Title: Unfinished DMC Vignette
Author: the Angelic Position
Rating: R (language, sexual content)
Summary: An incomplete story fragment as seen from Trish's perspective, told after the events of Devil May Cry. Solitude and
reserve are hard habits to break, but Dante isn't the only one who stands to suffer for them.
Archive: Fanfiction.net; all others, ask permission before reposting elsewhere.
Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all related characters and events are the sole property of Capcom.
- - - - -
"Unfinished DMC Vignette"
I. Circles
It's a maddeningly repetitious dance they've been leading eachother all this time: a repeating series of advances, retreats, and silent
circlings from which, try as she might, she cannot break step -- for either of them. And it hasn't been for lack of effort, of that at
least she's certain. Sometimes that's all she's sure about -- that she's tried so often, and every time she's failed.
Subtlety was her first strategy. Cautious as any good hunter would be, she approached softly and slow: her bedroom door left
open, sentences veiled in seemingly unconscious invitation -- she'd studied endless black-and-white movies on daytime television for
that -- a casual touch, now and again. Casual touches, seemingly accidental, on his shoulders, arms, hands, chest, and once,
rather daringly, on his face. That was the boldest she'd been. She preferred to set up the bait and wait -- cautious, as any good
hunter would be.
And true, sometimes he'd taken it. Those times she hoarded in her heart as treasure beyond price. What else did she have to go
on? He'd kissed her once or twice, sweet tastes of himself given in those rare unguarded moments. But they were so brief, so
unfulfilled -- each time he'd pulled away, and each time she wasn't able to get close to him again for months. The resulting physical
tension made things hotter when they did happen, but it also made her feel like gnashing her teeth and snarling her frustration like a
wolf bitch at That Time of the Moon. She'd noticed that they fought better on jobs like that. More...feverishly, almost. Had to vent
those certain frustrations somehow...
So then she'd decided to try a more direct approach. Tops cut ever more precariously low, come-hither-and-shuck-your-pants-on-
the-way stares, and, on one unfortunately memorable occasion, the phrase "so what does a girl have to decaptitate to get a decent
fuck around here", also learned from television. *That* had failed to deliver the desired result to say the least. In retrospect,
suggestively stroking the Force Edge's hilt had probably been a little over the top. Still, desperate times and all that...
She devised countless stratagems that increased in complexity and improbability as her longing rose. How many ways could one
possibly convince a man to go ahead and do what both desire? She was sure she'd tried them all, and invented several new ones
into the bargain. And again and again, each of them seemed only to drive him further and further from her arms.
When finally she abandoned all pursuit, it was impossible to tell who was the more relieved. She figured she already knew which of
them was more disappointed.
II. Seeing
He can spot a demon almost immediately, no matter what its guise. What she has to intuit based on tiny clues of behavior and
speech, he can tell from sight alone almost from the first. He's tried to explain it to her before, but like all things that come by
instinct it's hard to translate from pure, unreasoning thought into the inadequacy of the spoken word. The best he can manage is to
describe it as a visual *wrongness*, a look of being completely at odds with environment and appearance. Once he tried using the
idea of seeing colors that shouldn't be there to describe it, but that only confused the matter further.
She believes him anyway. There's a curiously focused quality to his eyes at all times, as if he sees light and color differently than
other people. It might be true, at that -- who knew all the things that might result from the mingling of human and devil bloods? His
eyes are a brighter green than any human's have the right to be.
She just wonders if he sees that "wrongness" when he looks at her, and if that's the real reason for his crazy-making aloofness.
Somehow the idea is not as comforting as it might be.
No, she's pretty sure she knows what he sees when he looks at her, and the knowledge is a sour knot of helpless pain in her heart.
Mundus had been cruel not only to the Sparda brothers when he'd made her in their mother's image.
*It's not fair.* Which is a very human thought, but she only cares about that in the vaguest of ways. The unfairness itself is what
occupies her attention.
III. Self
[end story]
- - - - -
Author's Note: I know -- maddening, isn't it? What the hell happens next?
Sadly, I don't even know myself. This little snippet came to me sometime in very early December, when I wrote down all the parts
that you see here. Shortly after that I went to stay with my parents for the holidays, and during the commotion of the season and of
getting back home, it was forgotten entirely. It wasn't even until very recently that I found the notebook containing this fragment at
all -- suffice it to say, the precise details of What Happens Next have completely left my head, leaving it impossible to finish it to my
satisfaction.
It was only comprised of the three segments outlined here, though, and if I recall correctly, had a rather satisfying ending -- for Dante
and Trish, anyway. I always feel like I'm copping out if I give these things happy endings, don't ask why. At any rate, I apologize for
the incomplete nature of this piece, but hope you enjoyed it anyway.
