Chapter 3 – Hark! The bawling hunter screams!

Outside, it was bitterly cold and as Dante marched he began to feel his resolve weaken until it was almost reduced to nothing. He began to wish he was back home, drinking mugs of hot milk, saving gingerbread men from Vergil and looking forward to gleefully opening a whole host of presents. Then, afterwards they would play board-games and then, when they all got tired, they would huddle together, in front of the television set and watch some family film…and they would laugh and laugh and laugh and…

No…Dante shook his head and wondered sadly whether he was going insane. He had to be, to confuse the present Christmas with those from when he was a child, before he hit the age of seven, when they were a full family, all of them loving of each other and happy. His father had been there and had been like a big blanket but so much better, offering warmth, security and love. He wondered again whether he was slowly turning mad. Indeed, the little old lady who was sitting on the bench seemed to think so, and to show her disgust for anyone who was less then sane, she threw her newspaper at him, wiggled a cane and then lumbered towards him. Dante was utterly terrified, the only experience he'd ever had with little old ladies was his grandmother Bob on his mother's side. She had had false teeth, a scary smile, blackened gums and appeared as though she would have been much more at home in a wrestling ring. Eva's mother really hadn't been right in the head. So it was understandable that Dante was watching this little old lady with a considerable sense of apprehension.

'Excuse me?' she said in a quivery little old lady voice. 'Have you seen my…' she paused at this point, leaving the demon hunter watching her in a petrified silence. What on earth was this little creature in front of him going to ask for? A turnip? Or a bazooka perhaps? Maybe she was even going to ask whether he had seen her assassin who killed vampires before eating their fangs by turning them into a thoroughly disgusting but delicacy of a stew? Maybe the assassin even ate the stew with crumpets for his high-tea! If that was really the somewhat farfetched case, then maybe he would tell the little old lady about Reiko and get him chopped up into little bits…Dante had no time to entertain any such delightful thoughts as the old lady cleared her throat and smacked her withering lips together a couple of times, causing a sound that made Dante stand stiffly to attention, his skin crawling, a little whimper threatening to escape him. She began to speak again.

'Dog?' Dante stared at her blankly, having forgotten the question.

'E-excuse me?' he stammered, trying to sound polite. Once he had been less than polite to grandmother Bob and had been thrashed by said person with her cane as a result. Then, in the same hour, he began watching Pocahontas and watched with increasing horror as Grandmother Willow beat the living daylights out of the English soldiers using her whippy branches, thus sending the English soldiers running off in a blind panic, and traumatizing a very very impressionable Dante.

The little old lady gibbered, yes gibbered something unintelligible and shuffled about, reminding Dante vividly of two very different things. The first was a picture of an owl that was ruffling his feathers will looking all about it in a beady fashion, as though waiting to swoop down for the kill. The second image he had was of a crazy voodoo priestess who would not find it at all below her to lay a curse upon him that caused his ears to grow to the size of Dumbo's and caused his hair to fall off. Then he remembered grandmother Bob again, and remembered instantly of how he had seen her go through the exact same actions before she tried to kick some ass and fell over. He promptly wailed, trying to shield his head with his arms, remembering that before his grandmother had fallen over, she usually managed to land a few hits. The little old lady merely looked at him in confusion before harrumphing at the childish display. She then looked at Dante in nothing less than open disgust. She cleared her throat and set about the entire ritual of lip smacking once again before fixing Dante with what he assumed to be a gimlet eye and spoke in a loud raucous manner, sounding much like a puia who was suffering from the flu.

'Have you seen my…dog?' she asked again. Dante shook his head mutely before finding the nerve to speak again, though he sounded somewhat stilted and drunk.

