Yugamu tuki Kakimushitta Muneno naka Sawagi tateru
Tuminante Iukanjou Nugisutete Oreha nemuru
Noisy Noisy Silent Night
Chyuuto hanpana ikikataja Orega kiete yukisouni naru
Nukumoriya yasashisaha iranai
WARU na mewokorashi Asunoemono niranda

(Twisted moon, gather up the cries
that my inner feelings have raised..
How can I escape from
The sins of my past?
Leaving my sins behind
I want to fall asleep
Noisy, Noisy, Silent Night
If I ever reach the halfway point to madness
Myself, running alongside the stream of life
I don't need warm feelings or love
I just need myself
Casting a look of evil
And glaring at my future enemies.)
~Waru: Bad Blood, Valgaav; the Slayers.



Luce ed Ombra
Chapter Three


Shadows of Secrets
[By Ultema and Guo]



Being tired has its effects on the body; regardless if the mind wishes to wake before certain things happen, sometimes the body refuses it. The hands of the grandfather clock spun to several hours passed that in which the white-haired Hunter's eyes shut before drifting off in the comfort of the shadowed home, seemingly protected from the black creatures that roamed and inhabited every corner of it. The sun glittered through the blinds, trickling off the material of the canopy's curtains about the large bed, and the shadow figure beside the new houseguest had become an almost transparent gray.

Two coats were on the hanger; one red, one black. Two pairs of shoes neatly placed by the door - one a pair of boots, the other some fancy high heels. Everything seemed in order - candle light blown out, shadows dismal and gray. A newspaper lay prone across the table in the kitchen with its bold headline, but what would you know, that the shifty-eyed hostess would be settled in the same bed as the hunter, back towards him. Certainly, that had some level of trust to it, didn't it?

Not as though there could be anything done to her, though. Face buried into the soft texture of the pillow below, the rest of her draped in a satiny garb that disappeared below the sheets that were pulled up to Isabella's shoulders. Chestnut hair pooled idly about her head -- peaceful respite. She breathed like a normal human, tossed and turned like a normal human, but that was not the case.

The young man, still wearing most of his clothes on top of the covers, had resorted at some point in time to the ultra comfortable position -- his head pressed into the bedcovers, one arm below his body, legs sprawled with his back twisted in a way that made him seem more like a marionette than a normal person. As a slight bit of sun shined near his eye, and his body felt completely rested, a soft … well, more like a loud, beastly grunt was let out as he pulled himself up only to find the one he was "waiting up" for, beside him.

Interesting, to say the least. Deciding not to wake her up, Dante obviously stumbled out of bed making noise both from the sound of the coils of the bed being depressed, and his big feet landing on the floor below. A quick bob of his head allowed for his hair to ... remain in the same exact position it was the day before, and him to assure himself that he didn't have a hangover, or any signs of tampering with his pants, by him or another. Satisfied, he could only sit back down and yawn relatively loudly, without much consideration to the one near him -- he was used to living alone, when he was actually living in a house. At least he was still alive, he thought. It was a good sign. His eyes shifted over to the other... something was just.... different about her -- hidden from his eyes, he could only guess.

There was a flutter at Isabella's eyes upon the noise. Resting at half-mast, a pair of green lenses were visible in the pale daylight creeping through the cracks in the blinds. For a moment, she merely scrunched herself up tightly, before rolling over sideways. One hand falling free of the covers and landing with a soft thud beside the houseguest, the other draping itself over her eyes, there was a gentle grunt of her own, before she turned her head just enough to peer from the corner of one eye towards her ever gracious guest. Oh yes, ever gracious. Without so much as a good morning, there was the offering that sounded like something between a groan, and a whine, and the soft covers were hauled up and over the top of her head.

Dante chortled as he lifted himself off the bed to look for a bit of food to eat. He was still hungry from the night before, and that's when he remembered. Eating in this house came with a price -- like, your self being eaten by beasts. Instead he slowly began wandering through her place, looking at those mythological books again. Even if she was what he thought, that couldn't have been all. It didn't seem as though she'd have the desire to die, if she was. There was something more - something familiar, but, he wasn't going to waste time thinking about it; he'd ask her when the time came. For now, he squeaked through the apartment some more... perhaps some food was left unguarded, or maybe she'd be nice enough to make a little food … didn't she have to eat?