-AP-
Author: the Angelic Position
Rating: R (language, sexual content)
Summary: An incomplete story fragment as seen from Trish's perspective, told after the events of Devil May Cry. Solitude and
reserve are hard habits to break, but Dante isn't the only one who stands to suffer for them.
Archive: Fanfiction.net; all others, ask permission before reposting elsewhere.
Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all related characters and events are the sole property of Capcom.
- - - - -
"Unfinished DMC Vignette"
I. Circles
It's a maddeningly repetitious dance they've been leading eachother all this time: a repeating series of advances, retreats, and silent
circlings from which, try as she might, she cannot break step -- for either of them. And it hasn't been for lack of effort, of that at
least she's certain. Sometimes that's all she's sure about -- that she's tried so often, and every time she's failed.
Subtlety was her first strategy. Cautious as any good hunter would be, she approached softly and slow: her bedroom door left
open, sentences veiled in seemingly unconscious invitation -- she'd studied endless black-and-white movies on daytime television for
that -- a casual touch, now and again. Casual touches, seemingly accidental, on his shoulders, arms, hands, chest, and once,
rather daringly, on his face. That was the boldest she'd been. She preferred to set up the bait and wait -- cautious, as any good
hunter would be.
And true, sometimes he'd taken it. Those times she hoarded in her heart as treasure beyond price. What else did she have to go
on? He'd kissed her once or twice, sweet tastes of himself given in those rare unguarded moments. But they were so brief, so
unfulfilled -- each time he'd pulled away, and each time she wasn't able to get close to him again for months. The resulting physical
tension made things hotter when they did happen, but it also made her feel like gnashing her teeth and snarling her frustration like a
wolf bitch at That Time of the Moon. She'd noticed that they fought better on jobs like that. More...feverishly, almost. Had to vent
those certain frustrations somehow...
So then she'd decided to try a more direct approach. Tops cut ever more precariously low, come-hither-and-shuck-your-pants-on-
the-way stares, and, on one unfortunately memorable occasion, the phrase "so what does a girl have to decaptitate to get a decent
fuck around here", also learned from television. *That* had failed to deliver the desired result to say the least. In retrospect,
suggestively stroking the Force Edge's hilt had probably been a little over the top. Still, desperate times and all that...
She devised countless stratagems that increased in complexity and improbability as her longing rose. How many ways could one
possibly convince a man to go ahead and do what both desire? She was sure she'd tried them all, and invented several new ones
into the bargain. And again and again, each of them seemed only to drive him further and further from her arms.
When finally she abandoned all pursuit, it was impossible to tell who was the more relieved. She figured she already knew which of
them was more disappointed.
II. Seeing
He can spot a demon almost immediately, no matter what its guise. What she has to intuit based on tiny clues of behavior and
speech, he can tell from sight alone almost from the first. He's tried to explain it to her before, but like all things that come by
instinct it's hard to translate from pure, unreasoning thought into the inadequacy of the spoken word. The best he can manage is to
describe it as a visual *wrongness*, a look of being completely at odds with environment and appearance. Once he tried using the
idea of seeing colors that shouldn't be there to describe it, but that only confused the matter further.
She believes him anyway. There's a curiously focused quality to his eyes at all times, as if he sees light and color differently than
other people. It might be true, at that -- who knew all the things that might result from the mingling of human and devil bloods? His
eyes are a brighter green than any human's have the right to be.
She just wonders if he sees that "wrongness" when he looks at her, and if that's the real reason for his crazy-making aloofness.
Somehow the idea is not as comforting as it might be.
No, she's pretty sure she knows what he sees when he looks at her, and the knowledge is a sour knot of helpless pain in her heart.
Mundus had been cruel not only to the Sparda brothers when he'd made her in their mother's image.
*It's not fair.* Which is a very human thought, but she only cares about that in the vaguest of ways. The unfairness itself is what
occupies her attention.
III. Self
[end story]
- - - - -
Author's Note: I know -- maddening, isn't it? What the hell happens next?
Sadly, I don't even know myself. This little snippet came to me sometime in very early December, when I wrote down all the parts
that you see here. Shortly after that I went to stay with my parents for the holidays, and during the commotion of the season and of
getting back home, it was forgotten entirely. It wasn't even until very recently that I found the notebook containing this fragment at
all -- suffice it to say, the precise details of What Happens Next have completely left my head, leaving it impossible to finish it to my
satisfaction.
It was only comprised of the three segments outlined here, though, and if I recall correctly, had a rather satisfying ending -- for Dante
and Trish, anyway. I always feel like I'm copping out if I give these things happy endings, don't ask why. At any rate, I apologize for
the incomplete nature of this piece, but hope you enjoyed it anyway.
-AP-