The Pet

Once upon a time, in a city that was entirely constructed by a mad eyebrow goddess called Bustahead, there lived a grumpy man, who often felt out of place. This was mostly because of the fact that he happened to be one of the only characters who actually belonged to a game known by All as Devil May Cry but which was later renamed by Sundry as DMC. The rest of his neighbours who lived in the city however, happened to be terrible abominations created by the eyebrow goddess, who was a cruel and terrifyingly random being who had designed these people to have the sole purpose of irritating this grumpy old man and the rest of his canon friends.

These groups of goddess designed characters were dismissively called the OCs by the canon friends and periodically decided to wage wars with them in order to try and claim their superiority. However, the eyebrow goddess as well as the various other gods and goddesses had much more spare time then the busy folk at Capcom and continued to create more "soldiers" for the OC team.

So it was that the Capcom Canon Crew found themselves fighting a losing battle.

But this is all by the by and highly irrelevant.

Or maybe it is irrelevant.

The particular goddess who wrote this story as a joke for another goddess has no clue what she wants to do right now and as a result, is probably going to do what she usually does when faced with such a situation.

Go insane.

And claim that this particular story of woe takes place in between one of the wars between the OCs and the CCCs, in a time where things are more or less peaceful.

Well, as peaceful as they could be in the little town of Little Pickering, so named after the man called Wolvenschtein Pickering, because he had a little…

Well, you can very well imagine that he was made out to be the laughing stock.

Especially when everyone else in the city drove past him in monstrously huge cars, overtaking his teeny tiny little junk-yard of a vehicle.

But again, all of this is highly irrelevant.

This fic will now return to the grumpy man that had been previous mentioned right at the beginning of this tragically random tale.

On that day, our annoyed, miserable and grumpy man had started the morning the way he usually did, by moaning to anyone who would listen about how his life sucked and that he would one day be destined for great things, things that involved all manner of things, like getting to fix the leak in his roof, like actually learning how to cook.

Of course, the sad thing about this whole matter was the fact that while the grumpy old man didn't live alone, there was only one other resident who shared the same house as him and would be forced to endure the ceaseless moaning. Still, she thought to herself, things could be a hell of a lot worse. And she was right.

She may have been forced to live with her neighbour instead, who was as unsavoury as her father. Okay, so he didn't have a bald head and a very unattractive skin condition, but he did have a poster of a more or less nude girl tacked to his wall.

And for her, that was more than enough evidence to lead to the conclusion that her neighbour was a nincompoop, even if his name was something cool like Dante.

She turned to her father at that particular moment and tried her hardest to be polite.

'Bob?' she asked, preferring to call her father by his first name rather than admit the fact that she was related to a grumpy old man. 'Can I get a pet? I really want a pet.'

'How many times have I asked you to call me Arkham?' Bob snapped, looking up from his copy of "The Daily Bum". He rustled the newspaper in high bad humour and resumed reading the lonely hearts coloumn.

'I don't understand. Why should I call you Arkham?' Mary asked innocently, making sure to widen her eyes so then she wouldn't get into any trouble. Arkham huffed and sniffed and generally made a lot of noise and a lot of fuss before deciding that it would be best to answer her before he got a boot to the groin.

'Because,' he proclaimed in a fake deep gravely voice, 'because I am destined for great things and need a great name!'

'Why not call yourself Faustus then? You more or less copy him anyway,' Mary suggested. This just served as another opportunity for Arkham to act all pompous and generally act like a miserable narky old man.

'I did not copy Faustus. Faustus copied me!' Mary just stared at him before shaking her head, deciding that it would be too tiresome for her to explain why exactly it would be impossibly for Faustus to copy her father when it was obvious that Faustus was a fictional character, created in the 1500s or so and that her father, as well as herself, had magically popped into the world in the year 2005.

But she didn't have to be a genius to know hat it was useless to try and explain such things to her father. He'd just ignore her after all and keep on reading his newspaper, despite the fact that it was an issue from over a year ago. From the year 1994 to be exact. Still, she had to be grateful for one thing; that he didn't pay attention to the clothes she wore or the friends she kept.

She stormed out of the house and went right into the red light district, heading straight towards a pair of girls who could have easily been mistaken for a pair of prostitutes who were hanging about a street corner.

'Hi!' she simpered. 'Hi Trish! Hi Nevan!' The two scantily clad girls stubbed out their cigarettes in greeting and pointedly ignored her. Sighing, Mary fished about in her pocket and gave them five pennies each. Only then did the other two girls begin to talk to her.

'Hi.' Nevan sighed.

'Yeah. Whatever,' Trish grumbled. Mary beamed at the two of them innocently.

'What are you two doing?' They didn't even bother to answer her but then linked arms and walked away without another word, holding their heads high as they walked into the local sweetie shop. Mary watched them go, disappointed. Then she saw a figure ambling along the road. She cringed and looked about desperately for a hiding place.

'AAH! MAHRIE!' trumpeted the red-head as she came towards her. Mary sighed and stood still, annoyed that she hadn't been able to run away. Still, she tried to console herself, things could have been a hell of a lot worse. Like…like…like…she cursed inwardly to herself but then finally remembered when she saw the neighbourhood bully cross the street to try and give her the usual thumping.

