Author's note: Wheee! I never thought I would ever write an AN, considering I've never seriously considered being a temporary "author" before. I feel so authoritative! Anyways, this story was written in about 25 minutes and at 1AM (mom caught me playing Chaos Legion and sent me to my room o [and KNOW THIS, I am far older than 15 years!!!]), so it's sketchy and I think it jumps all over the place. Once again, me no own DMC and anything related. Capcom(c) rules all; me just poor "author". Once again, THANK YOU ALL for the wonderful reviews!! . Makes me so happy, hehe!
Chapter 3: Juggling with Marionettes, and Juggling with Emotions
"Umph!" Trish uttered a grunt as she dodged past a brutal strike attack. She rolled under a blue marionette, kicking it firmly between the legs as she went through. Being wooden, the puppet could, of course, at most feel minimal pain, but the evil spirit inhabiting the wooden vessel, remembering the old days, reflexively bent over.
"Works every time." A wry grin blossomed across Trish's delicate lips. She placed another firm kick, this time to the thing's bottom, with her steel- plated platform. She had to skip above some miscellaneous missiles aimed awkwardly at her back before she could reach the fallen marionette and stomp on its neck to dismember it. It snapped like a twig. Another well- placed stomp smashed its head. "One down, three to go."
As the blonde made another roll to face her opponents, she was startled to see a streak of silver and red dart past her. "DANTE!!"
Dante double-jumped eleven feet into the air and flipped, diving down on his homed opponent, guns flashing their brilliant display of light. Before he reached the marionette's head, he did a quick cat-like turn in the air. His feet landed on its shoulders, and without losing a beat, used his legs to propel him forward to the next enemy.
The six ft. marionette, having a force exerted on it, had no choice but to fly- in the direction where Trish was standing.
She obliterated it with one powerful, albeit lazy, punch, for it was weakened with surprise, its defense down. That, and the fact that it was ridden with holes.
The silver-haired half-demon gave a vicious uppercut to one green jester, hard enough to launch it into the air 5 feet. Immediately afterwards, he dropped to his back and delivered a slide-kick to the red marionette directly behind the first. Dante was so fast, his movements oh so liquid as he jumped up from his down position, muscled legs needing no aid from his arms to get his body up. His rising head connected with the enemy's chin, lifting it, too, in the air. All the while he was pumping lead into the first to levitate it, but now both wooden vessels danced. The bodies wiggled wildly as the guns juggled them. Truly a crazy, sad, dance.
Pieces of the oversized puppets rained everywhere. Trish got bonked on the head by a head---how ironic.
When the chaos was over, Trish glanced over to the heap of wood where Dante was, before he interrupted her fight. "Helping, not interfering," he insisted, surveying his beautiful destruction.
"It was interfering with my fun, Dante." As a proud woman, Trish would never admit to the Halfling about the aches in her arms and that she was fatigued to the core, nor the slivers smarting in her right fist---payment for looking cool. "You used a Holy Water, didn't you? To get here, to me, as fast as you could.
"Why? Why did you use such a precious commodity on low-class demons?"
" 'Cuz it was useful." A smirk. "Lookit all them demons, Trish! The scent of your blood has drawn them all to you." Dante sniffed in deeply---he couldn't resist, improper or nay. His next words came out husky. "Your sweet blood. Woman's blood.
"And, goddamit, your state of debility has become so apparent...it might be a hindrance"---here Dante paused, tasting the word Trish had used on him four months earlier---"on our bloody scheme."
"Good parallelism," Trish's compliment was laced heavily with sarcasm. "So does that mean that Devil Never Cry is---"
Dante's compelling eyes froze her in mid-sentence. His next words, fiery with longing, thawed her.
"Trish, do you know how...how enviable you are right now?"
Oh...my...god...Trish shakily sighed inwardly. Never in her wildest dreams...had she experienced such a feeling, from the touch of one of Dante's hand on her cheeks, thumb stroking languidly across her jaw line...and the other, lightly touching her back. Lightly touching, but undeniably drawing her body towards his. Were they finally stepping across the boundaries between business partners and a true human relationship?
She could feel unearthly warmth emanating from his hands. A healing touch. The heat spread through her body, focusing primarily on her abdomen. The steady ache faded slowly away.
A bang of silver hair, dotted with minute beads of demon blood, brushed across her cheek as he lowered his face to her. His straight, Roman nose nudged hers gently, tenderly, several times.
