Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry. Dante owns it. Capcom just has all the legal rights.
Six is sometimes considered to be the 'bad' number due to 666, so I'm going with that even though it's my lucky number. Because everyone has to have a bad date, and even the great Sparda is helpless against Murphy's law.
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She had absolutely nothing at all to wear.
Making field repairs to clothing was inevitable in this job, sewing one of the few things she'd learned back when she was a child that was of any use now, so she'd thought she could make a few alterations to the dress the lady's maid at the hotel Sparda had put her up at that time she'd gotten ambushed and it would be usable… but she'd forgotten she'd ended up ripping it up for bandages the next time she'd run into him.
He was definitely going to take her on the 'date' they'd decided to have as part of the try-this-out-until-we-inevitably-break-up plan to someplace classy.
The people in the upper class thinking she was a 'courtesan' and the people in the underworld thinking he was her sugar daddy was only amusing while they weren't involved.
Goodness knew how far this would go… she didn't want to embarrass him by being low-class. Which meant a fashionable dress she would wear only once. Something designer.
Unfortunately, she didn't have the money. Setting up the new shop had tapped out her reserves, and then the damn thing had burned it to the ground.
Staying in this hotel with Sparda was expensive. She'd insisted on paying for it, not to be a leech, and it was worth it to have somewhere safe to stay.
Now she was wondering if it was worth it, because if she hadn't stayed here she hopefully wouldn't have been around him enough to fall in love with him and if she hadn't stayed here she would have been building up her reserves for a new shop… and would have enough money to blow on a decent dress.
So… looked like she'd have to buy something half-decent at a department store and buy some fabric and add a few things to make it look one-of-a-kind. Do-able, if she worked fast.
Ugly, ugly, ugly, eew, pastel, pink… she ended up buying a simple short sleeveless black dress, a red shawl (because red was her lucky color, and she was going to need all the luck she could get), and some black gauze to add a sort of see-through skirt and sleeves to it. Pretty simple. She even knew a tailor who would let her borrow the sewing machine for fifteen minutes no problem.
She tried it on in front of the mirror and was pretty proud of herself. The fact that you could just barely see her legs and arms through the gauze made people look at them, and she was in such good shape that they were probably her best features.
Well, that and it had taken a while to find a dress sized to show off her waistline.
…she'd be wearing make-up next. Why was she trying to impress him with her looks and, let's face it, sexiness? It would be smarter to wear a shapeless bag.
She sighed, and took her hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall freely across her shoulders and the ruby shawl.
All the time when she'd been growing up, it had been decorum this and femininity that and getting a man, making a good match for herself and the family.
One little crush and her façade of an independent woman just crumbled like that. It was embarrassing.
She was used to being stared at, she was used to people undressing her with her eyes, but in her khaki work pants with the pockets and black tee and red leather trenchcoat and submachine guns the message was understood to be, look but don't touch. Though some idiots failed to pick up on it…
But a dress… one obviously meant to attract attention… hell, she felt modest.
How long had it been since…
This was going to go badly. Badly, badly, badly, even without him being a devil. They just lived in too different worlds. She remembered the upper-class world, and she'd disliked it then and she hated it now, what it represented.
Smug barons living off the oppression of the workers.
But Sparda wasn't like that. He'd had the bank started way back when to help the people who lived on his lands, and encourage trade, and kept it up because its reputation for stability and standards meant it closing would hurt a lot of people who kept their money there, and companies the money was invested in… she knew how banks worked, but… she'd never really thought about it that way. Her father didn't think about it that way.
Sparda was a devil, yet he had more human compassion than most.
And that was why she was dressing up. She wanted… this wouldn't work out, but there wasn't any harm in pretending. She wanted this to be a good memory for him, after it ended.
And it was a good thing that it would inevitably end, because she was a human and he was a devil, and they were just too different, and even if they somehow managed to get along despite all that, he was still in his prime and she was mortal.
This wasn't going to work out, but it could be fun while it lasted.
She had earrings. Red ones, little roses. She liked roses, real ones, they had god-awful thorns. A better symbol of womanhood than most feminists thought. She wouldn't need the enchantments tonight, but jewelry was jewelry. She had charm bracelets…
And she slipped a pistol in her purse because you never went anywhere unarmed. She'd be disqualified from life if she got in the bad habit of thinking anywhere was safe.
What was he doing now?
Was he stressed out too? Hoping everything would go perfectly?
