Author's Note: This is a warning of temporary OOC for our dear friends, whom the only one I lay claim to is the cop. Everyone else belongs to Capcom…bastards. :op

"You're not gonna' make me do it!"

"Yes I will," Trish yelled into his ears, while using them as a makeshift steering wheel to turn him back home.

Dante struggled as best as he could to avoid at least a crash landing. It couldn't be helped, as Trish jumped off him just in time from Dante's head first landing into the white Hertz. Without any sign of damage, he looked where his face dented, which was right in the area of the decal's chest.

"That was almost too convenient," he said with a feeling of turning chibi.

Trish walked from behind him and laughed.

"You know what's best about that," she asked.

"What," he sighed.

Her laugher couldn't be held any longer. "You're not hurt, though you ran into a Hertz!"

It was demonic instinct that forced Dante's foot into her stomach because of the horrible jape, and it was only then that he laughed out loud, before Trish struck back with an immediate punch in his clavicle. Making a funny noise, he was ready to swing once more, had it not been for the intervention of a police officer that looked disturbingly like a Ring Wraith, only it had sunglasses and spiky blonde hair.

"Mr. Sparda," the scary cop began, "I'm issuing you this for flying in a No Fly Zone."

Dante went nuts after seeing the ticket.

"What!? Since when?"

"Since forever, sir," the cop answered with a frightening smile.

Without any hesitation, Dante tore the paper up in front of him and threw what was left in his hands in his face.

"Screw you, man," he exclaimed, "I've lived here longer than you've been a freakin' meter maid, and there's never been a charge for that! You're not even a real cop! F-ck you, homes!"

"Son," the cop said as he took off his sunglasses, revealing his red eyes, "you don't wanna' mess with the law. I will bite yo' ass."

"Oh, that's what up, then," Dante said, getting ready to throw down, until Trish steeped in between the two.

"Why can't you settle this in court," she asked, "you have enough money to pay for it."

"We would settle it if you got out our way," Dante yelled, "we're trying to solve this through grass roots means!"

"You have that wrong, dude," she contested.

"No," Dante replied, "the winner buries the loser six feet under grass and roots!"

"Ai'ing, that's gangsta'," the cop laughed.

"It's not gangsta', it's Jersey," he corrected violently.

"Tch, not again," Trish scoffed and walked away.

From this point on, it was a complete reenactment of any battle in a well done fighting game. The details will be sparred, since most of them might be used towards the other DMC fan fic I'm writing (shameless plug), but all that's needed to be known is that Dante lost. He was on the floor in a fetal position, as the cop kicked dust and threw a hat on Dante's face, and walked away with a laugh of iniquity.

"See you in court," he said, laughing more violently into the darkness.

Once Dante regained his vision, he looked around and questioned quite understandably.

"How the hell is it night so quick?"

"That's how long you were fighting," Trish said, handing him some Kentucky Fried Phantom she ordered for dinner at 6 PM, and it was now Midnight. "Now you've done it, you dummy!"

She bopped him on the head with the golf club.

"Ow, he replied, sneaking her in the jaw 'cause her being a half demon, she can take it. As for his excuse for hitting her, being a half demon, because he could. And he was born in Jersey, and they don't take sh-t from anyone.

The next morning began by the rapping at their door of, what Dante feared to be, a client. He knew it was time to prepare for the court hearing, and he knew that he'd need some extra cash in case something even more screwed up happened, but instead, Dante was ready to bite the bullet from whichever way it would come. He just hoped it wasn't coming from the doorway.

Trish, on the other hand, had Dante's suit neatly pressed and ready to wear, while she had her own casual outfit prepared. As she heard the door being beaten further and louder, a familiar aura came from it. Trish raised her brow in curiosity, as she walked to the door and hoped it wasn't what it felt to be. With hesitant demeanor, she slowly opened it and saw whom it was, bearing frightening resemblance to an old friend.

"Trish," Dante said sluggishly as walked out his room like a Marionette, "who is that?"

Dante's eyes came into full focus, and saw the man wearing a brown three-piece suit that looked like Dante's, once it was on him, of course. His skin was stone white, as was the man's beard and hair. With fiery colored eyes and a welcome, yet sinister smile, the man introduced himself in a deep, southern accent, resembling a known cartoon character.

"How y'all doin' this fine mornin'," he asked.

Trish answered, possibly out of fear, "We're…okay."

"I heard y'all were engaged with a series of legal, I say, legal problems."

"Okay, how do you know that, and who are you," Dante said now fully awake.

"Both questions are simple to answer at once, son," the stony man replied with confidence, "the name's William K. Mundus, Esquire. I'll be representing you this fine day."

"Aw f*ck me," Dante answered, and walked back to his room.

To be continued…or even concluded!