Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry nor do I own RWBY. It saddens me that in canon, Dante sold some of his Devil Arms.

A/N: Right! I have a plan for this story… actually, it's only part of a plan. Like, 23% of a plan. But that's still a plan, right?!


Keep It Rollin'


One confused fixing of glasses later, and the interviewer stared down at the paperwork she had been presented with. Among many things, Vale prided itself for its regard for high standards – but not so much that it became suffocating. It did not matter what occupation it was, or even if it was under the table, one was always expected to fulfill the expectations that came with their respective duties.

And this case was… unique, to say the least.

"Mr. Dante Redgrave…" She reiterated from the paperwork she had been presented.

"Dante is fine."

"Then Mr. Dante…" The interviewer conceded, brushing a stray bang to the side. "Tell me more about yourself. What qualifications do you have that you believe would benefit not just us, but yourself?"

"I have a lot of experience in cleaning up after others." He looked up wistfully, seemingly reminiscing about a past ordeal. "Or making sure no one makes a mess in the first place. It helps that I can be very persuasive when it matters."

"…Right." She nodded. There was no lie in his tone, but he was not giving her anything concrete. Thus, she pushed. The position in question was long in need of filling.

"Our record here states that there has been no mention of one Dante Redgrave until three months ago. No birth certificate, no identity papers, no scroll. Earliest activities indicate you had been active in Vacuo as a freelancer of sorts – as observed by Shade Academy – that ranged from courier duties to huntsmen activities. Do you have any explanations that may shed some light as to why you were in Vacuo at the time?" She managed to ask without sounding interrogative or accusatory, despite the inference.

"How I got to Vacuo is still a mystery. All I remember was a lot of black and a lot of blood." He frowned, shook his head and smirked. It seemed as if he did not want to confront a personal issue at the moment. "Didn't have money when I woke up, so I had to find a way to make some kind of living. Soon enough, it came to me that while fun, Vacuo just didn't do it for me, so I returned to Vale. As for why I don't have any records…" He looked somewhat inconvenienced, "Vale probably expunged info that they believed were embarrassing. I checked earlier. I don't know what else to say except that I don't have any public records."

The interviewer frowned, not because she did not believe him but because she knew that the Council of Vale had and would do something like that. It was an embarrassing and disgraceful act, in her honest opinion but it was also a controversial topic. Villages and towns outside the Kingdoms came and went like trends, only known momentarily and forgotten the next week. If public records were to show the exact number of towns that had been lost to the Grimm, there was no telling how much negativity could build up.

It was a sad truth that she did not like nor want to accept, but that was how it was. The higher-ups – politicians, government officials, and even retired Huntsmen – unanimously agree that the truth would only hurt the public. To satisfy skeptics, tiny increments but profound examples were only ever released. Mountain Glenn was such an example, and it had only been by virtue of vocal survivors that records of it existed, plus the fact that it had been a joint operation between Vale and Atlas to expand the number of official Kingdoms on Remnant. No doubt that latter Kingdom had released news of the failure, albeit in a way that made it sound like it was mostly logistical.

In the end, she could only nod at the response given and move on with her questions.

"And your scroll?" Even if records of Mr. Dante were destroyed, the fact remained that he did not have a Scroll, which was extremely peculiar. Scrolls served as a mobile phone, game controller, identification card, passport, Aura monitor, and all of the basic necessities an individual could carry on their person.

"Lost it during my trip here from Vacuo. Someone over there has one more scroll on them, and it's not theirs," Mr. Dante hedged around. "Though if I have to be honest, I still don't know how to use the thing."

"And why is that?"

He shrugged. "Never had to use one. I am a fan of the classics, though."

That sounded plausible. She had heard of villages that lived without relying on the Cross Continental Transmit System, or CCTS as it was referred to these days, and used rudimentary technology such as radio transmitting and landline communication instead. Most did not last long, but the few that did tend to eventually adopt the new and improved CCTS. Mr. Dante was likely from the former.

"Good, good. Last question, Mr. Dante. How would you describe the conditions or course of events that led you to ask for a job here at Beacon Academy?"

Mr. Dante leaned back to consider his words.