It wasn't before long that Isabella emerged from the ethereal room, somewhat disheveled in appearance, but also awake -- to some extent anyway. She didn't appear the kind of person you'd want to bother first thing in the morning, though. Bare feet shuffled quietly over the top of the cold floor towards the monstrous refrigerator, and pulled out a carton of -- blood?!

No.

Milk.

She carried herself over towards a cupboard, rummaged around here and there a bit, and then just stood there, having forgotten what exactly she was looking for. One hand rose to press against the side of her left temple, before the pre-breakfast snack was grabbed -- a cigarette, milk carton forgotten on the cupboard for the time being as she moved through the apartment towards the sliding glass doors beyond the pantry, and stepped outside in her night clothing. Maybe this'd clear her mind.

As she had walked out, Dante couldn't help but just stare at her, not on purpose, nor in an extremely noticeable manner. Instead, his eyes peered at her from the sides while his head faced in a slightly different direction. As soon as she had left, he had made his way over to the milk. Look. Sniff. Taste. Yep, milk. Well, most likely ... close enough. He left, carton in hand, to where she had gone. It was still quite cold out for the sun had not yet gotten a chance to warm up the earth below.

So peaceful, and yet evil was everywhere, even in the beauty of the sunrise. The man took a long drink from the carton and leaned against the outside of the apartment, just looking at her.

"It's nice out, isn't it? Almost make you want to call this whole thing off I bet... but I know where you're coming from ... I think I know what you are, but not what you could possibly need from me ... why, exactly, am I here?" He actually seemed completely serious for the first time since they met, and still, he didn't give a thought to the fact that she might have morning breath, and be grumpy.

"Why are we all here?" A long inhalation of the cigarette in hand, then blown out in a perfect loop into the morning air, Isabella flickered her finger against the cigarette -- the ashen end flittering off into the breeze as she placed it back into her mouth. It was a while before she turned to face the man, leaning her back against the wall that enclosed her balcony, looking over the rest of the dawning city from a lovely, aerial perch.

"I've seen so many mornings just like this. So many sunrises just like this. It might be nice, but it's nothing new ..." Oddly enough, Isabella put a hand in the deep pocket of one side of her clothing, pulling out a long, thin piece of paper and handing it to her newfound companion, accomplice, partner, roommate, and subsequent inheritor-of-all; a round trip ticket to Portugal.

"This is part of what I need your help with, hunter. I need a little trinket from back home, but unfortunately, I can't get it by myself. I need another -- someone like you. And you're probably here because --" Another pause as the cigarette was lifted from her lips again, flickered, then tossed nonchalantly over the side of the balcony, and once more a ring was blown.

"You're getting paid."

That answered all of his questions, a smirk shown in return.

"Good enough... I guess I can stay in the dark ... I won't lie to you though, I'm actually concerned for you. I'm sure you've gone through some tough shit." Boy, that was just heart warming, wasn't it? -- but his intentions were good.

"So... Portugal." Dante seemed quite intrigued, as though he'd never been there before. Not much more was offered from him, however. He merely turned back inside and stared at the cupboards, hoping for good food to appear. He'd leave her alone for now... either she was hurt a lot deeper than he thought, or she just wasn't a morning person.

The glass doors slid closed again a few minutes after the red-clad man had entered into the warmer areas of the kitchen. Only the sound of bare feet against the tiled floor as the nightgown clad woman moved by silently, stopping before the refrigerator again, and opening it. The keen eye would catch the lack of extreme depth that was present before hand within the cold compartment, curiously enough. A glance sent here and there over the surface of whatever was within, then turning her attention curiously over her shoulder towards her guest. A question mark seemed to surface on her forehead, taking another quick glance at the inside of her icebox, before closing it again and making her way around to the seat of the nearby table, and plucked up the newspaper. Disregarding the screaming headlines on the first page of a grizzly, brutal homicide, she merely flipped through with a distinct lack of interest.

"Aren't you hungry? You didn't eat anything ..."