Was he adjusting that elaborate collar in front of a mirror, checking his cuffs, combing his hair, going over in his mind how he would greet her? She hoped he wasn't above all those petty little human things.
Was he at the restaurant, checking that things would go smoothly? They were meeting for dinner at 7:20, it was only 5:03… she shouldn't have gotten ready so early, it gave her much too much time to worry. Worrying never helped anything, unless you were worrying if you'd survive a mission and ended up packing extra weapons.
So… what weapons could she pack?
…maybe she should buy make-up. She changed out of the dress and went to a corner store. Cheap make-up, but no one would be able to tell, right? And she was pretty sure this was about the shade of her shawl.
Man, it had been… over eight years since she'd had make-up on. And she'd usually had it put on her.
She really wanted this to go smoothly. He was just… well, she was against marriage, an invention of the patriarchy, but… and why was she thinking about something that would never happen?
Get a grip, Eva.
She was starting to truly appreciate the extent to which love sucked. Couldn't think straight. …and this wasn't even love, of course. Just a stupid little crush. Right.
Wasn't there some statute of limitations on those things? Twenty-five should be too old for this. She wasn't a giggling teenager, damn it.
She hadn't been a giggling teenager since she'd stolen and read the copies her dad had insisted on getting, after the fact, of the Coroner's report about the condition of her sister's body.
And why was she thinking about that? She never thought about that. It did no good to think about it. Killing devil-worshippers and demons so that would never happen again was what did do good.
…and here she was getting all dolled up to date a devil.
She sighed. She wasn't betraying her sister's memory, she still wanted to kill all the rest of them… but part of her didn't see it that way.
She felt like such a fool, led around by her hormones. It didn't help that he was damn hot. Probably a good thing he wore so much clothing, otherwise everyone would be drooling over him… well, succubi and so one were beautiful and seductive and evil. Couldn't forget evil.
He wasn't evil. But he had been. He was good because he'd chosen to be.
She had to have faith in him and his willpower.
…which was hard to maintain seeing how much this had devastated her own.
She carefully used a tissue to blot her lips a few times and get the bits that had wandered cleaned up.
There. She looked… classy. Not as classy as he did, but she wouldn't look horribly underdressed.
She brushed her hair again, and put the brush in her purse. She knew she looked great with her long hair free, but the problem with that was that the movements of her shoulders and the wind wreaked bloody havoc on it. She usually kept it tied back with a vengeance so it didn't blow in front of her eyes or get grabbed or something.
…she didn't want to think about the possibility he might grab it.
She didn't want to think about the possibility his eyes might glow red and he'd grab her and fangs…
She shivered.
Good thing she was alone and no one had seen that. She'd never live it down.
Humans were just animals, really. She'd seen the record of what they could do on sterile white pages and carved bloody in human flesh. Demons…
But most humans weren't like that. But most demons were.
She just had to trust that Sparda was the exception. He was the exception to so much…
She took a deep breath and tried to do that meditation thing. Don't think. Most of the time, thinking is the only thing that will help you, but sometimes it won't help and you need to just turn it off. Quit agonizing and do. Quit worrying and have a good time.
She practiced smiling in front of the mirror. And doing the little curtsy and the other polite things upper-class people did, that she'd used to do. And went over in her mind what all the utensils did.
And then it was 7:06 and she decided the hell with it and went down to the lobby. Maybe she'd find something to distract her.
Sparda was already down there, she saw from the staircase. He was sitting in one of the armchairs with papers on a table beside him. Paperwork, it looked like. He seemed utterly composed, calm and in control.
Eva walked to the other side of the lobby and watched him.
Something occurred to her then: some hunters hated equipment maintenance, shop maintenance, cleaning house and sewing and oiling guns and wiring bombs. Chores.
She's always found them soothing. There was something about a task that had been done so often there wouldn't be any surprises; that you could start and work on in almost a trance and then be finished.
She'd felt like that earlier, working on the dress, letting her hands move and her thoughts calm.
He seemed to be doing the same thing, reading and turning the pages and signing almost with a rhythm.
Maybe it was just that he did everything perfectly (so long to practice), but… the Zen of Paperwork.
It made her smile with relief, that he was worried too. She let herself just watch him, as he frowned slightly, clearly seeing something out of place, and wrote a brief note on a pad, and returned to reading.
At 7:12 he gathered up the papers and walked briskly upstairs without seeing her where she sat in an out of the way corner. He came back down at 7:18, having put the papers in his room, probably.
He went to stand by the revolving door and checked an antique watch on a chain.
