Well, here it is at last—the next part of the seemingly infamous fic, Long Walk on the Beach. You guys liked it so much, I finally kicked myself into writing the next part. Thanks for all the support, I didn't really think the fic would do as well as it did. Anyway, I know it wasn't exactly clear in the first part, but that took place a few years before the timeline of the game (4 years, maybe). I'm picking up about 4 or 5 months after Mallet Island.
By the way, this is part 2 of a fic that was taken off of FF.net after the anti-NC17 thing came into effect. If you're looking for the first part of the fic, you can find it here:
http://www.geocities.com/dmc_fanatical_world/Long_Walk_On_the_Beach_page.htm
Oh, and Devil May Cry still doesn't belong to me. Can you imagine the things I'd do to Dante if it did?
Dinner and a Movie
Part 2 of Long Walk on the Beach
The rain was coming down in sheets now, scraping and rattling against the shoddy panes of Devil Never Cry. It was the kind of night that crappy teen horror flicks were made of, where the thunder came every few minutes in sharp claps that sent tremors through the wooden floorboards. When everything smelled like the rain, and its thick ozone scent crept into every tiny crack of the crudely decorated walls. It was the kind of night that Dante liked the spend drunk, reclined in the same stale leather chair at the same undusted desk, the same boots mounted on the same open drawer. Consistency was a virtue.
Any moment now, the door would be thrown open, banging against the wall with a percussion lost in the rolling thunder. In would walk a dark cloaked figure, soaked through and stumbling, and its harsh voice would slip through the office like the buzzing hiss of spiders, spilling some cliché and yet somehow appropriate line like, "I have a job for you." And then the cloak would fall to the floor, revealing a gorgeous, scantily clad blonde with full red lips and a very, very large bank account.
Dante smirked around another sip of his beer. Yeah, that would be good.
"Dante?" Trish appeared out of the back room, which served as their closet-sized kitchen. "Are you still moping out here?" She was dressed in a new outfit, he noticed: torn jean shorts and a red halter top. She had pretty good fashion sense for a demon—everything always fit her perfectly, showing off the curved slope of her shoulders, the perfect line of her collarbone. The bare feet were a nice touch, too.
Dante shook his head. "I'm not moping," he protested, lifting his bottle as if it were explanation enough. "Just a slow night."
"No kidding. I hate nights like this." Trish shivered, and Dante's eye caught on her a moment before slipping away without a word. "It doesn't always rain like this, does it?"
"Only around this time of year," he replied carelessly, devoting himself once again to his drink. He shrugged his coat a little higher up his shoulders. "I don't like it, either."
"Oh?" Trish slid forward elegantly, and as if on cue Dante dropped his boots to the floor. With a smile she seated herself casually on his knee, bracing her back against the wide chair's armrest. "That's not like you, Dante, to admit to something like that." She picked idly at his hair. "It's just rain."
Dante rolled his eyes and leaned back a bit further, giving her more room. He'd gotten used to this from her; this causal kind of contact they always shared. It was…comfortable. She seemed to fit against him perfectly, the way she leaned into his shoulder, the way his arm fit to the small of her back. The chair was just big enough for both of them to sit without risk of toppling each other. He wasn't sure if it was because she wasn't quite human that she didn't seem to understand the implications of it, but that didn't matter. It wasn't the same as if she were…one of his usual women, anyway. She was warm, and soft, and…she smelled nice. Really nice. But it wasn't the same, and he was convinced that if she didn't move, he could sit here for hours and find no good enough reason to do anything else.
When Dante didn't reply, lost in his own thoughts, Trish poked him sharply in the ribs. He snorted, and glanced at her sideways. "What?"
"I'm teasing you," she informed him. "The least you could do is respond."
"I was thinking." He tilted his head back slightly and tugged her a little closer uncharacteristically. He knew she'd notice, but hopefully wouldn't mention it.
But he wasn't so lucky tonight. "Oh? About what?" Trish slid her arm around behind his neck and wriggled a little closer, like a child curling up against her father's chest. It made something in him tighten painfully, like flesh healing around a scar.