'Er…ah…erm…eh…?' he gasped, his eyes wide. Still, he tried to take deep breaths. Don't let her know you're afraid, Dante…don't let her know you're afraid…don't let her know…if you give any old woman even the slightest clue that you're scared, if you let them smell your fear, they'll be all over you like ants on a dead lion's body! He thought to himself miserably. Then he gave himself another moment to allow for the rare opportunity to feel proud of himself. He had actually remembered a quote! A real quote! From his most favourite game! Spartan, Total Warrior. Then he grinned gleefully. Just wait until he told Vergil about his wonderful spectacular memory skills! The sucker would be sorry he had ever messed with him! He'd also be sorry that he had teased him, punched him, kicked him, pinched him, threaten to castrate him, near-castrate him and he would be deathly sorry that he had flushed Dante's fish down the toilet at the age of five and after that had failed he had put it in the incinerator. The little bastard…Though now he came to think of it, he still hadn't figured out how Sparda had managed to get a fish tank containing a barracuda past Eva. Sparda had never grasped the concept of giving the kids a friendly animal to play with.

The little old lady who was lacking her dog began to look somewhat disturbed as she stared upon the strange man with a young face but had silver hair. She was mostly disturbed, not by the odd vengeful smile that had pasted itself on Dante's face at the thought of bragging to Vergil, but by his youthful appearance. At this point, as several sudden thoughts decided to beat about in her brain, she forgot all about her precious pet pooch and thought only of her facial products. What make was this man using, she wondered to herself. Was it Decleor? Was it Clinique? Or was it something else that she had never heard of? Had he used anti-aging cream? How had he got rid of the lines that should have plagued him by now if he had such a brilliant head of silver hair? She had tried anti-aging cream once herself and after forcing herself to believe that it was actually working, she had sworn by it for years even though it hadn't done her any good whatsoever. Seeing Dante in front of her now made her finally admit defeat, and that the anti-aging cream was nothing but another rip off.

Then Dante managed to bring his mind back on track, forcing it to remember what the task at hand was and regained his speech properly, rudely disrupting the little old lady's somewhat questionable thought pattern.

'What does your dog look like?' he asked. He did not know why exactly he had decided to ask, it just seemed like the polite thing to do. And at this stage, Dante did not want to be clobbered over the head by a little old lady wielding a scary looking handbag. His day had already been bad enough without that little mishap occurring. He had thought that perhaps the little old lady would be so touched by his kind question that maybe she would just laugh in a gentle benevolent little old lady manner and tell Dante that there was no need to worry, that she would find her pet by herself, ("Fuffly never goes too far you see.") and she would tell him to be on his merry way. ("Go on, a fine lad like you needn't be stooping about trying to find "Fluffy.") But no such luck. It seemed that those type of grandmothers only existed on television and in cartoons and in films and in "Spirited Away". No, this little old lady was a bitch, Dante thought to himself mulishly. A right little insane horror.

For at the sound of Dante's question, the little old lady launched into a long and elaborate monologue regarding her precious pet.

'Fluffy is the most adorable dog in the world!' Dante rolled his eyes. How had he known that the dog was somehow called Fluffy? Because little old ladies couldn't be bothered to find a decent name for their pets, obviously. Fluffy the dog, Fluffy the goldfish, Fluffy the ten foot giant that protected their gardens! Then he remembered that those weren't giants at all. Those were garden rakes, and they weren't even ten foot tall. He sighed with boredom as the little old lady continued. 'She has a beautiful coat, she looks almost like a sheep when I haven't been able to find time to take her to the pet parlour. Oh she is so utterly precious and she adores it when you give her a light kiss on the nose! She is black in colour but don't let that put you off, she comes from a very very decent family, one of the finest pedigrees in the country!' Dante stared at her, slack-jawed in amazement, not because he was impressed by the dog (which he wasn't) but because he was horrified by the little old lady's racial slur. This woman was even worse than grandmother Bob, Dante thought to himself in agony. That was certainly saying something and make no mistake! Yet the description still wasn't over, much to Dante's abject misery. The little old lady was on a role now. She was like a pit-bull terrier that had found a bone and was unwilling to give it up to anyone until it was well and thoroughly chewed.