It took a bit while for Dante to look up; he was obviously deep in thought. Either that, or he found it hard to respond to the sarcasm, which he found in her statement. His partially obscured eyes had been fixed upon the refrigerator from the time she looked to him. Switching back and forth between the two once or twice, he leaned his head back and to the side, inhaling a bit prematurely -- as it took him a second with his mouth open before he spoke,

".... I couldn't find anything." At least it was the truth, he couldn't quite figure out how the fridge had changed, or how he managed to dream such a thing. This whole house was a bit strange.

Eyes glanced over the headlines on the paper, he was semi-interested, but generally found the gossip-like trashy papers to be a better place to look for jobs (if things were tight). He still had a few things on his mind, however, such as what seemed to be a pet, sleeping near him.

"Now, I may have just dreamt this babe, but, I could've sworn something was sleeping next to me... besides you, of course..." A smirk formed on his face. "Can't leave me all in the dark for too long, now…" Could she? … Well, it didn't matter... small talk was all it was... procrastinating any deep questions.

"Hm?" A brow piqued in response to this notation, before Isabella arose from her seat again, and made her way towards the cupboards. A few things here and there procured from within, including a various number of different spices, some different utensils and the like, and she was busily hovering about the stove moving form place to place in what appeared to be a professional, practiced pattern. Apparently she was going to fix the little dilemma of not having anything to eat, and she didn't seem hungry at all.

"You mean Moofie? You've already met him." As casual as could be as some strong spicy scent wafted into the air, the sharp crackle of -- something soon to follow. She didn't seem at all surprised, and didn't feel the need to go into any details about ... Moofie. Instead, she placed a hand on the curve of her hip and tilted her weight, tossing a sidelong glance towards her guest.

"And I suppose you're one of those men who don't make anything to eat for themselves, and live off of pizza and fast food, hm?"

"Mostly Chinese ..." Dante blurted out without much thought to the fact that she might have been making light of his inability to cook or survive in the wild. His mind was on the other thing she mentioned.

"That thing... you, that attacked me - your … it has a name? M-m-moofie?" He sure sounded like a stuttering fool, of course he wasn't afraid ... perhaps, just ... surprised. Dante rocked forward in his chair and rose to his feet, gliding towards her. No, he wasn't about to stop her from making him breakfast -- he was hungry.

"Now I'm used to odd chics ... but, " He just trailed off, and sat back down after pausing near her a bit... "So where're we goin', anyways?" To him, it felt like they were wasting time. A night spent at her house... it seemed like it should have been a trap, but now it was just like she wanted to get to know him ... and yet insult him at the same time. Must be the way she flirted, he thought.

"Yes, Moofie. A pet ought to have a name, shouldn't it? I'm sure you wouldn't say to a beloved cat or dog, 'HEY, ANIMAL, Come here!'" And with a sharp turn on her feet, Isabella already planted some meat down on a plate and placed it before her guest. Ham. Or so it seemed, anyway. With this done, there were dishes that needed washing, and they were attended to as she spoke, facing the sink no less.

"We're headed for the Pousada in Obidos, Portugal ... And I hope you have everything you plan on bringing with you ... We don't have much time to dawdle considering our flight leaves in less than twelve hours ... And calm down a bit. You're way too jumpy. This could take time ... a lot of time ... " The last half of her sentence dragged out under her breath as she placed the now cleaned utensils off to the side of the sink, then pivoted and walked to the other side of the table, flicking the edge of the newspaper as she waited.

Dante Inspected the meat before him, it seemed rather ... bloody ... for ham. Maybe he was just imagining things. Eyes in what seemed to be a perpetually confused and un-amused state just stared at her as he thought of calling such a creature by the name.. Moofie. He did have a dog at one point ... it was named ... well, Dog. Mid-chewing he finally came back to his senses, an elbow resting on the table in front of him, and a ever so small squint in his eyes towards her... not out of annoyance, but interest in what he was getting into.

"... Portugal? … Yeah yeah, I've got everything. Now, why can't you do this yourself, again. Ya' seem like quite a capable chic..." He was so polite. A hand motioned to his words as he spoke with his mouth full of pork. Kicking back at the sound of 12 hours, he was in no rush.. Then again, he didn't want to miss the flight and have to spend another few days in this apartment of hers. And he wasn't jumpy.... so he thought anyways.

" Basically, because my abilities are absolutely worthless where we are going, but I know what to do. I need someone else there to do things for me. Of course, if you're not interested any more, I guess I could continue raising all sorts of hell in this world..."

