The Lone Musician

Chapter Seven - Reflection

Disclaimer: Um… I don't own this, Capcom does. I tried bribing them, BUT NOOOOO! THEY SENT SECURITY GUARDS AND LAWYERS AFTER ME! You people can be so damn stubborn! Let people legally use your characters once in awhil-*is dragged away by Mr.Ton-Ton*

Sorry for the late update everyone. Busy, busy! I'm going to a concert on Sunday with my friends! W00t!

Cherrymecha: How many? *counts on fingers* I forgot… O_o In other stories! Thank you for reviewing! This is the new chapter. Enjoy! Also… I used my named for good reasons… *huggles Dante plushie*

LilSheepi: DON'T HURT ME! But thanks for reading!

Morbid Angel: I'm not the only one who loves Dante? THANK YOU! *huggles* Oh, you're a new reader?!? COOL! Welcome to the club! I'm really glad you like it! ^-^

Kizna1200: Welcome to my readers! I'm glad you like it, too!!!

Enjoy everyone! AND THANK YOU FOR READING!

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Lazul's tears were forgotten by the time they reached Dante's appartment. Lazul was still very confused, her eyes, puffy and red, and her whole body felt like a huge lead weight. Dante gave her a cheerful smile and wandered up the creaking, metal steps to the apartment. Upon reaching the door, he turned the key and once the door was open, a strong smell of vomit and smoke wafted out. He winced. When would Mundus stop drinking and smoking? Even he didn't know, but he remembered when he was a good ol' kid, back when he and Lucia were together. They used to be a really cute couple, too. Just watching them play in pool together, read children's books. The thought made him smile, even though he just stepped in a pool of vomit. He quickly winced again, then ran for his room. Once in his room, he saw flyers littering the room. He walked over to a poster in particular that his father said was a collector's item: An original band poster signed by Jimmy Hendrix. It looked pretty beat up, so he thought of it as an heirloom. He pulled the knob on the closet door, seeing an acoustic guitar lying in it. It had been Sparda's and the will said that it now belonged to him. He was happy to have received it, but hadn't touched it since his father died. He decided to take it with him to Lazul's apartment. You never know. The put the guitar in its case and quickly shoved some clothing into his small suitcase, along with bathing material and such. Last, he carefully packed a picture of him and his family. It included him, his mother, his father, and his older brother whom he never really became acquainted with before his parents split up. His mother had come to the funeral, but his brother was nowhere in sight. Maybe he had something else to do? But, what else could be more important than the passing on of their father? He decided now was not the time to think about it. He shut the suitcase and locked it tightly, then he walked out of his room, stopping in the doorway, turning back once more. Something in the back of his mind kept saying he had forgotten. The guitar! He walked back in, grabbing the guitar case and headed out of the apartment. But once the door was closed, the phone rang for a minute, before the answering machine came on.

"Dante? Are you there? It's me, Trish..."

Lazul still sat on the motorcycle where Dante had left her. Her expression will still grim when he returned.

"Hey!" he yelled, running down the creaking metal stairs again. She looked up, startled.

"Hey..." she said back, with not quiet enough enthusiasm. Dante looked concerned and he walked over to the motorcycle, setting down his things on the concrete foundation.

"Look, I know that I probably don't know anything that could help... But, I want to. Is there anything I could do? I hate seeing women cry." he said calmly. Lazul turned to him for a moment, not smiling, but her eyes shining a little in what was left from that day's sun.

"I-I really don't know... I'm about as clueless as you are..." she muttered.

"I know you're lying." he said, looking up.

"What?"

"You're lying."

"Wha-B-How did you-"

"It's a curse, I'm afraid... I'm a walking, talking lie detector. There's something I can do, you just won't tell me."

Lazul's mouth shut quickly, her eyes slightly wide. She then looked away.

"Help me, help you..." he said, still looking completely serious. Lazul didn't answer. Dante was heating up in the face. He felt a little embarrassed. I mean, he was staying at the house of this girl he had known for maybe fours days now. She probably didn't even trust him yet.

"If you're that set on knowing, I'll tell you a little later... But, I'm going to tell you one thing. This will help you..." she said. Dante looked up.

"I have this feeling some nights... Usually comes with the nightmares. It's like a mission briefing. It tells me a name, location, and description of the person. If they describe Lucia at all, lock me in my room, tie me to my bed, do anything to stop me. If you can't do anything..." she said, removing something from her pocket and tossing it to Dante, handle first. "Shoot me. I don't want to spill her blood."

Dante looked at Lazul, then at the polished, black gun now in his hands. He put it in his pocket and got on the motorcycle, placing his helmet back on after Lazul's had her's in place. He revved the motor, and then they set off again, Lazul clinging to his waist. Dante glanced at the girl behind him, and then out into the sky. The sun had practically gone down and the horizon was dotted with differing blotches of orange, pink, and red, then rest turning into a deep blue. Because of the bands new predicament having a subconsciously trained killer as the lead singer, what would become of them? Would they ever make a record? Ever get a gig? What if someone found out about Lazul? Maybe Lazul was thinking the same thing. His thoughts traveled back to the gun now placed in his pocket.

"If you can't do anything... Shoot me."

He hoped he'd never have to us it. Especially against her. The image on her pale skin drenched in blood, a bullet hole in her temple turned his stomach. Just that image made his feel such pity for her; he had to bite back tears. A girl her age being used to kill people? What was America coming to? That same girl killing his friend. He couldn't think about anything else for a moment. He didn't want to use that gun. He didn't want to look at it, or touch it. He'd beaten people before, but never killed anyone! He didn't want to do it… But for all he knew:

Anything could happen.