Desperate Times
Chapter One
A.N;; I know a lot of people are waiting on me to update Devil's Release, but don't worry, I'm working on it! Normally when a story idea hits me it doesn't hit quite this hard, but I just couldn't seem to get this one out of my mind. It's only three chapters long, and it's just a little something that popped into my mind while I was trying to fall asleep the other night, so I felt like typing it up. I'm not used to writing in this tense or from this point of view, so I apologize if it sounds weird or if there's any instances where I switch tense without realizing it.
Disclaimer; I don't own Devil May Cry or the characters, only the plot of this story.
Basically Lady has fallen on extremely hard times financially, and she finds herself in the last place she ever expected to make a quick buck. What's a girl to do when the last person on the planet she ever expected to see again finds out her secret?
If you'd told me six months ago that I'd be in this place throwing away my dignity for a few bucks, I'd have probably kicked your ass or given you a firsthand view of just how destructive Kalina Ann can be. As it stands now, this is pretty much the only thing keeping a roof over my head, and more importantly, keeping me from dragging myself to Dante's shop and begging for a hand out. Work had been… slow, to say the least, the past year, and between Dante trying to scrape together enough work to keep his shop open ( and owing me quite a lot of money at the moment ) and the general lack of demons to fight lately, there just isn't much work. It's hard for a girl to get by when every macho man and hormone-driven kid with a gun is out on the town taking any and every job they can get, even the shit ones. What does that leave for a higher caliber hunter like me? I can't even get a scrap these days; maybe my price is too high but come on, between the cost of ammunition and the quality work I do ( not to mention the danger-factor of it all ), it's only fair, but of course it's pretty hard to convince the person shelling out the cash to listen to that argument. What should they care if some wanna-be mercenary punk takes the job and gets killed? Unless they paid the guy upfront, it's not like they're really losing out, and most of these kids these days are too stupid or the older ones are too desperate to require even half the cash first.
So here I am, two cities over where no one really recognizes me, on stage in some shit hole of a club as I shake my ass for whatever cash I can scrounge up. Yeah, yeah, I know it before you even say it; just what the hell am I doing? Bet you never thought you'd see me in this position, no matter what, but I swear it's not a permanent gig. It took a lot for me to convince myself to even do it in the first place, and this is only my second night on stage. I really don't feel like getting into how I even came to this decision, but I managed to swallow my pride in the interest of not ending up on the street, or worse, with Dante. Maybe you don't think living with the devil hunter would be so bad, but that's just because you don't know him like I do. You don't see what goes on behind the scenes there, I'm surprised Trish has lasted this long. I would have walked out ages ago, homeless or not. But anyways, back to the subject at hand. I wasn't even going to come back to this place after the first night, but I must be pretty popular because that night I made enough money to pay the landlord in my building for the past six month's rent that I've been promising the old bat for a while now. So, as much as I loathed myself and this place after that night, I couldn't resist coming back at least one more time; hell, if I could get the next few months rent after tonight, then I could wash my hands of this whole ordeal and surely by then I'll have found some legitimate work… Or so I keep telling myself. Don't judge me, alright? You haven't been in my shoes for the past few months, so just cut me some slack and back off.
I try not to gag as I twist around the pole; just seeing all those drooling, disgusting perverts is enough to make me wish I had my guns with me instead of having to keep them backstage. I did manage to hide a small razor blade, just in case, but still. It looks like the same crowd as the other night, but then again, they all look the same to me, whether they're fat, skinny, greasy, or pale, they're still all just a bunch of horny bastards and it's all I can do to convince myself that I am better than them, and that I'm only here out of desperation. I do not belong here, and I'll be out of here after tonight. I have to be. I don't want to become one of the other dancers here, smoking too many cigarettes or downing martinis at the bar with a broken smile. None of these girls enjoy this, and the ones that look like they do are only faking for themselves. I'll be damned if I rot in this place like they are. This is a two-time thing, like hell I'll stay here long enough to turn into that, or worse, be caught by someone I know. I don't think I could stomach that on top of everything else. Trish might not be so bad, but if Dante ever knew… I don't know what he'd do. Maybe he'd laugh, or cry, or drag me out by my hair and kick the club owner's ass. Or maybe he'd just leave me to do my thing and wonder why he hadn't thought of it first. I hate to admit it but the bastard does have a nice body and he'd probably make quite a bit of cash. Too bad I can't ever let him find out about this to suggest it to him.
I'm nearly done with my set when I see it, or rather, him, across the room at the bar, his back to the stage. There's no way I can mistake that white hair, or that frame, and if I wasn't so athletic I might have fallen on my ass from the shock, but as it is I manage to pull myself around the pole and make it look like the entire stumble was part of my moves. The crowd only cheers, apparently buying my act, but I barely notice because I can't take my eyes off of him. Has he seen me yet? How could he have missed me? I have to wonder if he was here the entire time, because I definitely don't remember seeing him when I walked out, but that head of hair would be hard to miss. As I slide with my back down the pole that's mounted on the stage I can't help but to think the snowy white locks look a little longer than he normally keeps them, but then again, Dante's been through as much shit as I have lately, it's no surprise he might forget to get a haircut. Or maybe he's growing it out; the bastard probably thinks it's attractive. He's not wearing that red coat of his either, just some type of a black shirt and black pants from what I can see. I guess he probably tore the thing up and didn't have the cash to have it repaired yet. Typical.
