Dante and Trish on a bad day: part 2
"Here's your goddamn coffee!"
Trish slams the coffee pot down their small dining table. The contents of the hot black liquid spills over, splashing on Dante's red pants, making him wince and curse a thousand blasphemies. What else is new, Trish thinks with a slight smirk, noting his immediate anger and causing his chair to crash backward with a loud thud.
"Fucking shit, what the hell is wrong with you? You on the rag today? Shit, that never stopped you from letting me fuck you."
With that comment, Trish frowns, turns around and walks over to retrieve dark burnt toast and sets them on the pretty delft blue saucers. She scrapes the black crumbs off the top layers with a butterknife, then in rapid movement picks up a big swirl of butter to slab it all over, covering the dark color with yellow thick cream.
The plate and the burnt toast slams down the table, sending pieces of yellow globs over the side of the saucer. Trish stands there with one hand on her hip and the other taking the handle of the coffee pot, then pours the black steaming liquid over Dante's demon faced clay mug.
"Want sugar this time?" she says with a kind of smugness.
"What--what the hell is this, Trish? This isn't breakfast. It's crap. CRAP!"
"Yeah, so? It's what you get. Eat up, baby cause I'm going somewhere."
Trish turns around with a swift movement, her blond hair tied up in a pin became undone as Dante grabs her by the arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Leaving. That's all you need to know."
Then with a forceful retrieval of her arm, she gives him a glare, a kind of a dare that spoke volumes if he dares to do anything else to her. She wasn't in the mood for any of his nonsense. No more. Nuh-uh. Not this demon bitch from hell. And hell is where she's going.
Dante watches her as she saunters upstairs, making loud noises with her boots, one by one, until he can hear her going into her room. Then silence. He stares at the coffee and his favorite mug with the happy demon face. He takes a sip then leans back casually, allowing his one arm dangle on the back of the chair. The throbbing of his head seem to lessen as he finished the contents and looks at the burnt toast again. He was too tired to yell anymore or make any more demands. What the hell happened to him last night? He usually could take his drink as the rest of them but he felt as if someone had hit him over the head with a mother fucking sledge hammer the size of one of those stone hedges.
Upstairs, Trish packs what she could find and to her dismay sees nothing much in the way of feminine toiletries. Taking a long deep sigh she looks at the mirror there just above the airmoire. She was tall enough that her head was leveled to the small reflection. Did her eyes look a bit dark? Or were the dark circles there accentuating them?
Mallet island here I come, she whispers in the emptiness of the room.
Walking downstairs, Trish sees Dante sitting there quietly and she makes no move to go in his direction. Taking a deep breath, she walks outside the door making sure she places her dark sunglasses to stop the brilliant rays of the sun hurting the blue of her eyes. With the motorcycle keys in her hands she throws them up in the air just so till they landed right back in her palms, gripping them. With steady strides, she reaches to the vehicle until Dante calls out,
"Going somewhere with the bike, Trish?"
Glancing momentarily back to see him lounging against the doorframe with his pants still unzipped and shirtless, she still wonders why she had to catch her breath at the sight of him. A demon girl like her couldn't help but feel the intense sexual drive for him. Hell, even mortal women couldn't keep their hands off of him. I wonder how he manages? Before he met her? Did he go through a hundred women in a month to keep his lusty urges? The thoughts ran through her mind like wild fire and she makes no answer.
Starting up the engine, she hugs the sides of the bike, feeling the roar of the engine like some kind of caressing purr. The hour was ripe and the sun blinks at her behind quick dodging clouds that were manipulated by the swift torrential winds. Ah, it's a good day to find a plane and head back to where she belonged.
"Trish!"
Those where the last words she heard as she sped through the alleyways into the mainstreets with traffic and people, barely missing them and the yellow that blinked before she crossed.
Returning to Mallet island.
The nearest plane available at this rental place called Planes R Us had these little beat up looking machines that screamed they were born in the forties, during the war torn years when the Germans attacked and the Japanese made their arrival upon Pearl Harbor. Heck, she didn't care as long as she could get there.
The man behind the counter looked as if he hadn't taken a bath with his slick greasy hair and the hamburger stains on his thin white shirt. Even his mustache had spots of food all over it. What a disgusting man, Trish thinks immediately, fearing to get close to him but she must do what she must.