'INSECT!' Mundus hissed. 'APE! PRIMATE! GORRILA! MONKEY! DONKEY! WALLABY!' Then he stormed away. Mary could only shake her head in pity at this pathetic display. The real bully had stopped and was watching Mundus, the neighbourhood wannabe bully with a look of disgust on his face. It seemed as though he was thinking the same as Mary; that Mundus sucked and was probably still being breast-fed.

By a bus.

But right now, Mary had other, bigger problems to think about. Lucia was still standing in front of her, with all the eagerness of an overexcited puppy shining in her eyes. Puppy.

'I want a pet,' Mary said. 'I want a pet. Go home.' Lucia did nothing of the sort and only stared at her, tilting her head to one side as though she couldn't quite understand the concept. 'Go home!' Mary cried. 'Go home! Shoo! Scat! Beat it!' At that point, something terrible began to happen. Lucia's bottom lip wibbled ominously. Mary was highly unimpressed to say the least.

'I don't care if you're crying,' she snapped angrily. 'I don't want to talk to you. I want to talk to an animal!' This did nothing to calm Lucia down, and it wasn't as if Mary was expecting it to.

'You want a pet?' Lucia wailed. 'I can be your pet!'

'Wha-at!' Mary didn't know what exactly she was so shocked about; the fact that Lucia thought that she could stand in for an animal or the fact that Lucia seemed to think that there was even a chance of Mary wanting her as a pet. More out of morbid curiosity than anything else, Mary decided to ask a question.

'Why d'you think you'd make a good pet?'

'Because Papa says that I follow you around like a sheep. I can be your pet sheep!'

'No!'

'Aww but I'd be really good!'

'I don't want a sheep! And sheep don't wear lip gloop!' Lucia, highly offended that the free lip gloss she had received with her latest issue of "Go Girl Go" girl magazine had been called "gloop" ran away, leaving Mary in peaceful silence.

For all of two seconds.

The bully sauntered up and pushed her over into the gutter.

'HEY!' Mary whined, getting up and shoving him back. She stomped her foot in annoyance and glared at the blue-clad five year old that stood in front of her. 'When I get a pet, I'm going to train it to bite you,' she screamed. Vergil glared back at her before deciding to insult her.

'You're a human and you're all pathetic!' he sneered.

'No we're not,' Mary protested feebly.

'My dad eats humans like you for LUNCH!' Vergil yelled. Mary stared at him for a long long time before laughing.

'You're a big fat liar!' Vergil, being skinny with not an ounce of fat on him at all decided to take great offence at this obvious lie.

'I'm not fat,' he argued hotly, narrowing his ice-blue eyes menacingly. 'Taste my blade!' he yelled fiercely, whipping out a great big stick and shaking it at her threateningly. Mary was about to politely tell him where exactly he could stick the oversized twig but found to her disappointment that she was rudely interrupted.

The nincompoop aka Dante had arrived, wearing a pair of jeans and no top. Now that was a sight that Mary had never wished to see. The sight of Vergil's goofy twin walking about with chocolate smeared all over his mouth and puppy fat bulging at his sides and stomach was a horrible sight for a little girl who hates boys and most demons with a passion. Sure, she might have been horrendously intelligent what with knowing all about Dr. Faustus and she knew that some ladies seemed to actually like men but she was surrounded by idiots.

Dante peered at his brother owlishly before grinning.

'Dude, like Dude! Like, totally like DUH!' Dante gasped excitedly. As she stared at the five year old thing that stood in front of her, she wondered why exactly a child would want to have a poster of a more or less nude woman on the wall. Vergil gasped and also looked excited, seeming to have understood his irritating sibling.

'Mom made cookies? What kind?'

'TOTALLY!'

'Chocolate chip? Oh boy! My favourite! I adore the rich texture of the beautiful dark chocolate as it melts in my mouth, contrasting lovingly with the flavour of the dough, filling my mouth with an irresistible, sinfully devilishly sweet goodness…' Vergil sighed dreamily, his eyes half-closing, struck with a lovelorn expression. Dante and Mary stared at him for a second or ten, both of them looking shocked by this unexpected speech. Then Dante decided to part with a few pearls of wisdom.

'DUDE!' Vergil's eyes snapped open and he hissed with rage.

'No! You are NOT getting all the cookies, you fat shit!' And then the two ran off, away from Mary and into the safety of their home. The little girl blinked several times as she noticed their father staring at the poster with a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he was doing a nude art study. Mary shrugged, the thought that the poster was for Sparda had never even crossed her mind before and it wasn't going to cross it now.

She much preferred to think of Dante as a pervy idiot.

As interesting as the cookie debate had been, she was no closer to finding the pet that she desired. She began to walk along the road, chubby infant legs carrying her as she continued on determinedly.

Alastor looked out of his window from where he was seated (Ifrit, his gay lover was drying his hair) to see the podgy pink clad girl making her way across the road. He sighed pityingly.

'That Bob should really not let her daughter out of the house so much. Anything could happen!'

'Yeah,' Ifrit grunted.

'Trees could fall on her, lava could engulf the city and kill her, she could fall in a swamp or get mugged by a prostitute!'

'Yeah.' Ifrit said in agreement. Alastor was quiet for a second.

'I want babies. Do you?'

'Yeah!'

'EUW! I'M LEAVING!' And with that, the thunder demon packed Ifrit's bags and kicked him to the curb.

As Mary, blissfully unaware of the disaster she had caused, ambled on, ever on, in her quest.