"Jesus Christ! Gramps collected a lot of shit during his run on this
planet!" I coughed and sputtered as a monstrous cloud of dust attacked me
after I pulled a large roll of what looked suspiciously like a hundred
years worth of grocery bags off a high shelf in my deceased grandfather's
upstairs closet. Whoever had designed the house was an idiot. They had
placed the closet straight across from the stairs. So I went rolling down
to the main floor, trailing hair, Sweet-n-low (AN: Friends reference. Gotta
love that show), grocery bags, shoe polish and newspapers older than me
down the stairs and into my lap. Dust covered my platinum white hair, which
was falling out of the buns on top of my head and now trailed onto the
stack of newspapers behind me. I closed my crystal blue eyes and sneezed…
a lot. Laughter filled the room as my brother discovered me.
"Nel. We're supposed to be CLEANING. Not making a bigger mess. Grammy Trish was a big enough slob without your help." I glared at my brother, debating yanking every dirt blond hair out of his head. I slowly climbed to my feet and turned back toward the stairs.
"Minor setbacks in the mission are a non-issue, Vergil. All this job needs is a little more power." With a kamikaze scream, I bolted back up the stairs and ladder, sliding my slender 6-foot frame onto the top shelf. My brother's lover, Fredrico, appeared in the closet door and raised an eyebrow at me. I glanced at him while throwing a pile of shop towels in his general direction. He chuckled and disappeared, probably downstairs to find out why I was acting like a cheerleading mercenary on speed. Hmm… Now there was a thought for an occupation. I crawled along the shelf, being careful not to slip off. I ran into a myriad of crap. That was the only way to describe it. Crap. Boxes of receipts. Magazines. Undeveloped film. Hair ties. Newspaper clippings about the strangest things like how cockatiels are the key to an alien take-over. If it was one thing I'd learned from my family, it was to not ask questions.
There was a large, wrapped package attached to the ceiling. I tugged on it. Bad idea. It came down, sending me flying to the ground, landing on a pile of carnival toys with the thing in my lap. After screaming in a mixture of frustration and pain, I ripped open the packaging. A neon sign reading Devil May Cry greeted me. I sighed and turned it over. A faded sticker, I assumed from the sign's origin, greeted me. A key was taped next to the sticker. Without thinking, I stuffed the key into my pocket. Vergil and Fredrico came into sight seconds later, both looking somewhere between hysterics and concern.
"Nella Angelic! Are you all right?" Fredrico rushed to my side. He really was a wonderful man. Native to Italy or Spain or something. Never could get the man to call me anything other than my proper name. Vergil was already preoccupied by the sign in my lap. He never cared whether I was dead or alive.
"This is so retro! Where did you find it? I know people who would pay a delicious amount of money for this." Have I mentioned how incredibly flaming my brother is? Well, he is. Irritating as hell too. He deals in antiques and other things like that. I think he's like the head of the black market or something. I don't ask, he doesn't tell. Fredrico helped me to my feet, which was really unnecessary. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I dusted myself off, again, and stared over Vergil's shoulder to look at the sign.
"Well, Gramps' will left everything to us and Aunt Maddie. And Aunt Maddie said we could have whatever we wanted and to sell the rest, so I guess you're getting your delicious amount of money." I looked at my watch. I was incredibly late for a meeting with my martial art's sensei. With a muttered curse, I bolted downstairs and hopped on my crotch rocket and speed away from the house of doom.
***
The next morning found me in the spare bedroom in my three-room, up town apartment. I'd long ago converted it into a training room of sorts. I'm an avid fan of hand-to-hand combat. I think I always have been. I recall at age six wanting nothing more than fencing lessons. Then came karate and things went downhill from there. I guess it's supposed to be in my blood or something. Grammy Trish always had these weird stories I never listened to much about when she and Gramps had been young. I personally always thought she was just crazy and had nothing better to do than fabricate these fantasies while playing housewife.
