Disclaimer: I don't own DMC2 or any of the following characters, and if you happen to be French, please don't take any offense to my maulings of Lucia's accent. We all know it's fake anyway. :D And to all the Lucia fans out there... have a sense of humor. Please. I don't wanna piss anyone off, but that's what parodies tend to do - so before flaming, try to stick to criticisms of actual value rather than "You suck because you hate Lucia! GROOOOAR!"-like comments.
Mornings at Vie du Marli were always strange, but there was something unnamably unusual about this particular day as it awakaned the habitants of the islands. The occupants of the small ramshackle house in one of the loneliest villages located there were rarely awake at such an early hour, but these days, Matier and Lucia were not much for sleeping.
"Matier," Lucia said quietly, peering up at the wiry old woman through emerald eyes, "Zee evil eez sprrreading zroughout Vie du Marli wivh everry passing l'moment. Vere eez l'hunter?"
"Soon, my child. Soon."
Matier continued making baguettes, or whatever it was old French ladies living in demon-infested islands did with their time these days, and Lucia sighed painfully before returning to swirling her coffee stirrer in the dark, unwelcoming substance before her.
Deciding to leave the idle scene for a breath of fresh air, Lucia exited the small cottage and hopped up onto one of the rooftops. The low, echoing sound of a bell struck her ears, and she lifted her head, looking over the zigzagged pattern of alternating red rooftops before her.
It was a nice day to pick flowers.
Lucia bore a wide grin to herself as she lept back onto the ground to walk along the cobblestoned road, skipping merrily as she stopped every now and then to pluck the occasional dandelion from the cracks in the road. Her nimble fingers began to weave them into a half-assed dandelion chain, and so enamored by this was she that the half-demon didn't even notice the giant explosion as it lit up the dull streaked sky with fire. Chunks of debris went everywhere.
The next thing she knew, she was clinging to her dandelion chain as if for dear life and had been knocked out of the explosion's path by a certain white-haired demon slayer, proud and arrogant and much older than she. This must be the Hunter.
"Ah, Monsieur Dante," Lucia said, licking her ridiculously colored lips, "eet eez un pleazeeyah to finally meet you."
Dante regarded the girl with a cool kind of amusement, noting the obviously faked French accent with mild irritation as he stood and began to walk away. Lucia gasped and stretched out a tanned hand to grasp his arm. No man ever walked away from the accent that alternated between poor French and American, the neon lipgloss, the slicked back combover-braid combo!
"Vherre are you going so soon, Monsieur Dante?", she asked, sounding panicked at the thought of being left alone. Dante shrugged her away from him and quietly tried to remind himself that it was rude to laugh at a lady within earshot.
"I've got to save your pathetic village-island-cottage-whatever thing, don't I? You don't seem to be much good yourself."
Lucia's lip wobbled.
And then, she burst into tears -- and, throwing the dandelion chain at Dante's chest, she kicked up her heels and lept off of the roof, running through the smoldering streets until she was a black dot in the distance.
Dante shook his head, drew Ebony and Ivory. He could tell that he'd be having to make a few sidetrips to save the angsty oompaloompa from a certain doom. Not that he was looking forward to it, of course; but he had told Matier he would help. And a man never went back on his word.