I forget everything except getting off of the stage and getting some clothes on when I hear my music ending. He still hasn't turned around yet, and I pray to God for the first time in years that he hasn't seen me yet. It takes me a few moments to scoop up the rest of the cash the perverts have been throwing at me, and luckily a security guard comes over to make sure they don't get too grabby, though one asshole manages to get a hand on my ass. He immediately has to be escorted out with a broken nose thanks to my foot and a well aimed kick to his face. The rest of the assholes get the message and back off just out of my reach so they can ogle me without getting their asses kicked. Once I've got the cash in hand (and it looks like enough to cover me for a while), I get to the back as fast as I can. The dressing rooms are nearly as trashy as you'd expect, but at least there's a door and four walls to give us some semblance of privacy, and I quickly shut myself inside of one. There's another girl already inside, but we don't speak as I change into street clothes and she changes into something tasseled and sparkling. Once I'm dressed I grab my things and stuff the cash into my purse before practically running from the room. I've convinced myself that tonight I was lucky and he didn't notice me or else he would have been staring, and I have to get out of here before he sees me.
The distance to the door isn't that far, but I have to pass by the bar to get there without wading through the crowd of sweaty, grabby men. I can't help but to notice that he's no longer at the bar and I feel a sinking sensation in my chest. Shit. I can't do much but suck it up and hope for the best, after all, I can't stay in this place all night and it's a forty five minute drive back to my apartment, so I take a deep breath and step out from the side door leading to the back behind the stage. I'm not the type of girl who scares easily but I feel my heart nearly leap out of my chest as a strong hand thuds against the wall next to me so suddenly. I don't even know where he was hiding; all I know is the bastard has me pinned between him and the wall now, though he's careful not to touch me. I guess Dante learned something after all the times he was on the receiving end of a bullet from me. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I spit as I turn to glare up at his face, only to feel like my entire body has just been submerged in ice water. I can't breathe for a few seconds, and I'm not sure if it's from the shock or if it's something he's doing to me. "I think the question is, Mary, what do you think you're doing?" he asks, and for the first time in my life I don't know how to respond. "…. Vergil," I manage to say after the initial shock begins to wear off, and I want to slap myself for sounding so stupid once the name leaves my lips.
A long, tense silence fills the air between us, and I hear nothing in the club except for my own breathing as my own gaze meets the frosty blue one across from me. Finally I regain some of my senses and manage to narrow my eyes at him as I reach for the gun strapped under my left arm. "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead!" I snap as I flip the safety off to show him I mean business. "I was just passing through. You should know better than to think I'd die so easily…" he replies, his tone laced with a hint of smugness. The bastard is lying, he came here for a reason, but I know that even if I call him on it, he won't tell me why unless he wants to. "Then why are you in my face? If you don't want anything, then move," I growl at him and press the barrel against his chest. Before I can even blink, Vergil has my gun in his hand and the ghost of a smirk is on his face. "I have my reasons, as I'm sure you have yours for being here…." He says, and I can almost hear the growl as he glances around the club to make his point before those ice cold eyes are back on my face. "So tell me, what exactly are you doing here? I thought you had more… self respect than that." Before I know what I'm doing I smack the hell out of him, but he doesn't seem fazed. "Don't you dare judge me, you don't know me life!" I hiss at him, and a strange look flashes across his face so briefly that I almost miss it.
It's hard not to shiver when the devil in front of me narrowed his eyes, but I manage to hold my ground and give him the deadliest glare I can muster. "You don't belong up there. Don't come back here." Something about that command sets me off again and I smack him for the second time, and he doesn't even flinch but that look is back. Before Vergil can open his mouth again I snatch my gun away and shove it back in the holster before buttoning my coat. "You're the last person who should be running their mouth to me, you don't own me! Why don't you just go back to Hell where you came from?" I growl as I push past him. I try to ignore the fact that I know I only got away because he let me, which is easier than ignoring the feeling of his eyes burning into my back as I storm out the club. "The nerve of that ass!" I hiss out loud as I stomp over to my bike and get set to leave. Once my helmet and gloves are on I peel out of the parking lot before anything else has a chance to stop me and I head for home, trying to get the image of those eyes looking down on me with that strange expression out of my mind. What did he even care for if I'm pole dancing in some shitty club? That was never Vergil's type of place, and no matter what he says I know he was there for a reason. Never mind how he came back, I honestly can't believe how unsurprised I am about that little tidbit, but that still doesn't answer the question of just what the hell he wanted with me tonight.
I do my best to push the questions to the back of my mind once I reach my apartment and park my bike. Luckily the blistering cold is enough to keep me distracted until I get inside and hurry into the bathroom for a shower. I scrub the glitter off of my skin as quickly as I can, scowling as I watch it filter down the drain, and realize I still feel dirty. Funny, you'd think the first time would be the worst of all, but that night honestly wasn't so bad. It had only taken a few drinks and a quick look at the pile of cash I'd made that night to calm me down afterwards, and I'd gone straight to bed. But now… I felt nauseous, and I can't ignore the burning in my eyes even though I try to lie to myself and say my face is only wet from the shower water. It's not like anyone can see me, but I'm still too proud to admit I'm crying. I think it's because he saw me. He saw everything I did tonight and he just looked at me with that disapproving stare of his, like he was… disappointed. But no, that's ridiculous, because Vergil probably doesn't give a shit if I'm whoring myself out or not. The only reason he was there was to humiliate me, I know it, and somehow, as much as I refuse to admit it, that hurts the worst of all. I wish it had been Dante instead; at least he'd laugh it off, or maybe even understand.