"It's not important." Dante turned his head just enough so that strands of blonde brushed against his jaw. It wasn't until then that he realized that her hair was wet, thick with the scent of lavender shampoo and warm rainwater. "You took a shower?"
"Yeah. Apparently it's all the rage among mortal women. Come on, Dante, are you really that drunk?" She elbowed him gently in the stomach. "I told you I was going to, didn't I?"
"Oh. Yeah…." Dante frowned, shaking himself again as he tried to call his wits back to him. The alcohol couldn't have been affecting this already, though when he looked to the clock he realized he'd been at it for at least an hour by now. He watched the bottle as he lifted it towards his lips. "Whatever."
Trish was quiet a moment, and he knew it was because she was thinking. A moment later she would lean back and fix those deep blue eyes of her on his face, and ask in that too-soft voice what was wrong. Because something was wrong and she always could tell. He expected her to, though he wasn't sure yet if he appreciated it.
Trish didn't disappoint him, and while he was making a point not to meet her gaze she asked, "Dante? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he grunted back, burying the rest of his answer in another drink.
"Dante—"
"It was raining like this when my mother died," Dante replied abruptly, his eyes thinning though he made no attempt to push her away just yet. "Twenty years ago."
Trish fell still again; they both did, so that the only sound in small, dusty office was that of the continued downpour, the rumblings of thunder moving further away. He didn't have to look to know what her face must have looked like, with her lower lip curved downward only slightly, almost in a pout, her brow drawn without creasing her forehead. She was always graceful like that. Even the gentle rise of her chest against his was natural and beautiful and…real. More real than it should have felt. Too real.
Dante started to raise the beer bottle once more, but a thin hand covered over the top and pushed it down once more. He rolled his eyes but let it fall to his lap anyway. "Don't get all mushy and sentimental on me," he warned. "I don't need that right now."
"But Dante…." She tried to turn his face towards her, but he wouldn't have it, jerking his chin away. She sighed quietly in frustration. "I suppose…I'm the last person you'd want to talk to about it."
"It's not that." He didn't want her to leave just yet, and he tightened his arm subtly around her waist. "It's just the rain. Don't worry about it—it's been twenty years, it's nothing."
"It's not nothing…" Trish started to protest, but his arm tightened again briefly and she gave up. "Okay, Dante. If you say so."
She leaned forward, and Dante closed his eyes lightly as she pressed a small, innocent kiss to his temple through a few strands of soft silver. It sent a tiny shudder down his spine and into the pit of his stomach, not in a good way. It was too much—her smell, mixed with that of the thick ozone, the soft brush of her hair, the quiet murmur of his voice…and something else. Her breath slid over his cheek as she pulled back once more, and he caught something in her scent then that shouldn't have been there; something sharp and coppery, like dried blood, and instinctually he flinched away. It was the smell of demon blood. When he turned his eyes on her startled face he realized all too easily the cause; she'd been chewing her lip.
Dante snorted, and all at once he began to stand up. He couldn't stay here like this; there was a tremor in his gut, and he couldn't look at her anymore. He couldn't bear to associate the smell of a demon to that face, not on a night like this. "I'm going out," he declared, keeping his arm around Trish's waist a moment more as he stood so that she wouldn't lose her balance at having been pushed off him. When he released her he gave her a slight push in the other direction, just enough to keep her from snagging his arm or something when he retreated toward the stairs near the back of the office.
"You're going out?" Trish echoed incredulously. He had to give her some credit, at least—she didn't try to follow him. "In this weather?"
"It's not like I'm going to get sick," Dante called back as he made his way to the second story. He heard her move to the foot of the stairs behind him but didn't glance back. "Don't worry about me, Trish—I just need a stiffer drink. I won't stay out too long." He didn't really mean that, but worrying her wouldn't do any good. He could take care of himself, and…he certainly didn't need her mothering him right now. With another sharp snort he threw his coat on the bed and started to change his clothes. Tonight was a night for black, and with the storm continuing to rage outside he wouldn't have any trouble seeping into the shadows and disappearing.