That made her smile too. Watching the clock… she stood and walked over. He spotted her as soon as she rose, and bowed, heels clicking, as she walked over. "Ms. Eva."
He seemed at a loss what else to say. She smiled. She liked (she could admit it to herself) how he was in control in almost every situation, but it was sort of… cute, endearing (if one could use those words about a millennia-old devil knight), that he was worried about this going well as she.
"Call me Eva." She held out her hand to him, smiling.
He took it. "Eva." He smiled back, a smile of understanding and a hint of self-mockery, acknowledgement he knew that she knew… that they were both so worried about this, so out of practice.
Well, she'd only ever been 'in practice' for one 'date' her family had set up that she'd only seen a few other times before, and once after across the room at a dance.
Protocol when a man was leading a woman was to her to hook her arm through his and be led. She liked that he wasn't silly enough to try that with her. Instead he bowed over her hand and released it, then waved towards the glass doors. "Shall we go?"
"Sounds great." She smiled at him. See? Going great so far. Relax.
The valet had his car right outside. A… she'd seen that make before, but she couldn't remember the name. It screamed status symbol in black and silver. Clearly an older one, antique and classic… very appropriate for him.
He opened the passenger side door for her and bowed, and she wasn't sure about the precedent or the idea, the weak woman needing doors opened for her, but it was the polite thing to do and she was weaker than him, but she could damn well open her own doors… She inwardly shrugged it off. It was sweet.
She nodded at him in acknowledgement and gracefully got in. He tipped the valet and got in on the driver's side. No chauffeur?
She liked that he drove himself.
She liked a lot of things about him, that was why they were in this situation.
Pretty much everything about him was great except for the devil part. And hadn't she been the one saying people should look at his deeds and not hold his race against him?
He concentrated on driving, which he did extremely well. She concentrated on looking at him.
It was really hard to guess his age, with the stern unlined face and silver hair. Very beautiful. And very useful for someone who was practically immortal.
How long would he live? Long past her.
She didn't want him to mourn her.
Maybe she should try to get this whole thing over with soon.
They got to the restaurant, and he handed the keys to another valet and she took his arm this time. He looked at her with mild surprise, then got the message, smiled, and led her in to the restaurant.
They would pretend to be conventional, for tonight. Tomorrow… she'd see how this went.
Try not to visibly take a deep breath, Eva.
He let her go just inside to walk up to the maitre d' and let him know that they had arrived. The man bowed to him deeply and took them to be seated immediately.
They were given menus right away and they read them as they were still nervous and didn't know quite what to say. The Maitre d' welcomed them to the restaurant, bowing, and left the two of them alone inside a private little room, separated by heavy velvet drapes from the rest of the dining area.
So they could talk without being overheard. Sparda had thought of everything.
AS soon as they came up with something to talk about.
My, this wasn't as awkward as she'd thought it would be, even though they were both staying silent. They both knew why the other was staying silent and it seemed like a sort of wry humor filled the air.
The waiter came by to get drink orders. He asked for a specific vintage of wine, she'd never been interested in that, and she had a virgin strawberry margarita. Her head was unclear enough as it was.
But really, she should think of something to say. And she wasn't really going to be able to think without her mind going round and round in circles sitting across from him. Time to make with the ultimate stereotypical female excuse.
"Sorry, I know we just got here, but do you mind if I go freshen up?" She smiled at him, wryly.
They both knew, and he smiled, almost relieved. "Of course, Eva."
She got up, nodded thanks, and left, taking her purse with her.
Brushing her hair, re-applying make-up that didn't really need it, and adjusting her shawl helped. Little rituals of civilization. This was the urban jungle, not a real one.
Talk shop, idiot. That's what you always do. And history. Just because you're dating doesn't mean you've suddenly become total strangers.
Rather the opposite, really.
On her way back, she passed a party of businessmen who were being seated.
One of them grabbed her arm. She grabbed his back before realizing this wasn't a threat. "Here, now! Aren't you Lucian's woman?"
…she blinked. "Uh…" She wasn't anybody's woman! …but she was dating him now, was that what he had meant? …had Sparda told people he was dating her without asking her first!
…well, why shouldn't he?
"…yes?" She replied, not knowing what else to say.
"So he's here then? Take us to see him." She was peremptorily told.
She blinked. "Um, we were having a private dinner…" she hadn't been in this situation before, but usually when she was in similar ones the response was to kick the pigs in the groin. And wouldn't that ruin the tone of the evening.