'She has the most wonderful temperament of all the dogs I have ever seen and she has a very vivid personality. Now, if you tell her to sit she will refuse and glare at you before whining. That's her way of telling her that you're not the boss of her.' The little old lady lowered her voice so then it was a whisper with a sense of conspiracy to it. 'Fluffy believes in equality, and of course she would, especially because of her coloured background. She's very refined in spite of that though. Simply marvellous she is! Marvellous! The way she acts you wouldn't think she's a toy poodle at all! No…I tell you, young man, I tell you, old Fluffy can think and act like a human! Like one of us!' Dante said nothing. He felt as though his poor brain, already damaged enough as it was by running headlong into walls generated by the power of the Pride of Lion, had completely collapsed, leaving him as nothing more than an empty shell, a wreck of a man, and one that was certainly ill-equipped to go Fluffy-hunting. But he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all the little old lady. Her son had had a breakdown though she knew not why and so she knew the tell-tale signs. Acting bored and irritated was not one of them as far as her experience told her.

'Ooooooooooh!' she cooed in her quavery yet demented voice. 'You are so kind, dear, saying you'll help me find my dog.'

'Yeah…' Dante sighed miserably. 'Well, that's me all over, kind and caring.' The little old lady didn't seem to hear Dante's last comment but decided to cling to his arm, believing herself to have some charm that would help her effortlessly get men. She had taken quite a liking to the odd old man with the youthful unwrinkled skin and the odd silver hair that showed no sign of balding.

'Oooooooh!' she said again effusively. 'You are handsome man!' she bellowed, completely lacking any form, even the slightest form of tact. Dante paled considerably. 'Tell me, are you…married per chance?' she cackled, revealing decaying gums and teeth that looked as though they were about to fall out of her head. Dante looked as white as a sheet of snow, and if a crazy person had been walking past at that moment, they would have claimed that he was the son of Snow White. The little old lady blinked up at him at that precise moment.

'Are you the son of Snow White?' she asked earnestly. Dante gasped, realization and understanding finally dawning upon him, revealing itself in his eyes. The woman was utterly and completely insane! And to think that he had been worried that he was the one who was mad!

'I'm not the son of Snow White,' he said slowly. 'Snow White doesn't exist.'

'Sure she does! She's the one that sings to all the birds and who sleeps around with seven men!' Well, he'd certainly never seen that version of the film. Pervert that he was, he wondered idly where he could find a copy of the film, then he remembered that it probably didn't even exist. He felt a sharp pang of disappointment and loss. The little old lady was insane after all, she was probably just making it up. Then he remembered that if there really was such a tape then there would only be one woman. And that's it. Suddenly, he didn't feel so disappointed anymore.

'Are you married by any chance?' the little old lady asked again, causing Dante to grimace. Ah, the return of that question again. He shuddered and decided to lie.

'Yes. Yes I am married.'

'Really? Where's your wedding ring?' Dante cursed under his breath. The little old lady might have been hit one too many times on the head but by the looks of things she was still extremely observant. He cast about wildly for an excuse.

'He doesn't like me wearing it in public!' he blurted, Then he suddenly realized he had made a mistake. He had said "he" instead of "she". He floundered, trying to rectify the little problem he had caused for himself. 'Er…what I mean to say is that…'

'You're GAY?' The little old lady screeched. Dante suddenly saw how this might just benefit him. Then he wondered briefly whether he had any pride at all. Why should he pretend to be something that he wasn't? Why should he pretend? Why should he be scared? It was only a harmless little old lady who was a bit mad in the head. He had gone up against a hell of a lot worse than that, certainly! Like demons. This little old lady was definitely not a demon, he could see that now. And she was really nothing at all when compared to them. And if the worst came to the worst then he could just push her over and run away. But then his conscience made an appearance, and forced him to remember a small fact.

He was a hero. He didn't go about pushing little old ladies over, thus running the risk of having them break their bones. And even if he wasn't a hero, he wasn't that type of person to begin with. Sparda and Eva had raised him with the belief that it was best to be as kind as was possible to every living creature one came across. Except for demons. And for those demons that did good in the world, like his father. And himself, obviously. If that hadn't been the case then he would have been forced to kill himself a hell of a long time ago. So, with this heartening thoughts in mind, he smiled down kindly at the little old lady, who promptly screeched with delight.