"Damn," Dante muttered as slipped into a pair of baggy black jeans. He tightened the belt low on his hips. "Fuckin' rain is filling me with bullshit." He tugged a thin, high-necked sweater over his head and struggled a moment with the collar. Casual would be fine tonight. As he finally pulled his face free of the wool, however, a flash of movement in the corner caught his eye, and he turned with an inaudible gasp. His hand scraped against the absence of a weapon at his hip as he turned. Breath held he watched the shadows, and no matter how firmly he tried to convince himself it was nothing but the shape of his lamp mixing with a pile of old clothes, he couldn't shake the cold, mucus-like glide of sickening filth over his throat, the small of his back.
"Fuck." Dante shook himself, fiercely, then again just to be sure. The room was still and empty again. "Fuck. Fucking…." Passing a hand though his hair only notified him of the cold sweat on his brow, and with a few more muttered curses he dug a pair of old boots out of his closet.
"Dante?" Trish's voice rang from the downstairs. She sounded further away from before—the kitchen.
Dante finished tying the boots before scowling at the corner and returning down the stairs. "Yeah?" He cast no more than a glance in her direction as he found a long, black hooded raincoat.
"Um…nothing, I guess." Trish poked her head out of the kitchen and paused when she saw him. "Christ, Dante, you look like you're going to a funeral."
"Maybe I am." Dante tugged the hood up and fished a pair of familiar leather gloves out of the coat pockets. He could feel her disapproving gaze on him, heavy like her head against his shoulder, and he shrugged unconsciously. "I'm fine, Trish. I just need to get out of the shop. I'll be back by two." He turned without waiting for her response and slipped outside, letting the door close behind him with a satisfying clang.
The rain hit Dante's head and shoulders like a splatter of thick blood, and he ducked slightly as he stepped off the curb. The rain felt good, for all that it chilled him, seeping over the folds of the raincoat as if to clean him. Damn sentimentality was getting to him, and he tugged the hood a little further over his face, tugged the neck little tighter. He knew that by the time he made it to the bar his worries would be forgotten in the bottom of an amber glass, and that was enough to keep the cold from penetrating too deeply. It was all he could hope for on nights like these. Reminding himself of that—and shaking his head to clear the thrill of paranoia that crept up his spine—he trod on into the night, seeking solace.
Trish sighed quietly to herself as she went about the business in the shop. When Dante went out she always took advantage of the opportunity to clean things up a bit. She would never complain about her current living arrangements; no matter his style or his habits, she loved this small place they shared, in all its grotesque, testosterone infused disarray. And though she had spent very little time in the company of humans, she could somehow tell that it, despite its demonic trophies and inhuman occupants, did the species much credit. It was all arrogance and pride, without excuses or uncertainties, just like its owner, and even with the man gone she sometimes felt she could still hear the soft whisper of his breath somewhere in the room.
An hour passed uneventfully—even demons didn't like the rain. Trish didn't expect any customers to appear on such a dreary evening, and so was startled when the door creaked hesitantly open. Frowning, she quickly stowed the rag she'd been using to clean some of Dante's more repugnant trophies in a desk drawer and straightened her top. "Welcome stranger," she called as she turned to face the visitor. A chill ran up her shoulders, not entirely from the cold air seeping through the open door.
The man was pretty tall—just about Dante's height, she estimated, and dressed much as he had been when he left, in a long black raincoat that hung solemnly just above his soaked boots. The hood he wore blocked most of his face, but she could see the creases in the material as he turned his head to gaze about the small shop. "I'm looking for Dante."
Trish frowned slightly at the sound of his voice; he wasn't like the usual customers. Mostly their clients were rich men, the kind of greedy bastards that always seemed to attract demon trouble. They got a few charity cases as well, but this man…his voice was hesitant but even, as if he weren't used to asking for favors, yet without the arrogance that usually accompanied such things.
Trish shook herself; it was far too early to be making such assessments, especially when she hadn't been doing this job for very long. She fit a cool smile into place. "He's out," she replied easily. "What makes you think he'd see you?"
"He'd see me. Though he might not like it." The man reached up, pulling back his hood at last and shaking his hair from it. Trish's eyes narrowed slightly as she revised her opinion of him. He was relatively young, but his eyes were dark and thin, making him look older than he should have. His face was thin, his hair black and slovenly, and there was a definite air of…maturity…about him she definitely recognized.