Their lips did not meet. Not yet, Dante told himself. He wanted to take it as slowly as he could...Trish, after all, did resemble his mother. Although their personalities did not quite match up---Trish was loud where his mother was soft---they did have the same fire. Dante was still uncertain whether his feelings for Trish were similar to that of his mother.
Furthermore, rational told him that out in the public wasn't exactly the best place to make some romance, although the man and the demon inside him were itching to do so.
Dante tilted his head slightly, in order to achieve a better view of Trish's face. Her low, thick lashes were lowered, thus blocking whatever emotions swimming across her eyes from him. As he lowered his face once again to hers, a sparkle caught his eyes, stunning him into temporary paralysis. Trish....was crying?
"Trish?" A soft murmur. Dante's left index finger tilted her chin up, until she was fully facing him.
One lone tear trickled down.
"Trish, sweetie---" the man hesitated again. He had never called her that before; it was always babe, or something noncommittal like that. Seeing no reaction, except for a faint blush, he continued to proceed. "Why are you crying?"
It was like a dam of some sorts had broken. Some crocodile tears cascaded down. "I---I don't know." Trish gazed earnestly into Dante's blue eyes--- eyes, for once, that weren't shielded or icy hard. "I...just feel like...I'm suddenly so sad..."
Dante felt a chuckle come from the bottom of his throat. He realized that perhaps Trish wasn't completely immune to the changes---and the resultant emotions--- occurring inside of her.
"It's okay, Trish," he soothed. "My mother used to tell me that this would happen sometimes during that...during that period."
The female devil felt Dante's strong hands tilt her face towards his. She closed her eyes, wishing to feel the new sensations arise to the fullest extent. Being so close to Dante seemed to fill up the dark emptiness that appeared so swiftly in her body. Suddenly, She felt the gentle rasp of the demon hunter's tongue slide gently across her cheek, tasting her. A strange yearning replaced the emptiness.
"Not salty!"
The unexpected shout startled Trish from her reverie. "Wha--?" Befuddled, she could only gape at him.
"Your tears! They're not salty!" Dante's eyes flashed with astonishment.
"What? Are they supposed to be?" A seed of irritation planted inside
her.
"Guess you're not as human as I thought," Dante said, his trademark smirk playing across his lips.
The mood was totally spoiled.
The seed of irritation efflorescenced quickly into a massive tree.
"Aaargh!" was all Trish could utter before she smacked him, and stormed away.
Dante could only watch Trish stomp for home.
"My mother used to tell me that this would happen, too, sometimes."
Chapter 3: Juggling with Marionettes, and Juggling with Emotions
"Umph!" Trish uttered a grunt as she dodged past a brutal strike attack. She rolled under a blue marionette, kicking it firmly between the legs as she went through. Being wooden, the puppet could, of course, at most feel minimal pain, but the evil spirit inhabiting the wooden vessel, remembering the old days, reflexively bent over.
"Works every time." A wry grin blossomed across Trish's delicate lips. She placed another firm kick, this time to the thing's bottom, with her steel- plated platform. She had to skip above some miscellaneous missiles aimed awkwardly at her back before she could reach the fallen marionette and stomp on its neck to dismember it. It snapped like a twig. Another well- placed stomp smashed its head. "One down, three to go."
As the blonde made another roll to face her opponents, she was startled to see a streak of silver and red dart past her. "DANTE!!"
Dante double-jumped eleven feet into the air and flipped, diving down on his homed opponent, guns flashing their brilliant display of light. Before he reached the marionette's head, he did a quick cat-like turn in the air. His feet landed on its shoulders, and without losing a beat, used his legs to propel him forward to the next enemy.
The six ft. marionette, having a force exerted on it, had no choice but to fly- in the direction where Trish was standing.
She obliterated it with one powerful, albeit lazy, punch, for it was weakened with surprise, its defense down. That, and the fact that it was ridden with holes.
The silver-haired half-demon gave a vicious uppercut to one green jester, hard enough to launch it into the air 5 feet. Immediately afterwards, he dropped to his back and delivered a slide-kick to the red marionette directly behind the first. Dante was so fast, his movements oh so liquid as he jumped up from his down position, muscled legs needing no aid from his arms to get his body up. His rising head connected with the enemy's chin, lifting it, too, in the air. All the while he was pumping lead into the first to levitate it, but now both wooden vessels danced. The bodies wiggled wildly as the guns juggled them. Truly a crazy, sad, dance.
