Ebon Velvet

:1:

How the hell did I let my shop get ruined to hell like this? Guess I was having too much fun. Y'know, that's the way a damn family reunion should go down. No invited guests—just party crashers, and loads and loads of bullets. Hells yeah. Shit, but I didn't really want my shop to go to hell just so I could have fun playing catch-up with Vergil. I had one hefty mess to fix up when everything was said and done. Well, no one was gonna help me—I guess besides Lady—so, I decided I'd start by giving the city government a heads up on the ruins left by the Temen-ni-gru (as if they really needed to know, but y'know…sometimes a little complaining doesn't hurt).

So, for a few months, the city handled the gritty shit. Next on the 'To-Do List' was getting a federal loan to actually get my business started up again. That was some hell. I mean, the first time around, I had some random cash laying around from some previous bounty hunting deals I'd managed when I was younger. This time around, I really had no kind of damn money—and if I did, it all got jacked by those Hell minions. Well, what made getting the loan such a pain was explaining why the hell I needed it. Y'know, killing demons didn't really sell my goal. I think I ended up telling them that I was starting up a strip club business, but maybe that was one of many frustrated pranks I hit them with while waiting for things to get back together.

Well, without going into any real detail, I can tell ya that within a year or two, the my HQ was opened and ready to roll. The name? Hell, it's kinda lame, but it had a neat edge to it—Lady came up with it. Devil May Cry became my setup. I tell ya, nothing much was going down at first.

Then again, that's a bit of a lie.

-'Yo. Another cat stuck in a tree. Wanna take it?'

It was broad daylight, and I was tired as hell. I was trying to do what any lazy-ass, tired man would do—sleep. Unfortunately, Lady managed to stroll in about ten minutes before. As usual, she didn't say a word as I lay with my back against the juke box.

I kept silent.

-'Uh-huh. I'm sorry sir. Mr. Sparda doesn't do that sort of work. Yes, yes, I understand that you're willing to pay, but this isn't his—…yes, sir…yes…excuse me, sir…ugh….'

I could hear a raging maniac on the other side of the line going on and on. I cracked one eye open ever-so-slightly to catch a glimpse of Lady holding the phone away from her ear like it was cancer. I started to laugh a little, but then I noticed that she wasn't hanging up the phone.

'Eh, let her do whatever.'

Still raging. It was too early (maybe about 1PM) for me to be hearing bullshit gibberish from a guy who wants a cat saved. Understandably, I got really annoyed. My sleep was guaranteed to be ruined for the next two days because of this idiot. So, I opened my eyes with a pissed off sigh, got up, and yanked the phone from Lady. Before I put my ear to the receiver, I gave Lady one of those 'dumb blonde' looks, even though she isn't blonde.

-'Yo, hombre.'

-'Excuse me? Is this Mr. Sparda?'

-'Fuck off.'

Click. Easy as pie. Offend the customer and hang up. Keeps them from calling back if you don't want them to. That's how I roll.

-'Good morning, Dante.'

She had a nice attitude running under her words. That's how it worked between us.

-'Afternoon, Smart-Ass.'

-'I prefer Mary.'

-'I don't call you that even when I'm okay with you. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?'

By this time, I was heading for the bathroom. The night before I'd gotten ripped to shreds by a good seven straight kegs of booze. Frat parties, baby. I hate the twats, but they have decent beer in cartloads, and the occasional college girl flash. Needless to say, though, I had to have smelled like shit.

-'Well, to be honest, I was trying to see if you had an actual job, yet.'

-'What the hell's this look like to you?'

I slammed the bathroom door shut and flipped the light on, and flipped it right back off once I realized I didn't need it. Bad habit. I then glanced at the mirror.

-'Devil May Cry hasn't gotten you any money. You live like a bum.'

I guess I looked like one, too. No bruises, but plenty of dirt in my hair and some clumps of grass—not to mention random kiss marks and 'BILABIAL FROSTBITE' written in pretty small letters across my forehead. Clever. But damn, I really didn't remember any of this. I must've had one helluva time, though!

-'I barely care. I had fun last night. I think I may have beat down some frat boys at Alpha Rho Kappa. I mean, I've got grass on my head.'