"So. You're a hunter, too." Trish watched him, taking a small step back when she realized how carefully he was watching her. "What do you want? Dante and I work alone."
"You're her, aren't you? The woman everyone's been talking about. The one that…." The man's eyes opened a little wider, and suddenly he looked away, as if having backed down from a challenge she didn't remember giving. "I need to speak to Dante. I'll wait, if he's out."
Trish bit at her lip as she considered the best way to handle this. "The shop'll be closed by the time he's back," she replied coolly. "But I'll take your name, and he can get back to you."
He hesitated, as she assumed he might, but in the end relented. "My name is Lucas Malroy," he introduced quietly. Whatever he had seen in her a moment before was making him cautious now, and she wondered vaguely if he had somehow been able to see what she was. He wouldn't meet her gaze anymore. "And I have to talk to him in person. It's…well, personal."
"It always is," Trish snorted, though she couldn't help but be curious. Dante didn't have personal business with many people—not with men, anyway. But the stranger seemed determined to stay. "Listen," she began to explain, passing a hand through her hair. Dante might not like her talking like this to a potential costumer, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to be offering any money. "He's out drinking, okay? It's his night off." Whenever Dante decided to go out was a night off, so it wasn't that far from the truth. "If you want to wait I don't mind, but I can't guarantee he'll be in any state to talk to you, if it's important."
Lucas hesitated again, and once more Trish had to rethink her appraisal of him. A hunter, lacking bravado, who seemed strong enough but couldn't bring himself to look her in the face now that he knew what she was. She wasn't sure what to make of it. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked abruptly before he could answer her former question.
"It's not you," he responded quickly. "And yes, I think I'll stay, if you don't mind." He slipped out of his coat, giving it a good shake before setting it to dry on a hook near the door. "It's important that I speak to him as soon as possible."
"It's not some kind of job, is it?" Trish pushed the extra chair out for him and leaned against the desk edge so that she could keep a close eye on him. "Because I can already tell you he's going to say no."
"No he won't. If you're working together, you should know better." He fell into the chair with a soft sigh and stretched his legs out. "Dante doesn't turn down opportunities. Besides…." He trailed off, as if not intending to finish the thought, then started back up abruptly. "He won't have a choice with this one."
Trish couldn't help but chuckle quietly. Lucas had a point—Dante never did turn down a chance to hunt. "So you really do know him, then. Old hunting buddies or something?" She found the ideal somewhat ridiculous, and her face reflected as much.
Lucas didn't see it. "Sort of."
Startled by the seemingly honest response, Trish could only shake her head and chuckle. "Never mind. You want a beer?" She moved to the office's small refrigerator while managing to keep an eye on him, even if he didn't look like the type to start anything. But then, she imagined most men would be smart enough not to try anything with Dante's woman.
Dante's woman. Smirking, she lifted a can and shook it invitingly. When Lucas politely declined she took it for herself. A mercenary that didn't drink—things kept getting more interesting.
Deciding on a new tactic, Trish returned to the desk and looked her visitor in the eye. "You know what I am, don't you?"
Lucas sat up a little straighter in his chair; she was a disappointed that he didn't react as forcibly as she'd excepted. He held her gaze for a long moment. "Yes," he said at last, a bit breathlessly. He gained back his full composure a moment later, however, curling his fingers slightly against the armrest beneath them. "I know what you are. I've been around enough to tell."
"So you're no ordinary merc, then." It was an obvious deduction, but she liked saying things out loud; it helped keep her thoughts straight. "Why don't you just tell me what this is about? I might be able to help you out myself." She smirked. "Putting Dante on any case these days is almost overkill in itself."
"This isn't a normal kill," Lucas replied quickly, escaping her eyes. His jaw tensed around words that wouldn't come.
Eventually Trish gave up waiting for them. "Fine. But to be completely honest, if that's the case, I might be more help to you than my partner." She hopped up onto Dante's desk and took a long sip of her beer. "I'm a demon, after all," she reminded him bluntly. "I've been through Hell, literally. I know evil. Maybe Dante knows killing demons better than anyone, but he doesn't know living with them."