"…My home has a word that describes my way of life, the purposes and ordeals set upon me by my forefathers, and the ideals I strive to realize within my lifetime."

The red-clad man looked at her with powerful intent.

She knew this intent.

There was no mistaking it. She had seen it sparingly, but each time they left a great impression on her. The first time she had seen it, it was during her orientation into Beacon, and it had been from the stalwart back of the Headmaster himself. The second time was just recently from a first-year student with silver eyes.

She felt herself gulp unconsciously and leaned forward in anticipation of his reply.

"They call me… homeless."

There was a pregnant silence.


He got the job.

How he got it, he still did not know. He had not even tried to be professional about it, having resigned himself to a failure. Granted, it was a janitorial position, but he had expected them to be a bit more strict about the vetting procedure. Ah well. He was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He needed money to open up a business, and odd jobs did not pay enough in Vale.

Dante walked around the campus of his new workplace for a while, eventually settled himself on a bench, and placed his Faust hat on top of his face to catch some z's in the dark. Cavaliere was parked conveniently beside him. At last, the days of him surviving off of frozen pizza bagels and strawberry sundae crunch bars could come to an end. He could finally get his hands on the real stuff; real pizza and real strawberry sundaes. And some good liquor, for that matter. No more cheap booze, no sirree.

How did he get here, one could ask? Dante would not even know where to start.

He had gotten back home after a day of work (an extremely massive understatement), back to his usual shift of lazing around, reading magazines, slowly getting over his depression, and basically being a glorified courier for the most part. And demon-slaying, but eh. That bit was part of the job description. Then he remembered that his electricity had gone out due to not paying his bills, and he was left to mull in the dark for… a pretty long time, actually. He had also not flushed the toilet for a while, so that was a doozy to deal with.

Then his savior came in the form of a dapper black man. Strange, really. He remembered his primary information broker being more… blond.

Anyways. Morrison came in with a kid named V, who told him that a tree came and grew in the middle of Red Grave City. That was new. Then he said some forbidden words, leading him to rally Trish and Lady to go investigate. They, including yours truly, got their asses handed to them hard, he had to admit. Seriously, it was his first time being in a coma for a month. Then when he woke up, he nearly got another sword shoved through him. That was a breath of relief, considering his history of getting penetrated by long, hard shafts. Shame though, since he had to shove his own sword through himself a few hours later.

So anyway, a lot of stuff happened. A lot of revelations occurred. Many preconceived notions were shattered. Each of them was a lot of fun to digest. And all of it led to him reuniting with his brother, followed by a series of events that somehow led to him being here in the middle of some other world that was not his.

Evidently, the Demon World was not the only other realm besides the Human World, or Earth as he and everyone else liked to call it.

Still, this was not his world nor was it his business to interfere, so he had decided to lay low for the moment. Well, lay low as much as he could, anyway. If bad stuff happened around him, he'd deal with it accordingly. He had learned a long time ago that international business was a lot of stress to deal with. Best to keep things local. He had to find a way home, slap Vergil, make sure his debt was still clear and gorge himself with pizza, slap Vergil, avoid Patty and her grilling him for not attending her birthday party, slap Vergil, force Vergil to go and say his prayers to their mom at her grave, slap Vergil, and slap Vergil. And did he mention slap Vergil? Because that was really high up on his to-do list if that had not been obvious enough.

As for Vergil himself… well, the less said about him, the better. He ignored the hypocritical humor in that statement. If he was going to see his dearest big brother anytime again, it would be too soon, not since they got themselves stuck in the Demon World and somehow got separated. How they got separated was a mystery in itself, since they were stuck together harder than a Kit Kat bar in an unopened wrapper. That was to say, not that hard since they were somehow separated after something or someone decided to ruin their brotherly bonding time via demon-slaying. He would have to get back to that later.

Suffice to say, he stopped caring about the whole 'blending in' aspect of reality jumping after a few months. Something something, this world had four continents or kingdoms or whatever, there were these guys running around with animal ears or parts, everyone hated each other because of reasons… oh, and there were gods too. They could make a religion out of all of this. That last bit needed investigating since reality-warping was now apparently a thing. Or rather, it had always been a thing. Case in point, Mundus.