'You are! You are! Tell me, is the sex good?' All the reigns of calm that Dante had been holding a minute ago slipped out of his grasp, leaving him spluttering in an undignified manner.

'Hold on a second here! I…I…I…I…' then he sighed. 'Yes.' It just seemed so much easier to simply agree.

'OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!' Dante was beginning to suspect by this point that this little old lady had been a yaoi fangirl when she had been younger. Much younger. Somehow, she hadn't been able to kick the addiction and was still fascinated and hungry for all things yaoi even now. And Dante knew that if there was one thing that could be considered worse than a yaoi fangirl, it was a mad yaoi fangirl who was over the age of seventy. He sighed.

'Shouldn't we try and find your dog?'

'Fluffy likes gay people. She's all for gay marriage you know,' the woman confessed in a whisper.

'Yeah yeah, that's very nice,' Dante snapped impatiently. 'Now let's go and find your pet.' There was an outraged gasp from the senior citizen at Dante's carelessly chosen words.

'Fluffy is not a pet! She is an equal!'

'Fine, let's go and find your friend then.'

'Okay.' The two stood there for a full five minutes, Dante shifting about awkwardly, the little old lady smiling widely and staring at Dante in a drippy and lovelorn way that made Dante feel itchy all over his body. He watched with discomfort as a trail of spittle made it's steady way out of her mouth and down her wobbling chin, dangling there. Dante forced himself to look away, feeling as though he might actually cry. He licked at dry lips before forcing himself to look back towards her.

'Where does your pe…Fluffy like to go?' The little old lady looked at him blankly. 'We might be able to find her if we go to these places you see,' he said slowly, hoping she'd understand.

'My name is Heifer,' she suddenly announced. Dante was taken completely by surprised. Well…that had been…unexpected to say the least. He cleared his throat.

'Well thank you for telling me…' then it suddenly registered what she had called herself.

'You're called…no wait…that can't be right…'

'What can't be right?' The little old lady blinked up at him, smiling with a strange type of innocence.

'Did you say your name was Heifer?'

'Who are you calling a heifer? My name is Stuart!' Dante looked positively ill with confusion.

'Stuart?'

'NO!. Agatha! I am Agatha!' That sounded much more like it and Dante found himself suddenly able to relax. He had actually been concerned for Agatha's welfare for a second there. Hang on a second, why was he concerned though? She was scary as heck! But all the same, she had kind of grown on him. He decided that it would be better if he tried to force himself to stop being scared and tried to treat the situation with a certain degree of amusement instead. If that was even possible, he thought suddenly.

'Okay so…Agatha…where does Fluffy like to go?' Agatha blinked up at him again, looking confused.

'Fluffy? What do you want to find her for?' she asked blankly. Dante stood there, staring at her in nothing less than shock. Just try to laugh, Dante, just try to laugh. Don't be scared, you can just push her over or just run away if it gets worse and worse, right? Just try to laugh. You okay now, Dante? Okay! Now! Laugh! A high pitched whine escaped his throat. You call that a laugh? How pathetic! No wonder why she thinks you're gay!

'You said that you had lost her and you asked me to help you find her, remember?'

'Oh well. She's just come back.' Dante lowered his eyes and tried to look about. No matter where he peered, he saw no sign of a black toy poodle who might have gone by the delightful but utterly and depressingly unimaginative name of Fluffy. All he could see was a pizza box…that had what looked like…string…tied around the middle. His eyes followed the string up to where it was being firmly clenched in Agatha's hand.

And just like that, his heart went out to her. There was something so infinitesimally sad about the poor little old lady who was so lonely that she was forced to pretend that a smelly old pizza box was a dog that she could talk to and who understood her in return. He felt an overwhelming desire to make sure that she got back home, wherever that may be, safe and sound. At that point, he heard a voice cry out.