"I need to borrow a plane and I would like it today."
The man looked up from his penthouse magazine and grunts, sees the blond who was talking to him and pulls the cigar out of his mouth. His eyes had widened at the sight of her. What a pretty piece he thinks in that little brain of his and puffs out his chest a bit to reveal the open vee, which the shirt separated.
"Well now sweet thing, I don't know about you getting anything today but I might have something for you---"
He could barely get the words out as Trish had pinned his scrawny neck with the force of her fingers around them, pushing him against the counter. Her vise grip nearly making him spit out wet spittles of foam.
"Listen, you little piece of shit! I'm not interested about tomorrow. I want it TODAY! You got that? Or do I have to make it clearer?"
The replies were muffled with a forced nod and he breathes out a sigh of relief as Trish backs away, letting him breathe what little air could come into his lungs.
"Here, take the third plane to the left, the yellow one."
He handed her the keys, making sure he didn't touch her. Then retreated back behind the counter and took out some forms for her to sign. The blond immediately set to taking her identification out. But wait, Dante never gave her one did he? Oh yes, he did. He made contacts with the immigration laws. Some job he did back awhile ago for an immigration officer high up in the administration office. Made new files for Trish. Trish Sparda. Yeah, they weren't married but the sound of it was nice on her lips. And the damn memory of Dante came back up like a swift kick in the ass. Stupid ass jerk! The force of her anger nearly breaking the pen in which she uses to write with. The man just smirks with a nod and reveals uneven teeth caked with some kind of old bread pieces and food stains.
Trish was happy to get out of there and looking up at the sky, she licks at her index finger and lifting it up in the air to have the wind reveal which direction the gusts were going to be. Not that it mattered but the feel of the wind was going to make her get to Mallet island.
It's Mallet Island or bust.
Yeah.
No looking back now and turning to salt. Shit. The taste of salt reminded her one of Dante's session with her in bed. Rough and violent, so much so she had to keep from screaming out and biting her lips to taste the blood.
Blood and sex. Shit. Shit. Shit. Ah. Now the word shit. So bloody sweet and sick isn't it? The thoughts in her disappears as she sights upon the plane.
Bloody hell. What a fucking piece of crap.
"Here's your goddamn coffee!"
Trish slams the coffee pot down their small dining table. The contents of the hot black liquid spills over, splashing on Dante's red pants, making him wince and curse a thousand blasphemies. What else is new, Trish thinks with a slight smirk, noting his immediate anger and causing his chair to crash backward with a loud thud.
"Fucking shit, what the hell is wrong with you? You on the rag today? Shit, that never stopped you from letting me fuck you."
With that comment, Trish frowns, turns around and walks over to retrieve dark burnt toast and sets them on the pretty delft blue saucers. She scrapes the black crumbs off the top layers with a butterknife, then in rapid movement picks up a big swirl of butter to slab it all over, covering the dark color with yellow thick cream.
The plate and the burnt toast slams down the table, sending pieces of yellow globs over the side of the saucer. Trish stands there with one hand on her hip and the other taking the handle of the coffee pot, then pours the black steaming liquid over Dante's demon faced clay mug.
"Want sugar this time?" she says with a kind of smugness.
"What--what the hell is this, Trish? This isn't breakfast. It's crap. CRAP!"
"Yeah, so? It's what you get. Eat up, baby cause I'm going somewhere."
Trish turns around with a swift movement, her blond hair tied up in a pin became undone as Dante grabs her by the arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Leaving. That's all you need to know."
Then with a forceful retrieval of her arm, she gives him a glare, a kind of a dare that spoke volumes if he dares to do anything else to her. She wasn't in the mood for any of his nonsense. No more. Nuh-uh. Not this demon bitch from hell. And hell is where she's going.
Dante watches her as she saunters upstairs, making loud noises with her boots, one by one, until he can hear her going into her room. Then silence. He stares at the coffee and his favorite mug with the happy demon face. He takes a sip then leans back casually, allowing his one arm dangle on the back of the chair. The throbbing of his head seem to lessen as he finished the contents and looks at the burnt toast again. He was too tired to yell anymore or make any more demands. What the hell happened to him last night? He usually could take his drink as the rest of them but he felt as if someone had hit him over the head with a mother fucking sledge hammer the size of one of those stone hedges.