"Haaah… and it's not even Tuesday," Dante somberly noted, leaning further back on the bench he was sitting on. A group of students – Huntsmen-in-training, he was told about – passed by, talking animatedly about a mission they had just returned from and arguing about the number of Grimm they killed and all that jazz. Their voices eventually died down as something apparently caught their attention.

Right. There was something he had forgotten. Something that was supposed to be important, yet he could not find it to be anything noteworthy since it was apparently an everyday thing.

The "demons" of this world. Well, calling them "demons" was stretching it way too much, since they were so far from any actual demons he knew about. Animals were obviously a thing, but then there were also these black things that tried to fit in with the cool animal kids but failed and became edgy emo tryhards that hate everything around them. They even have a pretentious name to go with it: Grimm. They try to kill humans and people because apparently, they have nothing better to do with their lives, and it was up to people called Huntsmen and Huntresses to ice the bastards before they escalated things.

And it so happened that the place he applied for was the prestigious Beacon Academy. Remember that tidbit about him not getting into the criminal underworld? He figured that official resources would be a solid start this time around. If not, then he could always go clear the rust off of his mercenary life.

Which was weird, since Dante considered himself a Hunter of sorts. Would that make him one of these Huntsmen guys? He didn't bother finding out if they handed out certificates for it, but he was 93% sure that they did. So that left him with getting a job that barely brushed close to a Huntsman; a janitor in a school full of Huntsman. That was pretty close, right?

He sorely wished it was Tuesday now. Why couldn't it be a Tuesday? Those days, he could handle, mostly because he would be too drunk to care.

"You're gonna have to do a lot more before you can start riding that monster," he commented distantly, aware that there were some brats trying to start up Cavaliere without his consent. Probably the same students that had just returned from their mission. One of them was polite enough to sound embarrassed, and the others were busy trying to figure out how the Devil Arm worked. One of them, from the sound of it, was absolutely gushing at it.

"W-what is this?" One of them was whispering… purring at the motorbike as he heard her caress the demon vehicle. "Interlocking mechanisms within the body that keeps it structurally sound when driving? Wheels that can shift into buzzsaws?! And the motif… I've never seen such a design like this!" He felt the wind blow against him, presumably the student who was quite accurate with the description. "Who designed this?! Did you make it yourself?! I need to know! Please! For the sake of my research, and possibly my graduation thesis!"

"Thesis? We're barely into the school year, Summer," another one, a male, noted.

"And the thesis thing is due in four years. We have so many other things to do besides a boring paper," another male voice quipped in.

"Always best to be prepared. Plus, it's my first time seeing a motorcycle like this… this!"

"I'm just all kinds of special, then," Dante reached up to scratch his neck. "And for the record, yes. I had a hand in making it. The materials came to me on a platter, and I did all of the work assembling it together."

If stripping Trish, his blonde partner-in-crime, naked when she was under mind control counted as having a hand in making it, then yeah, he was going to milk that for all that it was worth. No one could say that he was a liar.

"That is sooo cool." The girl's voice was almost reverent. "What material did you use? How do the parts work inside the wheels? What type of Dust are you using to make this baby function cohesively?" She machine-gunned questions at him that he did not know how to answer.

"That-" He paused to give dramatic effect, "-is a trade secret. A man's gotta have a few of those to stay in business, girly."

"Aww, come on!"

"And who are you supposed to be?" A fourth voice asked in a cranky tone.

"I have a white beard (in the making), a red suit, a nifty hat, and a sweet ride. Obviously, I'm Santa Claus," Dante snarked at the four kids.

There was a pause.

"Who's Santa Claus?" The first girl asked curiously.

Dante lifted his hat to look at the four kids that had decided to invade his personal space. White cloak, blond kid, Nevermore, and ratty clothes. He committed the descriptions to memory.

"None of you know who Santa Claus is." To his surprise and dismay, all of them shook their head blankly. "Wow. Just, wow. Um. I don't know how to break it to you guys, but none of your parents loved you."

"We know," the latter two replied easily, which had him concerned. They seemed to be siblings, what with the black hair and red eyes. The other two were indignant at the insult to their parents and made it clear by scowling at him.