Pieces of the oversized puppets rained everywhere. Trish got bonked on the head by a head---how ironic.
When the chaos was over, Trish glanced over to the heap of wood where Dante was, before he interrupted her fight. "Helping, not interfering," he insisted, surveying his beautiful destruction.
"It was interfering with my fun, Dante." As a proud woman, Trish would never admit to the Halfling about the aches in her arms and that she was fatigued to the core, nor the slivers smarting in her right fist---payment for looking cool. "You used a Holy Water, didn't you? To get here, to me, as fast as you could.
"Why? Why did you use such a precious commodity on low-class demons?"
" 'Cuz it was useful." A smirk. "Lookit all them demons, Trish! The scent of your blood has drawn them all to you." Dante sniffed in deeply---he couldn't resist, improper or nay. His next words came out husky. "Your sweet blood. Woman's blood.
"And, goddamit, your state of debility has become so apparent...it might be a hindrance"---here Dante paused, tasting the word Trish had used on him four months earlier---"on our bloody scheme."
"Good parallelism," Trish's compliment was laced heavily with sarcasm. "So does that mean that Devil Never Cry is---"
Dante's compelling eyes froze her in mid-sentence. His next words, fiery with longing, thawed her.
"Trish, do you know how...how enviable you are right now?"
Oh...my...god...Trish shakily sighed inwardly. Never in her wildest dreams...had she experienced such a feeling, from the touch of one of Dante's hand on her cheeks, thumb stroking languidly across her jaw line...and the other, lightly touching her back. Lightly touching, but undeniably drawing her body towards his. Were they finally stepping across the boundaries between business partners and a true human relationship?
She could feel unearthly warmth emanating from his hands. A healing touch. The heat spread through her body, focusing primarily on her abdomen. The steady ache faded slowly away.
A bang of silver hair, dotted with minute beads of demon blood, brushed across her cheek as he lowered his face to her. His straight, Roman nose nudged hers gently, tenderly, several times.
Their lips did not meet. Not yet, Dante told himself. He wanted to take it as slowly as he could...Trish, after all, did resemble his mother. Although their personalities did not quite match up---Trish was loud where his mother was soft---they did have the same fire. Dante was still uncertain whether his feelings for Trish were similar to that of his mother.
Furthermore, rational told him that out in the public wasn't exactly the best place to make some romance, although the man and the demon inside him were itching to do so.
Dante tilted his head slightly, in order to achieve a better view of Trish's face. Her low, thick lashes were lowered, thus blocking whatever emotions swimming across her eyes from him. As he lowered his face once again to hers, a sparkle caught his eyes, stunning him into temporary paralysis. Trish....was crying?
"Trish?" A soft murmur. Dante's left index finger tilted her chin up, until she was fully facing him.
One lone tear trickled down.
"Trish, sweetie---" the man hesitated again. He had never called her that before; it was always babe, or something noncommittal like that. Seeing no reaction, except for a faint blush, he continued to proceed. "Why are you crying?"
It was like a dam of some sorts had broken. Some crocodile tears cascaded down. "I---I don't know." Trish gazed earnestly into Dante's blue eyes--- eyes, for once, that weren't shielded or icy hard. "I...just feel like...I'm suddenly so sad..."
Dante felt a chuckle come from the bottom of his throat. He realized that perhaps Trish wasn't completely immune to the changes---and the resultant emotions--- occurring inside of her.
"It's okay, Trish," he soothed. "My mother used to tell me that this would happen sometimes during that...during that period."
The female devil felt Dante's strong hands tilt her face towards his. She closed her eyes, wishing to feel the new sensations arise to the fullest extent. Being so close to Dante seemed to fill up the dark emptiness that appeared so swiftly in her body. Suddenly, She felt the gentle rasp of the demon hunter's tongue slide gently across her cheek, tasting her. A strange yearning replaced the emptiness.
"Not salty!"
The unexpected shout startled Trish from her reverie. "Wha--?" Befuddled, she could only gape at him.
"Your tears! They're not salty!" Dante's eyes flashed with astonishment.
"What? Are they supposed to be?" A seed of irritation planted inside
her.
"Guess you're not as human as I thought," Dante said, his trademark smirk playing across his lips.
The mood was totally spoiled.
The seed of irritation efflorescenced quickly into a massive tree.
"Aaargh!" was all Trish could utter before she smacked him, and stormed away.
Dante could only watch Trish stomp for home.
"My mother used to tell me that this would happen, too, sometimes."