I continued beating the heavy bag, upset at myself. Upset at my sensei. Upset at my ex. Upset at my brother. Upset at my family. Hell. I was just upset. I've always been different than other people. In school, I was always just a little faster than the track stars. Or I always managed to jump a little higher than the basketball players did. Just little stuff that made me loathed and despised. Needless to say, school wasn't a happy place for me. Then there's the weird dreams I have about giant spiders made of lava and huge living marionettes. Well, at least they give me a great writing base when I feel like it.
"Hey Nel! Guess what I found! You're gonna flip!" I tripped and landed on my ankle as Vergil came running into my room. Of course the shit had a key to my place.
"This had better be damn good, VERG! Or I'm going to kill you." He ignored my fuming and pulled me into the living room.
"Oh you'll love it. I did some research on that sign and it turns out Grammy Trish and Gramps owned a business of some sort when they were young. Here's the address. You should go check it out. I might be able to use it for my store or something." I blinked, looking at the yellowed piece of paper in my hand. An address was scribbled across it along with the word Aeneid, which was underlined and circled repeatedly.
"And why do I have to go look at it if you're the one who wants it?"
"Because I have to work… and there some rumors about…" He trailed off, mumbling several things under his breath that I couldn't completely understand. I glanced at him.
"What? I didn't quite catch that last part. For your sake I hope you didn't say curse and the other five words I think you did." Vergil turned red and scooted the other direction on the couch. "You chicken shit piece of roach vomit! You know I hate crap like that!"
"Yes. But you never seem to have any problems with it." I sighed and nodded.
"Fine. I'll go check it out. But you're going to die very painfully and slowly."
"Yes yes. I know. And then I'm going to be reincarnated as a toilet brush for Taco Bell. Just go!" He gave me a kiss on the cheek and disappeared out the door. I changed quickly and set out for wherever I was going.
Two hours, three toll roads, a shot of vodka, four cups of coffee and a grocery store clerk later, I was standing in front what appeared to be the desired location. A severely vandalized sign above what appeared to be a door proclaimed this particular trash heap Devils Never Cry. I rolled my eyes and stepped off my bike. I was worried about it being stolen, but short of wheeling it inside, what could I do? And frankly, it looked safer out here. The windows were boarded up and spray painted a wonderful shade of puke green. I stepped up to the door, not particularly fond of the odor coming from inside. I nudged the door with the toe of my boot and refrained from running away like the girly man my brother is when something maroon and sticky oozed out from under it. Thinking for moment, I pulled out the key I'd found yesterday and tried it in the lock. By some odd twist of fate, it opened the door. I stepped over the suspicious sticky maroon puddle and looked around. Of course no light could be found. But hey, I did this sort of stuff for Verg all the time, so I pulled out my trusty flashlight, which doubled as a fwapping stick, and illuminated the darkness. I was met with the sight of tons and tons of…
….
….
(tense, ain't it?)
….
….
Boxes. I thought I'd seen enough boxes in the past week to kill me. Apparently I was wrong. Sighing piteously, I walked over to the nearest box, said a quick prayer and slit it open. The delightfully musty smell of old bones shot up, along with a cloud of dust. It seemed I was running into a lot of those these days. After a delightful round of sneezes, I looked down in the box and found myself face to um well, skull with some sort of demonic cow. I jumped and tripped into some other stack of boxes, which spilled open. More skulls. Some of them had holes through the forehead. And there weren't little holes. Big enough for a sword blade or two to fit through…easily. I walked away from the pile of bones and crossed the room. Halfway across, my foot broke through some rotted wood. Spiders and worms crawled out around my foot. I shook them off and slid a box over the hole. I continued across the room and opened the closest box. Thankfully, no skulls were in this one. Something far better met my eyes. Weaponry.
