to bring the subject up instead.
"I have a proposition for you."
Dante can sense her body pressing against his desk. The certain way she's doing it seems off. There's no aggression in her body language and he expects a shove to snatch his attention away from the magazine he's holding. Only, he feels a gentle firmness, a pressing invitation that nudges his interest rather than grate on his nerves.
He flips to the next page of his magazine, happily ignoring her for the time being. If she really wants to get his attention, she's going to have to do more than that little 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink,' trick she just pulled.
The atmosphere shifts quickly, the playful tone quickly dissipating into something thick and malicious.
Dante takes a mental note of this.
"Did you hear me or do I have to spell it out for you in bullets?" she asks. Her voice is tart and unforgiving, which makes Dante's lips slink into a small smirk.
She hates it when he ignores her and he enjoys doing it. He loves the look she gives him when he does—it being a feisty look where her gaze narrows and her eyes glow dark with just the right amount of rage. Her cheeks slightly fluster, making the light scar across the bridge of her nose look more apparent, and her lips, those plump, red, delicious looking lips, grow into a full pout. It was an incredibility sexy look that only she can pull off and which, Dante finds, turns him on immensely.
He debates on whether or not he should answer her now that the threat of a bullet shower hangs so loosely up there with his rickety ceiling fan. Instead, he peeks over his magazine, hoping to see that look of hers, and finds that the bi-colored glare he's so used to receiving is covered by auburn tinted sunglasses.
With his interest perked, Dante gives into his curiosity and tosses his magazine aside. His lips immediately quirk upwards, along with his eyebrows, at the sight of this new Lady in front of him.
"Well?" She pushes herself up from the desk to stand straight. Her hands drape loosely on her hips and her head tilts to the side.
"What's your answer?"
Dante is speechless for the moment. Not so much because he's shocked at what she's wearing, rather, his eyes are too busy devouring the sexy image of the vixen in front of him. He doubts his brain is up for much conversation anyway, since it's trying to keep control of his hormones.
He stands up and walks around his desk to take a real good look at her. The last he saw her, she wore dark purple shorts with a belt full of pockets that acted more like a short skirt. He remembers the white button down blouse, the one where if you bent your gaze just the right way, would grant you access to see just how well those budding swells were coming along The outfit was cute then, back when she was young, hot tempered, and didn't know any better.
This new outfit speaks volumes. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, the outfit communicates maturity, confidence, and a heavy attitude that makes her look like she might kick ass and take names if she doesn't get what she wants. This was the slight difference he detected earlier when she came into the shop. This is her new look, her new persona, her new life. He wonders for a bit if this change will bury the Lady he's accustomed to and if this new Lady will match up to the old. But the thought is erased quickly when his eyes travel down her creamy neck, where a golden pendant hangs—a memento of her deceased mother he's sure—and takes note of the brown belt buckle, reminiscent of his old gear.
He decides it's best to go a little further, since it would be rude not to, and his eyes capture the exposed plump curves of her breasts. Lady doesn't leave much to the imagination at this point and Dante is perfectly fine with this aspect. The white blazer, with its fine embroidery and pale blue stripes, snugly hugs her figure, while her shorter than short shorts fit her perfectly, dipping low enough to showcase her navel and riding high enough to cover her groin.
He takes everything in, eyes skimming in stride, and he knows that she knows he's watching.
His eyes move down her legs, taking in the vast valleys of milky skin and tight muscle. He catches a scar, a thin line that doesn't mar, but accentuates the skin, on her left thigh. His mind reels back to the night she got it, when her father pinned her down with her own weapon. He wonders if she still hates her father, if she'll ever forgive him for what he did to her mother, if she'll ever forgive him for what he was about to do.
He wonders if he'll do the same in his brother's case. Dante thinks that he forgave Vergil a long time ago and that Vergil shouldn't bare both his pride and his guilt on his shoulders. He just wishes that Vergil forgave himself and thought the same.
Dante realizes that his eyes are now focused on Lady's feet.
"Are you done?"
Her question jars him and his attention is switched back to surveying her again. He moves around her slowly, carefully planting his footsteps on the dust covered floor.
"Doing what?" he asks, standing behind her, leaning forward slightly so that his chin nearly rests on her shoulder. "There's nothing to see here."
She stiffens and he wonders if his comment has made her confidence shatter. Or is it their current closeness that makes her cringe of his demonhood? Whatever the case, Dante takes advantage of this and he picks up the faint smell of perfume mixed with sweat. It's an odd combination that lulls him and he's tempted to sink his teeth into her neck, breaking the tender flesh, and letting his tongue gently lap up the copper sweet liquid that pulsed within.
His lips barely brush pass the fine tips of her short hair when Lady swerves around. With gun cocked and ready to fire, she looks at him hard through her amber tainted lenses.
"You've changed," he says, smirking.
The gun's safety is clicked off.
"And you haven't."
Dante shrugs. "All the same." And he turns to walk towards his coat. His sword and twin guns lay about near by.
Lady drops her gun down and when Dante returns she looks as though she wants to ask him a question.
"Does it bother you?"
And Dante doesn't know if she's asking about her missions or her outfit.
"Not in the slightest," he responds, as if answering both.
Because really, up to this point it in his life, neither really mattered. He'll still be broke no matter how many missions he's got lined up, Lady still won't sleep with him no matter how much (or little in the matter of this case) clothing she wears, and he'll still fight the very demons whose dark blood pumps within his own veins.
There's nothing new about anything, despite the shiny packages they come in.
There's nothing special.
There's nothing to see here.