"Nonsense. We're business associates." …father?
…her father didn't recognize her. That was a good thing.
…Sparda wouldn't have left anything to chance in this. Had he known her father would be here? Had he been trying to set up some sort of heartwarming family reunion!
She was going to …die trying to kill him.
"This way."
She pulled back the curtain and sent Sparda her best death glare. He blinked at her. The first time she'd seen him totally at sea. She pulled it all the way back, showing their visitors.
"It's good to see you again, Sir von Schwärzung," George Morgan said, sitting in the free chair. Impolite to take a lady's seat, but she wasn't a lady and he was getting old. "How're you doing? Have you looked at the papers I sent you about the Wolff account yet?"
Realization dawned on Sparda's face, and he winced. Eva would perhaps have been mollified to see this if she hadn't been pushed back to the group by the rest shoving her backwards. "Yes, but could we perhaps discuss it another time? I was hoping to have a private dinner with a lady friend."
"Oh, never mind the… 'lady.'" George chuckled. "This deal's big enough the change could let her retire from her… profession." He winked.
…had her father just implied she was… he wouldn't just assume, right? Had Sparda told him she was… She pushed her way forward and let him have it!
George blinked at the woman, his hand reaching up to touch where she had slapped him. What was she so angry about? "Here now…"
"I am never speaking to you again!" Eva informed Sparda and stormed out.
Sparda raised a hand to hide his eyes and stood, clearly struggling to control his temper.
"What was that all about?" George stared after her. Surely Lucian had had the sense to hire someone who wouldn't make such a scene… no decent woman would be staying in a hotel unattended with someone else paying for her room…
"Mr. George. Morgan." The room went silent. "I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Ms. Williams is most definitely not, as you seem to have assumed, a prostitute. She is a private detective specializing in the New York mob. I had hired her to investigate possible illicit actions involving some associates, and a hit man set the recent fire to kill her. I have been letting her stay with me for her own protection until the culprits were dealt with. Ms. Williams is the bravest woman I have ever known, and Mr. Morgan," were those eyes glowing? Just the light… "I am considered to be eccentric, and this will confirm it, but if this were another time or place you, sir, would be facing me on the dueling field."
George stammered. Oh shit. Had to mollify him, or his reputation (and his relations with one of the most important European banks) would be ruined. "I'm terribly sorry…"
"Do not apologize to me. And I doubt she would accept your apology. Excuse me, gentlemen," Lucian said to the others as he moved through him after Eva, clearly implying he did not consider George a gentleman, "I doubt she will even accept mine. Good night, Mr. Morgan."
And he had been dismissed. There went any chances of patching that up. The others were starting to move slightly away from him, glancing at him. It wasn't that terrible to be seen with a courtesan, hell, he'd done it even before his wife died, but to slip up like that…
Sparda could feel her anger, and followed.
Eva had torn off the skirt and sleeves so she could move faster, wanting to get back to the hotel and get out before he finished talking with them. How could she have thought… he was a demon, there had probably been other women… idiots like her. Real whores… they had seemed to think…
This alley had been closed off. She turned around.
"I'm terribly…"
"Don't say it!" She screamed to him. "Is that all I am to you, a whore? Tell me! How many others have you… I thought you… God, I was such a fool!"
Did he look… almost embarrassed. "None."
…that stopped her cold. "What?"
"No other women. Human or demon. Not to be… but I value strength, intelligence, and most humans are…" he shrugged. "And I attained my strength as a warrior through focusing on training, and after that… Mundus' power was rising, he was using succubi as assassins, and I was no fool, to let myself die or father a child of power that might fall into the hands of another. And I had not met anyone worth the risk before coming here." He laughed briefly. "It is embarrassing to say it, but I am a virgin. And I can only hope you believe me when I say I thought your father would be in a meeting until ten, and never said anything to confirm the rumors." He bowed. "I understand if you do not want to speak to me again.
Eva laughed. "You… you're…" She couldn't stop laughing, and he joined in. Laughed at the absurdity of this whole situation.
She walked up to him. "Come on." She held her hand out.
He looked at her wonderingly. "I want to go kill something," she explained.
He laughed, taking her hand. "It will probably be a better date in any case."
Eva smiled. "I don't do civil. And that won't be hard."
Sparda sighed. "I took the utmost care that this would be perfect… but the best laid plans of mice and men, and devils too it seems. I'm sorry, Eva."
She shrugged, smiling. "Don't be. Everybody screws up. Makes you a little more human."
They laughed.