This is about when she started shouting, as if the bathroom door weren't paper thin. She always did that when she thought she needed to nail a lesson deep into the recesses of my skull.

-'This is how you're gonna make money, right? Going on campus, getting beer, and getting to see tits? Look, Dante, I could just walk out of here and never see you again so you can rot in your own financial hole, but y'know that I haven't done it yet.'

-'Yeah, even though I've been begging you to get the hell out of here. You smell like ass.'

I didn't really mean that last part as an insult—just thought it was refreshingly childish. One thing about her, though, is that she had a sense of humor. I heard her chuckle at that comment, but pretty much ignored it go on with her mini-monologue.

-'My point is, I want to help you get your business off its feet, but you've actually got to make money and gain a reputation before you'll get anywhere. So, I suggest we go through the Classifieds when you get out of the shower. Are you cool with that?'

-'Whatever gets you in bed tonight.'

-'Shut the hell up, you dick.'

I heard her chuckle again. She was also bad at making it seem like she was pissed at me because of the aforementioned sense of humor. Thank goodness she's no prude.

I stripped down and let the water run for a while. I sort of just looked at myself for a little while in the mirror.

'Who cares about money…but she's right about the rep. Shit. I hate how true that is.'

I'll give her this: she dressed well. She ditched the whole army boot garb in favor of a more secretarial outfit. She straightened her hair daily (which had grown to about shoulder-length), and wore brown contacts so that the color of her eyes were identical. She sported the same damn blouse she was running around in, back when she was oh-so-willing to shoot me in the head. Over that blouse was a black formal jacket which matched with her black slacks and black square-heeled shoes. Total makeover. She forced me into a makeover of my own, which, I will admit, I'm happy about. I look so much more badass with my nearly all-red get-up. Red coat, red vest, pants…pretty much only my undershirt and boots were black, along with my kickass buckles. Nice holster for Ebony & Ivory, too. All her doing.

Neither of us were sporting our tricked-out outfits, though. She was in T and jeans today. I was in my boxers. It was about 4PM by the time we were almost done with the Classifieds, and it was becoming more and more apparent that even the most rewarding jobs on the page weren't going to cut it. I was sighing, yawning left and right, and just letting myself slam onto the floor back-first from time to time. She was getting a good hint that I was getting insanely restless, but what was odd was that she was starting to get restless herself.

-'I don't you're ever going to make money, Dante….'

'Rep….'

-'What about my rep, Lady?'

-'I don't know…looks hopeless. Y'know, you could actually do all this find-the-shit out on your own for a change. It is your reputation, after all.'

-'Dammit, there you go again.'

-'What?'

She dropped the newspaper onto my desk, miffed. Before she could make way to attack me in her rage, I was up on my feet throwing my hands up.

-'Ease up, babe. I was just messing with you. I'll take a last gander at the newspaper.'

She cracked her first smile in two hours right there. I was glad—meant she wasn't gonna hound my ass for at least another twenty minutes.

-'Thanks, Dante.'

-'Yeah, yeah, whatever.'

I snatched the newspaper and looked through all the job requests that we'd circled as 'Possibly-Maybe-Maybe Not?', furrowing my eyebrows at one in particular.

-'Hey, take a look here. I kinda recognize this name.'

I jabbed my finger a few times under the name Benjamin Gehenna.

-'Well, only figures. That's the guy who calls every few days talking about that damn cat in the tree.'

I frowned in disappointment.

-'No way….'

-'Yeah well, he pays. No harm in considering him, however annoying.'

-'A cat, huh?'

-'He pays the most, even.'

-'A cat…dammit. Fuck, Lady! A cat?'

-'Full moon tonight, Dante. Might get lucky, and it'll transform into a massive were-cat.'

That pissed me off, honestly. I was dying—DYING—to fuck some demons up, but here I was, stuck with the prospect of saving a damn cat from a tree. I paced about the room, mumbling shit under my breath, as she kept on holding a proverbial carrot in front of my eyes, making the sound of saving a pussy from a tree more and more attractive. Well, not attractive, but do-able. I told her I'd sleep on it. Shit, I already had made up my mind. I needed to do something. Didn't hurt that the guy was offering $500,000. I mean, a bit hokey, but I wasn't one to question too much, y'know?

Maybe that's a good thing.