Trish paused to await his answer. She had to admit that she was enjoying this for some reason; ever since returning from Mallet she hadn't been able to get out on her own much. Though at times she enjoyed Dante's protectiveness, the idea of a mission without him arrogantly blasting everything in sight before she could make a hit was definitely appealing. There was also something about this man that had begun to intrigue her, with his reserved manner and calm eyes. She hadn't met another human who hunted demons before, and though she'd assumed a lot of Dante's bravado was part of the trade, she was already altering her opinions.
"I'm after a Demon Elite," Lucas said at last, his voice even as if judging the merit of each word. "I have been for almost ten years now." He ran a hand through his hair. "The same demon. I know it sounds ridiculous, but…as long as I can spare a few victims as I go, it's worth it. Since I can't kill him alone."
Trish frowned slightly. She couldn't imagine chasing the same target for more than a few weeks, let alone years. Especially humans, whose lifetimes were so short. "If you knew that, why didn't you come here sooner?" she asked casually. "If this demon of yours is so strong, then Dante—"
"I couldn't," Lucas interrupted firmly. "I…couldn't ask Dante. He's the last one I could have asked…." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to confuse you. But it's complicated."
"Then why now? You're here, aren't you?"
"Yes…." Lucas hesitated a moment, his lips pursing seriously as he debated within himself. "I don't have a choice anymore, because it's become nearly impossible for me to track him alone." He returned his gaze to her, trusting her to understand the importance of what he was saying. "He's taken up a human form. But more than that, the energy Mundus gathered here on Earth for his army has been set loose, now that Mallet Island has been destroyed. He's found a way to tap into that energy, and is even more powerful than before."
Trish bit her lip as she took in what he was saying. "When Mundus's seals began to break, he was able to slip small portions of his power into the human world," she murmured thoughtfully to herself. "He was going to grant it to his army, once he could reach them directly. Dante was able to absorb that energy while he was on the island, but…normal demons aren't capable of using the raw energy of a god like that." She studied the newcomer's face. "You're saying this demon has found a way to use the power of the orbs?"
"That's right," he confirmed grimly. "Not only is he several thousand years old, but he's using traces of Mundus' power, not to mention that of other demons. And now that he can disguise himself as a human he can travel anywhere he likes, avoiding my detection." His shoulders sagged. "Before it was fairly easy. He can't shift dimensions or cross oceans, and he usually stayed in the same hunting ground for a while. It was easy enough to find him by keeping track of internet reports and shipping records. It's not even that hard to predict his victims. But now all I can do is watch the morgues, and hope he's still around by the time I show up."
Trish nodded, setting her beer aside as she tackled this new problem. "In human form he'll barely even have a scent to track. Where did you last see him?"
"In Sydney, Australia." Lucas's gaze escaped her again. " Somehow the media managed to cover it up pretty well, but a lot of lives were lost down there. And now I think he's headed this way. If he's…." He took a short breath and pushed the words through. "If he's not after Dante himself, he's expecting to run into him. I thought that if he was here, Dante would have no choice but to let me help him."
Trish's eyes narrowed as she watched the man across from her. There was a sudden, uneasy hollow in her stomach she wasn't quite sure what to make of. Something about the way he was talking…with his shifting eyes and the tendons standing out on the backs of his palms. The pale shade of his skin wasn't very encouraging, either. "Lucas," she said with quiet firmness—it was the same tone that worked on Dante so often. "Exactly what class of demon are we talking about?
A long silence stretched between them, and Trish held her breath as she waited. She seemed to have found the root of the problem after all. Lucas licked his lips, clearly stalling, and she was about to repeat the question when finally he spoke. "Aubram." The name fell from him in one thin breath. "It's name is Aubram."
Trish recoiled, her eyes widening as she considered the man before her. "Aubram…." A shudder went through her has she recalled all she knew of the creature. She had never met the demon face to face, being relatively young, but she had heard more than enough to make her wary. From what she had learned, Aubram was not the most deadly nor the most cruel among her demonic peers, but he was clever and manipulative. Even most of his own kind avoided him if they could help it.