"Now this is worth it." I dug into the box, finding a beautiful pair of handguns on top. Ebony was engraved onto the handle of one, Ivory on the other. I picked them up. Though they were meant for someone bigger than myself, my hands seemed to mold into the grip perfectly. I found a holster underneath some paper and set it and the guns on the desk next to me. Deeper down in the box was a variety of swords. I shifted through them, piling them up behind me. Only one caught my attention. I stood with it in my hand and swung it around a couple of times. The motions were fluid and came naturally, like I'd been walking around with the thing in my hand forever.
"Well, baby. You're mine now. What should I call you?" I swung it around a couple more times as the words Force Edge ran over and over in my mind. I shrugged and set it, Force Edge I guess, down on the desk next to my new guns and picked up one of the discarded skulls.
"Alas poor Yurich. I knew him well," I dropped the skull and rifled through the box and picked up another one. It was a little less cowish… more… I don't know… Dog like, "Well, either Grammy Trish and Gramps had a cutesy little southwestern shop, or there was a lot they didn't tell us." My musing was stopped short as the door burst in. Some guy was riding my bike… I loved that bike. And some guy was riding it. Some very tall, dark, good- looking guy that kinda reminded me of that guy off of Angel, except with black hair. Oh what was his name? Who cared? This guy was on my bike. He stepped off and looked around.
"Listen man. I doubt the bathroom's working, so why don't you just apologize for touching my bike and scoot before I turn you into hamburger." He slowly turned toward me and took off his sunglasses.
"You're Nella? Descendent of the infamous Dante?"
"I don't know how infamous my grandfather was, but yeah."
"You lost your mother and father to an unknown force when you were young…"
"How'd you know about that?" He smiled and hefted up my motorcycle. I blinked, suddenly afraid.
"Good. I hope your grandfather told you about this." He suddenly hurled my bike at me, laughing all the while. Snapping out of my shock, I grabbed the handguns and fired them repeatedly. Some sort dark light surrounded me and the bike froze in mid air. I shot it a couple more times and ran out from underneath it. The bike fell, suprisingly enough not bursting into flames, and fell through the floor. I stared at it, then at the guy, then at my guns and back to the bike.
"That wasn't cool. Who the hell are you?!" The guy gave me the once over as picked up the Force Edge and holstered the guns.
"My name is Taren. I need your help. The dark lord of the Underworld is trying to take over this world and you're the only one who can stop him." I chuckled and pulled out one of the guns as I walked up to him.
"You know what Taren… you're funny."
"Nel. We're supposed to be CLEANING. Not making a bigger mess. Grammy Trish was a big enough slob without your help." I glared at my brother, debating yanking every dirt blond hair out of his head. I slowly climbed to my feet and turned back toward the stairs.
"Minor setbacks in the mission are a non-issue, Vergil. All this job needs is a little more power." With a kamikaze scream, I bolted back up the stairs and ladder, sliding my slender 6-foot frame onto the top shelf. My brother's lover, Fredrico, appeared in the closet door and raised an eyebrow at me. I glanced at him while throwing a pile of shop towels in his general direction. He chuckled and disappeared, probably downstairs to find out why I was acting like a cheerleading mercenary on speed. Hmm… Now there was a thought for an occupation. I crawled along the shelf, being careful not to slip off. I ran into a myriad of crap. That was the only way to describe it. Crap. Boxes of receipts. Magazines. Undeveloped film. Hair ties. Newspaper clippings about the strangest things like how cockatiels are the key to an alien take-over. If it was one thing I'd learned from my family, it was to not ask questions.
There was a large, wrapped package attached to the ceiling. I tugged on it. Bad idea. It came down, sending me flying to the ground, landing on a pile of carnival toys with the thing in my lap. After screaming in a mixture of frustration and pain, I ripped open the packaging. A neon sign reading Devil May Cry greeted me. I sighed and turned it over. A faded sticker, I assumed from the sign's origin, greeted me. A key was taped next to the sticker. Without thinking, I stuffed the key into my pocket. Vergil and Fredrico came into sight seconds later, both looking somewhere between hysterics and concern.