Well, har. That'd probably make his job suck if he constantly had to face her, no? It was about then that aforementioned creature, Moofie had come racing out of the bedroom, body gray and transparent at first, then dodging into the kitchen doorway only to become pitch black with swirls of violet and blue, run circles around their feet, and leap into the guest's lap. A set of loud mews, caterwauling, and a few paws at the uncomfortable texture of pants, and there was a Shadowy kitten resting, ears barely poking up over the top of the table, on one Devil Hunter Dante's lap.

Oh great, was this thing going to eat his breakfast? ... Oh wait, she was threatening him. Dante didn't care... his abilities -- in his mind -- were sufficient enough to beat anything. Cocky, wasn't he? But from seeing what she was capable of, and how his sword seemed to be as ineffective against her as it would be against him, he decided to, of course, keep to his word (that, and since when did he pass up the opportunity to be friendly with the ladies?).

"Hey, hey, of course I'll keep the-GYAAGH!! ... … Erm..." Trailing off, he assumed he got through to her. Taking in all of what she said, he sighed a bit... and pet that … thing.

"So I'll be your pawn in all of this." Of course, he'd like to know more about the trip, but he'd shut up for now. She seemed to be the type to stab when using too much of his personality, and that could get annoying at times.

Of course even if he was left astray during all of this, he wouldn't care -- he was used to working alone, anyways. Smiling towards her in a half fake, half embarrassed sort of way,

"I ... could get used to this ..." Questions came to him about where she had gone the night before ... and again with the refrigerator, but he figured he'd rather keep "quiet" for now.

"Unfortunately, Pawns don't get paid for their work. You're more like my King piece, Dante." What was this? Perhaps the first time she'd refer to him with his first name? When a woman used all she knew of a man's name, that usually meant trouble, didn't it? Well, either way Isabella was offering a Cheshire cat grin that could have wiped the smirk off of the most demented of Serial Killers. There were egos the size of Russia blazing in the midst of a normal kitchen scene.

The paper left askew on the table, she rose from her seat after a prolonged stare in his general direction, as though peeling away each bit of his outward persona and stripping him down to the bare essentials. Either finding what she wanted to see, or forsaking the operation to get ready for departure, without a word she had vanished back into her room. Moofie, on the other hand, was left to paw idly at the various things on the hunter's garb. Who'd have thought this thing would turn into a weapon and try to kill a man?

Women. He never understood them, but what man, or demon, for that matter, did? But whatever it was, Dante felt himself in a contemplative state. She was technically his enemy, but if she wanted to help him stop herself, it was at least justified. There weren't many out there to actually help him in the first place. Idly petting the shadow on his lap, he eventually lifted himself out of his chair despite being unable to rid his lap of the Moofie on it, and followed her footsteps to her bedroom, stopping at the doorway. He merely looked in, seeing an equal, in some way, of himself, he couldn't quite figure it out, but he became interested in her. Something more than the usual, "break it, kill it" feeling he gave to everyone else.

Perhaps the most disheartening thing about the whole experience on Isabella's behalf, was the fact that she shared equally two bi-polar personalities. Some called it Schizophrenia, but she knew better. Her headstrong human youth remained as though a counterbalance of the live-to-kill mindset portrayed by the less-than-normal side of her. Constant conflicts dealing with morality, but when this all began for her, it was a punishment suiting of the crime committed -- how many years ago? Nonetheless, she was standing, hands planted firmly down on the antique vanity staring into the mirror. What was there? The same face that was there for five hundred some-odd years, but all that smirking, those Cheshire cat grins were all some sort of facade. She was tired of it all, and tired of a life -- or lack thereof, devoid of all sorts of prized possessions a mortal existence could possibly bring.

She didn't seem to notice him at the door, but instead took to idly sifting through her drawers, and pulling a few articles of clothing out and tossing them on the bed. It appeared that Moofie was joining the scene as well, as a pair of beady red orbs emerged from the top of the canopy.

The young man slipped into the room, not attempting to be quiet ... or loud, for that matter. It was obvious, even to him, that there was something wrong, some pain in her that he just couldn't understand. Of course he had his own, everyone did, but unlike most people seem to think, sharing that can't do any good, can it? Reaching for the book which he had been reading at night, Dante flipped through the pages without really looking at the book. His eyes were fixed upon her as he continued on his path towards her, trying to understand what she was feeling, but how could he without asking?