Upstairs, Trish packs what she could find and to her dismay sees nothing much in the way of feminine toiletries. Taking a long deep sigh she looks at the mirror there just above the airmoire. She was tall enough that her head was leveled to the small reflection. Did her eyes look a bit dark? Or were the dark circles there accentuating them?
Mallet island here I come, she whispers in the emptiness of the room.
Walking downstairs, Trish sees Dante sitting there quietly and she makes no move to go in his direction. Taking a deep breath, she walks outside the door making sure she places her dark sunglasses to stop the brilliant rays of the sun hurting the blue of her eyes. With the motorcycle keys in her hands she throws them up in the air just so till they landed right back in her palms, gripping them. With steady strides, she reaches to the vehicle until Dante calls out,
"Going somewhere with the bike, Trish?"
Glancing momentarily back to see him lounging against the doorframe with his pants still unzipped and shirtless, she still wonders why she had to catch her breath at the sight of him. A demon girl like her couldn't help but feel the intense sexual drive for him. Hell, even mortal women couldn't keep their hands off of him. I wonder how he manages? Before he met her? Did he go through a hundred women in a month to keep his lusty urges? The thoughts ran through her mind like wild fire and she makes no answer.
Starting up the engine, she hugs the sides of the bike, feeling the roar of the engine like some kind of caressing purr. The hour was ripe and the sun blinks at her behind quick dodging clouds that were manipulated by the swift torrential winds. Ah, it's a good day to find a plane and head back to where she belonged.
"Trish!"
Those where the last words she heard as she sped through the alleyways into the mainstreets with traffic and people, barely missing them and the yellow that blinked before she crossed.
Returning to Mallet island.
The nearest plane available at this rental place called Planes R Us had these little beat up looking machines that screamed they were born in the forties, during the war torn years when the Germans attacked and the Japanese made their arrival upon Pearl Harbor. Heck, she didn't care as long as she could get there.
The man behind the counter looked as if he hadn't taken a bath with his slick greasy hair and the hamburger stains on his thin white shirt. Even his mustache had spots of food all over it. What a disgusting man, Trish thinks immediately, fearing to get close to him but she must do what she must.
"I need to borrow a plane and I would like it today."
The man looked up from his penthouse magazine and grunts, sees the blond who was talking to him and pulls the cigar out of his mouth. His eyes had widened at the sight of her. What a pretty piece he thinks in that little brain of his and puffs out his chest a bit to reveal the open vee, which the shirt separated.
"Well now sweet thing, I don't know about you getting anything today but I might have something for you---"
He could barely get the words out as Trish had pinned his scrawny neck with the force of her fingers around them, pushing him against the counter. Her vise grip nearly making him spit out wet spittles of foam.
"Listen, you little piece of shit! I'm not interested about tomorrow. I want it TODAY! You got that? Or do I have to make it clearer?"
The replies were muffled with a forced nod and he breathes out a sigh of relief as Trish backs away, letting him breathe what little air could come into his lungs.
"Here, take the third plane to the left, the yellow one."
He handed her the keys, making sure he didn't touch her. Then retreated back behind the counter and took out some forms for her to sign. The blond immediately set to taking her identification out. But wait, Dante never gave her one did he? Oh yes, he did. He made contacts with the immigration laws. Some job he did back awhile ago for an immigration officer high up in the administration office. Made new files for Trish. Trish Sparda. Yeah, they weren't married but the sound of it was nice on her lips. And the damn memory of Dante came back up like a swift kick in the ass. Stupid ass jerk! The force of her anger nearly breaking the pen in which she uses to write with. The man just smirks with a nod and reveals uneven teeth caked with some kind of old bread pieces and food stains.
Trish was happy to get out of there and looking up at the sky, she licks at her index finger and lifting it up in the air to have the wind reveal which direction the gusts were going to be. Not that it mattered but the feel of the wind was going to make her get to Mallet island.
It's Mallet Island or bust.
Yeah.
No looking back now and turning to salt. Shit. The taste of salt reminded her one of Dante's session with her in bed. Rough and violent, so much so she had to keep from screaming out and biting her lips to taste the blood.
Blood and sex. Shit. Shit. Shit. Ah. Now the word shit. So bloody sweet and sick isn't it? The thoughts in her disappears as she sights upon the plane.
Bloody hell. What a fucking piece of crap.