"Nella Angelic! Are you all right?" Fredrico rushed to my side. He really was a wonderful man. Native to Italy or Spain or something. Never could get the man to call me anything other than my proper name. Vergil was already preoccupied by the sign in my lap. He never cared whether I was dead or alive.
"This is so retro! Where did you find it? I know people who would pay a delicious amount of money for this." Have I mentioned how incredibly flaming my brother is? Well, he is. Irritating as hell too. He deals in antiques and other things like that. I think he's like the head of the black market or something. I don't ask, he doesn't tell. Fredrico helped me to my feet, which was really unnecessary. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I dusted myself off, again, and stared over Vergil's shoulder to look at the sign.
"Well, Gramps' will left everything to us and Aunt Maddie. And Aunt Maddie said we could have whatever we wanted and to sell the rest, so I guess you're getting your delicious amount of money." I looked at my watch. I was incredibly late for a meeting with my martial art's sensei. With a muttered curse, I bolted downstairs and hopped on my crotch rocket and speed away from the house of doom.
***
The next morning found me in the spare bedroom in my three-room, up town apartment. I'd long ago converted it into a training room of sorts. I'm an avid fan of hand-to-hand combat. I think I always have been. I recall at age six wanting nothing more than fencing lessons. Then came karate and things went downhill from there. I guess it's supposed to be in my blood or something. Grammy Trish always had these weird stories I never listened to much about when she and Gramps had been young. I personally always thought she was just crazy and had nothing better to do than fabricate these fantasies while playing housewife.
I continued beating the heavy bag, upset at myself. Upset at my sensei. Upset at my ex. Upset at my brother. Upset at my family. Hell. I was just upset. I've always been different than other people. In school, I was always just a little faster than the track stars. Or I always managed to jump a little higher than the basketball players did. Just little stuff that made me loathed and despised. Needless to say, school wasn't a happy place for me. Then there's the weird dreams I have about giant spiders made of lava and huge living marionettes. Well, at least they give me a great writing base when I feel like it.
"Hey Nel! Guess what I found! You're gonna flip!" I tripped and landed on my ankle as Vergil came running into my room. Of course the shit had a key to my place.
"This had better be damn good, VERG! Or I'm going to kill you." He ignored my fuming and pulled me into the living room.
"Oh you'll love it. I did some research on that sign and it turns out Grammy Trish and Gramps owned a business of some sort when they were young. Here's the address. You should go check it out. I might be able to use it for my store or something." I blinked, looking at the yellowed piece of paper in my hand. An address was scribbled across it along with the word Aeneid, which was underlined and circled repeatedly.
"And why do I have to go look at it if you're the one who wants it?"
"Because I have to work… and there some rumors about…" He trailed off, mumbling several things under his breath that I couldn't completely understand. I glanced at him.
"What? I didn't quite catch that last part. For your sake I hope you didn't say curse and the other five words I think you did." Vergil turned red and scooted the other direction on the couch. "You chicken shit piece of roach vomit! You know I hate crap like that!"
"Yes. But you never seem to have any problems with it." I sighed and nodded.
"Fine. I'll go check it out. But you're going to die very painfully and slowly."
"Yes yes. I know. And then I'm going to be reincarnated as a toilet brush for Taco Bell. Just go!" He gave me a kiss on the cheek and disappeared out the door. I changed quickly and set out for wherever I was going.