'Grandma! Grandma!'

A teenage boy came running towards them and skid to a halt between them. Agatha blinked benignly and picked up her pizza box, hugging it to her with a great deal of affection. The boy growled loudly at the demon hunter, who merely looked nonplussed.

'You know,' Dante said helpfully. 'You should really take better care of your grandma, kid. She could have been hurt!' The boy seemed to growl even more at this statement. Agatha decided to step in and hand over her own money's worth.

'He's gay you know,' she giggled, giving Dante what she imagined to be a saucy sexy flirtatious wink. Really it just looked as though a tick had entered her eye. 'He's married too, but isn't allowed to wear his wedding ring in public, poor chap.' If anything, this just seemed to scare the boy. He stopped growling and then stared at him with wide eyes. Dante looked at him mournfully.

Please don't believe her…he silently willed the boy, or tried to. She has a pizza box for a toy poodle for God's sake! Please don't judge me, it was just so much easier to agree with her. The boy blinked. Then Agatha started speaking again.

'He was going to help me find Fluffy you know. And he knows now that Fluffy is in equal and not a pet!' She swung her handbag at the demon hunter, clouting him over the head much to his displeasure. The boy seemed to snap out of his trance and yelped, some sort of realization dawning in his eyes as he finally recognized the demon hunter.

'Grandma! Stop it! He was going to help you find Fluffy, remember? You don't hit nice people over the head!'

'Right you are, Bob!' Agatha agreed mildly. Dante found that a wide smile had somehow pasted itself onto his face.

'Bob? That was my grandmother's name!' This earned him an odd stare from the teenager.

'Actually, Dante, my name is not Bob. It's Alex.' Dante was not at all perturbed by the fact that Alex had known his name without him even telling him. In fact, Dante had not even noticed this abnormality. No, he was too lost in disappointment that Alex and his grandmother did not share the same first name.

Even though his grandmother Bob had been quite a scary figure, she had had personality by the bucket-loads, unlike his grandfather Bertrump who appeared to have none whatsoever. The only thing that Dante was able to remember of Bertrump was that he looked like a grasshopper, was as thin as a stick insect and had the fashion sense of a cockroach that wanted to hide in the darkest recesses under the bed. As for his father's parents, well…they had only come to visit once. They looked more human than most of the other demons that Dante had encountered. Well, they stood upright on two legs, didn't have any part of an animal's anatomy involved in their hard shell-like bodies and they didn't look like some sort of insect. Like Sparda when he revealed his true form, they were enclosed in a hard black scale-like skin and had odd curved shaped horns protruding from their heads and mad red glowing eyes. But their breath wasn't stinky at all, like how most myths regarding demons would have you believe. Their breath smelt of cinnamon and their teeth were so well looked after that they were able to glow in the dark, delighting the two five year old boys.

No one really should have been surprised that Sparda had rebelled against his own kind to live in the human realm. After all, what else could you expect from the offspring of two human loving vegetarian devils? Not much, the other demons under Mundus' rule were forced to conclude. Not much at all. After all, their whole family had been nutcases.

Eva had been a little intimidated and nervous at first when Grandma Irk and Grandpa Slurg first entered the house. But she soon became more disposed towards them when they had shed their demonic names in favour of more normal human ones.

'Pass me the peas, Gretel, please?' Grandma Irk had requested of her mate. Slurg had happily obliged.

'I've never seen peas so green before! Back where we come from, the peas that we grow always turn out black, don't they Hansel?' Slurg had remarked to his wife. Eva was too enamoured of Sparda's parents to bother telling them about their gender-bending regarding their "human" names. They were pleasant devils, and made for great conversation and delighted the boys. That in turn, made her like them more and more as the visit went on and she even shed a tear when they left to go back to their own realm.

Sadly, after the pair had left for the underworld, none of them had been able to meet them again. They had allegedly passed away in peace after eating what could only be described as a blue carrot. Grandma Irk and Grandpa Slurg ad died doing what they loved best; cultivating demonic vegetables only to eat them when the produce started making plans to take over the world.