Book placed down on the bed, opened to the page where he had read about the Shadow King. It was obvious she was in some way connected, or related. He didn't bring attention to it, instead he just came up behind her, hand placed on the dresser top. He merely gazed in front of her, perhaps preparing to ask, find out more, or just watching.

For a few minutes, Isabella shifted through drawers, still seeming to not notice the hand on the dresser top. A few more minutes of isolation, but after even a few more, all movement ceased as jaded peridot eyes fell upon that hand, and traveled towards the face of its source. Her expression tight-lipped, brows burrowed down to a sharp point on her forehead, as though assessing the situation, eyes squinted slightly. Sooner than later, though, she had placed both palms back down atop the vanity as well, fingers poised upwards, nails resting on the surface as though threatening to dig through. There was an intensity that was outwardly obvious, and for her own benefit, unknown to her as why. Why should she care about keeping her history silent? Why should she care now of all times, when it was so close to finishing this horrid death sentence?

Fingertips and lips were turning white with tension. Uneasy, not because of his presence, but because of the whole situation, the whole issue. Problems with letting go. Why did she have these problems? Isabella could only suspect the flaw of what could have been the perfect being -- a consciousness.

Dante wasn't about to leave now, no … not when she was this upset. He didn't know anything about her, not really. He wanted to know, yes, but he needed to know if she was going to be ok. It struck him as odd, he didn't know why he cared. He remained still, he didn't care if she struck at him, which is the way it seemed to be leaning. She needed him, and he didn't believe she'd hurt him. True, these could be extremely wrong assumptions, but it didn't change his mind.

Eyes peered at her from the side, his head not quite facing hers, and his legs planted as if to say to her, I'm not moving -- and he wasn't. Whatever was wrong with her, she couldn't keep it inside like this, and he knew it. His face wasn't a harsh one. He didn't want to keep quiet too much longer... waiting for a sign of some sort.. he eventually just muttered out,

"Tell me … " in a whisper. His gloved hands slid off the dresser top, but he didn't move himself, nor the focus of his eyes.

"I don't know where to start." Was the reply, a gentle desperation rattling through her words until Isabella forced herself to a stand, arms resting at her sides and her attentions put off from the vanity for the moment. She stared at his face through the dust-riddled reflection before her. Her own features almost foreign in all the years she could remember. This was planned out all so perfectly within, but now, there was something holding her back. It was true, that in all beings there is no desire to die, but it was only what was right ... only what was release from the ties that bound her to this plane for an unnatural amount of time. Would anyone understand? At the moment she wasn't even sure if she did. She'd confused herself back at the table, and from there her confidence in her superiority to the rest of the metropolitan populace seemed to diminish. Maybe it was just a phase, things would be much better when they got out there and began the hard journey to her freedom ... Wouldn't they?

"Start from the beginning, the very … beginning. Tell me about this." Leaving the book on the bed, but now taking a seat beside it, Dante did need to know, and if it would help her, and help her help him, it seemed right. He could only offer a look of some form of compassion; whatever that body of his could muster as being such. It had been a long time since he cared ... or at least, could show it. His leg crossed over the other as he leaned his weight back onto his hands, faced palm down on the bed. Of course, how could he understand without even knowing the basics.

"But don't forget, you have me here for a reason ... If what I'm gonna do is to help you with this problem, then.." His voice trailed off, thinking for a moment about his own situation. Not how it was similar, but how he understood emotional anguish, and figured he'd offered as much as he could. It was up to her, now.

"I knew you'd find that -- I was counting on it..." Isabella cooed as she slid over towards where he was seated, taking her seat on the opposite side. Before long, the smaller shadow creature had joined the two, resting idly on the pillow not far from where they sat. She took the book in hand, resting it on her lap and turning it over to reveal the page of the Shadow King. Almost immediately, defeated expression sharply made a turn for that of the annoyed, as she gripped the book tightly, took a breath, and allowed her vision to creep and rest fully on the man she was literally entrusting her life with.