"You've been chasing Aubram all these years?" Trish said incredulously, wincing herself as she watched his skin pale. "Ten years? But that's….." She faltered when she found no words to speak, snapping her jaw shut. Though she would not doubt the determination of a human or a hunter, she couldn't imagine that any one man would devote himself for so long to a demon like Aubram, unless he was already under the creature's spell. There was something more to this than she had yet perceived, something else that had brought Lucas here this night. It would soon fit itself into place in her mind.
The door thudded open suddenly, and Trish whirled, her palms tingling with a flash of inadvertently gathered energy. Lucas barely flinched. A moment later she was able to calm at the sight of Dante's familiar figure. "Dante," she sighed, soothing back her hair. "You're back early. I didn't expect you until later."
Dante stepped into the shop, shaking beads of water off his coat as he shed his hood. "Yeah, well, I couldn't find myself some…."
Dante broke off abruptly when his eyes fell on their visitor, who was by now pushing slowly to his feet. The air grew thick between the two black-clad men. Trish started to speak but couldn't, as if finding herself tangled amidst their joined, heavy eyes. There was no deciphering the twisted expression her partner bore, with his eyes piercing and angry, his jaw trembling. And though Lucas was holding himself up better than Trish would have expected a man to beneath one of Dante's more lethal faces, there was something timid behind his eyes, a different kind of fear. She had been right. Whatever it was she'd felt from Lucas all along was here, trapped between the two men, as if already on both of their lips. "Dante…."
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Dante hissed, jabbing an accusatory finger at the man. There was a wildness in his eyes Trish hadn't seen since Mallet, and it was enough to force her back a step.
Lucas lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Dante, I'm not here to make trouble. I haven't told her—"
In a streak of black Dante had moved across the small room faster than Trish could gauge. All she caught was the pause just before his fist flew, the impact of his knuckles against Lucas's jaw that sent him tumbling over the desk with a startled cry. She leapt back in surprise. "Dante! What the hell are you—"
"Get out!" Dante raged, pursuing the man around furniture. Lucas was just struggling to his feet when a gloved hand wrapped around his throat, flinging him roughly in the direction of the door. "I told you I'd kill you if I saw you again—I'll give you one more chance to get the fuck out of here!" He punctuated his command with a sharp kick to the man's midsection that left him gasping. "Get out!"
"Dante, stop it!" Trish latched onto his arm, knowing her strength alone wouldn't be enough to halt him if he truly intended to kill the man, but she hoped the distraction would be enough. "He hasn't done anything—he came here for our help!"
Dante whirled on her. "You don't know a damn thing!" he snapped, but as soon as he took in her face fully he hesitated. A low, frustrated growl escape his lips, and he shook her off sharply. "Just stay out of it, Trish. I'm handling it." He turned back to Lucas, who hadn't regained his balance yet, still crouched on the floor. "And what the hell are you still doing here? I told you to get the fuck out, you little shit. I don't want you anywhere near this place!"
"I can't." Lucas finally pushed to his feet so that he could meet Dante's gaze, his eyes pained but determined. "I need your help, Dante."
He scowled. "If you think I give a damn, you—"
"He's here."
Trish shivered as the room fell abruptly still and silent, her gaze dancing nervously between the two men. The look that had flashed briefly across Dante's face was one she recognized, though not on him; she could barely believe she'd seen it at all. Something like instinct twisted thickly in her gut and began to prick at her realization. It was making her ill.
"What…." When Dante spoke again his voice was low and hoarse. "What did you say?"
Lucas took a deep breath, and though the color had fled from his face and hands he managed to keep his voice even. "He's here," he repeated quietly. "I don't know how long he's been here, but he's here for you."
There was another brief pause, a held breath they all shared, and then Trish could only wince as Lucas was on his back again with a thud. "Shut the fuck up!" he all but screamed, his grip finding the man's windpipe once more. He slammed Lucas up against the closest wall and held him pinned. "Just shut up! Get out—get out of here, damn you, before I fucking kill you!"