At this point, Dante's thoughts swam towards the memories of his father. The great knight, Sparda. He sighed softly and then smiled as his stomach was filled with a warm sensation. His father had always been like a strong guiding light, always there, always a comfortable presence that had so much to offer in the form of comfort, care, love, affection, pets and of course sword fighting classes. He had been so wise and gentle, yet capable of killing to protect the ones he loved. He was a true warrior, and a figure that Dante struggled to be like more and more as he aged. As a result, he was always hungering for any knowledge regarding his father.

It was also one of the main reasons why he hated Lucia's mother, Matier, who had promised to tell him something about his father but had failed to deliver. Even though he had known what his father did, he always loved to hear the events from someone else's mouth. He loved to listen to the warm tones used to describe his father's actions. He loved to see the respect shining in their eyes. He was so proud of his father in a way that words would never be able to describe.

His favourite image of his father was one where he stood alongside his most favourite person in the world. Eva, his mother.

His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of her. How he loved her, how he wished she was still here with him. He didn't like to hear other's speaking about her, the memories were sacred, they were only meant for him and him alone. In comparison to his father, people knew virtually next to nothing about the human woman that the demon had taken for a wife. To other people, she was a nobody, a nothing. She was someone who was not worth mentioning or even remembering. His mother did not deserve to be slighted in such a way.

They were not worthy of her memory anyway. The only one who was good enough for their mother was him. Not Vergil. Him. Vergil had never shown any closeness towards any of his other family members. No one knew really exactly how Vergil felt towards any of them and in a way this suited Dante just fine.

Then his mind cleared and he realized that there was a choking sensation in his throat, a heavy weight in his chest and a burning sensation that was pricking at his eyes mercilessly. He took a deep breath, hoping that it would calm him. He had never cried over the death of his mother. He had simply watched in mute terror as she was killed ruthlessly. If he hadn't cried then, then there was no need to start crying now. He wouldn't cry now, he couldn't cry now. It was better this way, not to let anyone see him cry, not to let anyone see his terrible weakness. If Vergil ever got to find out about the nightmares that he had at night then he would never hear the end of it. He forced himself into a state where he could not cry and could not feel unless he was pushed hard enough. Soon he felt just as how he had felt when he had been on the island of Vie du Marlie. Alone, numb, cold, dead. He'd been able to survive that way before, he could do it now. He had to.

But he wasn't fooling anyone. Alex and Agatha looked towards each other silently before Alex walked forwards and tentatively placed his hand on Dante's shoulder. The demon hunter did not react physically, but he felt that horrible closed off sensation return to his throat, choking him. Eva had always put her hand on that exact same spot whenever she had been trying to comfort him.

'I want her back,' he mumbled, without even realizing.

'I know you do, Dante. I know.'

'She didn't deserve to die the way she did,' he whispered, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes against the pain, as though hoping that it would help somehow.

'The world doesn't work that way. You know it doesn't.'

'Well it should!' He was being childish now and he knew it. He was half-expecting a reprimand for behaving in such a way but to his extreme surprise, it appeared as though none was forthcoming.

'It should work that way, in an ideal world. But this world is far from ideal. Which is why heroes, people like you, are needed,' Alex said softly, trying to soothe him. It was then that Dante was struck by an unsettling thought. The teenager wasn't really a teenager at all.

'Who are you?' he asked, feeling suddenly somewhat anxious. Alex smiled widely at the question, happy that Dante had been diverted away from his sadness, hoping that somehow they would not have to come back to it.

'Why Dante!' he hooted with laughter. 'Have you never heard of "A Christmas Carol"?'

'Yeah…why?' Dante frowned.

'Then you should be expecting what's coming now.' Alex looked at Dante with an air of expectation that made Dante feel acutely uncomfortable. Alex sighed, seeing that Dante still did not get it.

'Why Dante! I'm the ghost of Christmas to come!'