"When I was young, I was part of an affluent Portuguese family, the Oxomer family. ... I was schooled quite well, learned to read and write ... and my classes were with a number of other students ... including Manuel." And this was where it began. A tale not uncommon to worlds of that time. It was probably the full basis of a twisted fairy tale of some sort, all ending with an execution by removal of the heart, the mysterious death of all family members and love, and the disappearance of a body from its resting place -- possession was not an uncommon declaration to get a woman punished, after all.

Isabella went on to explain her situation; the denial of her father to be involved with relationships, her betrothal to a man she did not love, the betrayal of her sister, Panacia who married her childhood infatuation Manuel and committed adultery, and ultimately the death of her sister at her own hands by way of slitting her throat, a frightened Manuel calling the authorities on her as she murdered her own sister in his bedroom, and her own execution by condemnation to possession and witchcraft where her heart was torn from her body. A week after the execution of Isabella, the entire Oxomer family, Manuel, and Isabella's betrothed husband were found dead in their beds; their hearts removed - and one week after that, Isabella's grave was unearthed only to be found empty. Her earthly body was chosen by a higher consciousness to be the host of a demon beast who craved revenge. The two clicked instantly, no animosity between beast and woman; they shared a common goal, but over time, as often things do, mindset and outlook changed, vendettas ran bloodlines to their ends, and the terrorized families were eventually forgotten.

There was no look of disgust, nor surprise, nor confusion. It all made sense … well .... for the most part. Still, knowing that she, before becoming what she was now, was still one to kill others, Dante's opinion of her, even though it perhaps should have changed, remained the same. He had thought she was cold-blooded from the start, it was just proven to him. But anything she committed back then, she surely paid for in this time ... and even if she was still performing such acts ... willfully or not, it was all the more reason for him to aid her in putting a stop to herself.

Dante gazed thoughtfully into her eyes, a mix of empathy, care, and the stare of an enemy. It was too hard to decipher what he felt towards her and her situation, but his concern for her was true. His position had changed slightly, much closer to her than when she had started. A hand reached up and landed upon the base of her neck. What more could he do for her, than fulfill his end of the bargain.

"... Obidos, Portugal." His eyes had a certain determination within them. Whether it was to help her, or help the world in his mind, was indiscernible.

How cold Isabella was to the touch; no noticeable heartbeat to push the non-existent blood through her veins, youthful body surviving off of what the beast harbored within would reap from the souls of man. Her pets were the shadows of her victims. They were reminders of that which needed to be stopped, but beloved in all ways. Her existence; the mockery of the one thing she had so desired in life.

Dante's hand was not shrunk from, nor removed, nor cringed away from, but accepted. How often was it that the lion and the lamb coexisted so easily with one another? Bitter enemies, both hunters and hunted, but for a moment in time removed from the vicious circle and placed in a world where nothing but understanding mattered. No shrug of the shoulder, and no vehement retaliation. Just acceptance. Confusion to the point of revelation, and a cold set of fingers were placed on gloved hand, though Isabella's vision sunk and shied away.

Silence remained intact, as did his body. What could he offer her? Consolation? In what, death? Dante couldn't promise her anything, nor did he want to. It was such a large burden. It shouldn't have been, but for some reason he cared. He felt as if he must have been wrong to feel anything towards her unavoidable death ... caused by him, but he couldn't deny that the feeling was there. His eyes shut, as hers turned away.

For a brief moment, the ungloved hand atop his own offered a quick, tight grip. A weight lifted up off the springs of the bed below as Isabella took to a stand, shadowy figure leaping from the pillow to drape itself about her shoulders as she rose. Perhaps what made this hard was the fact, that unlike most demons, at one point she had been a living, breathing human; a creature with a heart, a consciousness, a mind that felt pain, lived hate, cherished love and experienced death. What demon ever could claim they had an inkling of such emotions, such experiences? Maybe -- one other. One that was at one point, so close to her in friendship, and close to him by blood. But it did not do to dwell on such things for so long, to waste away dreading the inevitable as a reluctant martyr. There was no honor ... no care for the world in her actions, but the desire for freedom. Which side would take her? That was something entirely different. She had betrayed both sides; a being without a place to go. But that was all for the future...



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Author's Notes: Stiiiiiiiill coming on strong. Classes in college, laziness and lack of ambition has been slowing down the posting, but your feedback helps a lot ^_^ Thanks to everyone who's reviewing!