Two hours, three toll roads, a shot of vodka, four cups of coffee and a grocery store clerk later, I was standing in front what appeared to be the desired location. A severely vandalized sign above what appeared to be a door proclaimed this particular trash heap Devils Never Cry. I rolled my eyes and stepped off my bike. I was worried about it being stolen, but short of wheeling it inside, what could I do? And frankly, it looked safer out here. The windows were boarded up and spray painted a wonderful shade of puke green. I stepped up to the door, not particularly fond of the odor coming from inside. I nudged the door with the toe of my boot and refrained from running away like the girly man my brother is when something maroon and sticky oozed out from under it. Thinking for moment, I pulled out the key I'd found yesterday and tried it in the lock. By some odd twist of fate, it opened the door. I stepped over the suspicious sticky maroon puddle and looked around. Of course no light could be found. But hey, I did this sort of stuff for Verg all the time, so I pulled out my trusty flashlight, which doubled as a fwapping stick, and illuminated the darkness. I was met with the sight of tons and tons of…
….
….
(tense, ain't it?)
….
….
Boxes. I thought I'd seen enough boxes in the past week to kill me. Apparently I was wrong. Sighing piteously, I walked over to the nearest box, said a quick prayer and slit it open. The delightfully musty smell of old bones shot up, along with a cloud of dust. It seemed I was running into a lot of those these days. After a delightful round of sneezes, I looked down in the box and found myself face to um well, skull with some sort of demonic cow. I jumped and tripped into some other stack of boxes, which spilled open. More skulls. Some of them had holes through the forehead. And there weren't little holes. Big enough for a sword blade or two to fit through…easily. I walked away from the pile of bones and crossed the room. Halfway across, my foot broke through some rotted wood. Spiders and worms crawled out around my foot. I shook them off and slid a box over the hole. I continued across the room and opened the closest box. Thankfully, no skulls were in this one. Something far better met my eyes. Weaponry.
"Now this is worth it." I dug into the box, finding a beautiful pair of handguns on top. Ebony was engraved onto the handle of one, Ivory on the other. I picked them up. Though they were meant for someone bigger than myself, my hands seemed to mold into the grip perfectly. I found a holster underneath some paper and set it and the guns on the desk next to me. Deeper down in the box was a variety of swords. I shifted through them, piling them up behind me. Only one caught my attention. I stood with it in my hand and swung it around a couple of times. The motions were fluid and came naturally, like I'd been walking around with the thing in my hand forever.
"Well, baby. You're mine now. What should I call you?" I swung it around a couple more times as the words Force Edge ran over and over in my mind. I shrugged and set it, Force Edge I guess, down on the desk next to my new guns and picked up one of the discarded skulls.
"Alas poor Yurich. I knew him well," I dropped the skull and rifled through the box and picked up another one. It was a little less cowish… more… I don't know… Dog like, "Well, either Grammy Trish and Gramps had a cutesy little southwestern shop, or there was a lot they didn't tell us." My musing was stopped short as the door burst in. Some guy was riding my bike… I loved that bike. And some guy was riding it. Some very tall, dark, good- looking guy that kinda reminded me of that guy off of Angel, except with black hair. Oh what was his name? Who cared? This guy was on my bike. He stepped off and looked around.
"Listen man. I doubt the bathroom's working, so why don't you just apologize for touching my bike and scoot before I turn you into hamburger." He slowly turned toward me and took off his sunglasses.
"You're Nella? Descendent of the infamous Dante?"
"I don't know how infamous my grandfather was, but yeah."
"You lost your mother and father to an unknown force when you were young…"
"How'd you know about that?" He smiled and hefted up my motorcycle. I blinked, suddenly afraid.
"Good. I hope your grandfather told you about this." He suddenly hurled my bike at me, laughing all the while. Snapping out of my shock, I grabbed the handguns and fired them repeatedly. Some sort dark light surrounded me and the bike froze in mid air. I shot it a couple more times and ran out from underneath it. The bike fell, suprisingly enough not bursting into flames, and fell through the floor. I stared at it, then at the guy, then at my guns and back to the bike.
"That wasn't cool. Who the hell are you?!" The guy gave me the once over as picked up the Force Edge and holstered the guns.
"My name is Taren. I need your help. The dark lord of the Underworld is trying to take over this world and you're the only one who can stop him." I chuckled and pulled out one of the guns as I walked up to him.
"You know what Taren… you're funny."