"Hey, don't worry. You have all the time in the world to know who Santa Claus is. As for your question, girly," Dante brushed himself. 'Girly' bristled at being called that. "You are looking at the newly minted janitor of Beacon Academy. Cleaning up after other peoples' messes is my job and duty, especially the up and coming generations' asses when reality bites them hard and fast. Can't complain about it when I ain't got a roof over my head." He managed to introduce himself and insult the Huntsmen-in-training at the same time.

"Whaat? A janitor? You don't look like one," White Cloak stared longingly back at Cavaliere. It was clear she did not believe him at all.

"Reality is often disappointing. So, who am I talking to here?"

White Cloak took the stage. "Up and coming badass first-years in the making, Team Stark! It's spelled STRQ, by the way. Dunno how that managed to pass through, but Ozpin's got his eyes on us to make sure we do it justice." She puffed up proudly, silver eyes sparkling under her cloak. "And you're looking at the leader, Summer Rose."

"Tch." 'Girly' clicked her tongue irritably and turned her head.

"Still mad you didn't get picked for leader, Raven? Don't worry about it too much. Not like you're not the strongest anymore. Oh, wait. Tai dragged you out of the bog you got yourself stuck in." Ratty Clothes smiled smugly at the sky as though it had affirmed all of his beliefs.

"I will murder you, Qrow!"

"You can try, bitch!"

Dante studied the four with amusement. "I may not be a teacher or anything, but don't you brats have classes or something?"

"Oh crap!" Blond Kid, which by process of elimination he presumed to be Tai, raised his hands to his head as if he had remembered something. "Summer! That essay we had for Peach's class! Do we have the ten sources for it yet?!"

"W-what?! I thought that Raven got it for us! You did, didn't you?!" Girly, now named Raven, stared blankly at her leader. The silence was telling. "GAAAAH! That's it, change of plan! Team STRQ, assemble! We have an essay to write before Tuesday comes! We'll pull an all-nighter if we have to!"

"I signed up to fight some bad guys. Instead, I'm stuck here being a pencil pusher," Ratty Clothes, Qrow sighed in lamentation. Dante inwardly agreed with him.

"Um! We'll see each other again, Mr. Santa Claus! So please let me study your motorbike next time!" Summer called out to him.

"I'm not-" Before he could correct her, they were gone. "…That's gonna be my name from now on, huh?"

He leaned back on the bench again. That had been an interesting encounter.

Right. What to do now.

He could go into the city to embezzle some quick cash from the local criminal underworld now. He was already pretty well-known back home, but the fun aspect of it went away when "hands-off" orders were made and he was practically an untouchable.

…He had an idea. It was a horrible idea, but he had one. Maybe he could brush the rust off of his mercenary past and balance that with his legit job, thus speeding up the process of building a business. Then once he had a firm foundation, he could focus on searching for a way home or rather, searching for whatever was responsible for sending here in the first place. It would be like the old days of stealing guns from people, taking them apart, and selling the parts to a fence except this time, he had a path to follow.

The worst thing that could happen if he went down this route was he gets audited by the IRS-equivalent of this world. No biggie. None at all. He just needed to pay his taxes properly.

Dante got up and boarded Cavaliere… then remembered he was on campus and vehicles were technically not allowed to be revved on campus. Plus, the motorbike had never exactly been child-friendly. It would soon develop a semi-sentient mind like Cerberus once did, bless its soul. His arsenals, his Devil Arms would all develop sentience soon enough.

Are You Forgetting About Me?

A deep and guttural voice, heavy and profound, sounding of earth and stone grinding against each other whilst lava tided against sediments, resonated in his head.

Right. And Balrog. He had forgotten about the fire demon. Well, not exactly forget but more along the lines of not thinking about it. Not an easy task to do when it could just waltz into his head to talk to him. At least it was not as annoying as those two talking swords.

He smirked as he wheeled the motorbike out of the campus. Things were starting to look up to him.


A/N: As I said, 23% of a plan.

EDIT 1: For grammar error.

EDIT 2: A tiny retcon or two. Guess what they are now?

-DarkAkatsuk1