"Dante—" Trish bit her lip; but she had no other choice, and with a pained scowl she spun, the bone of her heel catching Dante squarely in the jaw. He and Lucas were separated in a tumble of bodies. Before Dante could rise to resume whatever he had in mind for the stranger she grabbed Lucas by the collar and hauled him to his feet, dragging him outside. "I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling him out under the small canopy that sheltered their shop. "I don't know what's going on, but don't leave—I'll take care of Dante. Just…wait for me." She cast a glare at the rain and added another apology before her goosebumps chased her back inside.
Trish had seen Dante mad—she'd fought him, betrayed him, seen him when he was his most vulnerable and most deadly. But this…this was something out of her experience, though she didn't understand exactly how greatly she was removed from him until she saw the look of shame she barely caught on his face as he stood. Had she not seen this display he'd just put on she would have hardly believed it was her same Dante. But with Lucas's words still heavy in her mind, and the same sick uneasiness spreading higher into her chest, she knew better than to assume anything at this point. All she could do was try to deal with this as best she could.
"Dante…." She started forward carefully, though she didn't try to touch him yet. A moment ago he'd looked like a cornered animal. "Listen, can we please just—"
"Enough. Don't say anything." Dante shrugged out of his coat, so that it crumpled to his feet like a corpse. "I came back early because they didn't have a stiff enough drink for me," he muttered, heavy footsteps taking him to the desk to claim the can she'd abandoned earlier. He finished the alcohol off in one breath and let the crushed aluminum drop to the floor. "So I'm going to bed."
Trish folded her arms around her middle as she debated a course of action. "Dante, please," she tried a different tactic. Carefully she moved around to his side to watch his profile. His face was blank, weary. "Don't just walk out on me like this—don't I deserve an explanation? I'm your partner—"
"You're a goddamn demon!" Dante shot back suddenly, giving her shoulder an unexpected shove that nearly forced her off her feet. She stumbled but managed not to fall. Dante caught himself a moment too late to realize what he had done. "Trish…sorry. Just…." He growled a curse under his breath and marched to the stairs. "I'm going to bed. I'm sorry, okay? Now leave me alone."
Trish's breath escaped her in a low sigh as she watched the man ascend to the second story, her confidence too shaken now to give chase. "Dante…My God, what is going on?" she whispered. A deep breath and a hand through her hair steadied her, and she returned to the front door to retrieve Lucas. His clothes and hair were wet again from the rain; she ushered him quickly inside and signaled for quiet. "I'm sorry," she told him yet again as she fetched a towel from the kitchen. She knew better than to go behind Dante's back like this, but something told her she could trust Lucas now. If anything, he was the only one who might tell her what was happening.
"Lucas," she said briskly as he dried his face. "You can't stay here—Dante's just upstairs, and he probably won't come down, but we can't exactly talk here, either. I…want to help you." She glanced away guiltily. "I know Dante probably wouldn't stand for it, but after hearing what you've said I can't leave Aubram alone."
"I don't want to get you in trouble with him," Lucas said quietly, nursing his already swelling jaw. He looked ready to fall over, and without thinking she lent him her elbow to lean on. He accepted hesitantly. "Dante's right, you know. He did threaten to kill me last time we met. I…can't say I blame him for that."
"Then tell me what's going on," Trish demanded in a harsh whisper. "If you know something, you have to tell me. You said that Aubram is here for Dante—I can't just stand by and let him come, and if we need your help I can't let Dante's stubbornness ruin what chance we might have against him." She caught his gaze in hers and held it. "Please, Lucas."
The man's dark eyes thinned, though for once he did not attempt to escape her stare. His hand tightened on her arm. "I'll…tell you," he murmured, and his voice rasped thinly like pages falling from an old book. "He may kill me for it, but I'll tell you…everything."
By the way…since you've all been so great, following the story and everything (I never expected so many people to go for it) I'm giving you a Happy Holiday present. I've got some scans from a doujinshi a friend of mine picked up at Yaoi-con this year, translated, and you can access them from the following URL: http://www.croik.com/images/DMC/ . I'm sure the artist wouldn't appreciate me doing this, though, so let's keep it our little secret.
Thanks for liking the tentacle sex so damn much XD