Title: Shots
Author: Britani Gael (sterlingsylver at lj)
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Theme: #79; Argue
Characters: Dante, Lady
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Author's Notes: Planning on continuing this later, in another one-shot. For now, I think it stands on its own.

Larnya6 – Thanks for the review!

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"Is this some kinda joke?"

Dante leaned on the bar, peering over Lady's shoulder. She was staring down ten shots of vodka, poured into tiny glasses and lined up across the bar. The eleventh glass was empty, tipped over in front of her.

She glared at him, but didn't answer.

"Do you even drink?"

"Leave me alone," she snapped.

"Jeez, just sayin'. Do whatever you want." He signaled the bartender, a young fellow with tattoos and a ponytail who took his sweet time dragging his ass over there. "Hey, barkeep, can I get another?"

"No prob," the bartender answered, setting Dante's vodka down in front of him. He gave Lady a pointed look, and she slowly nodded.

The bartender sighed heavily, and added another drink to her row. "Whatever you want, lady," he said, moving back to the demanding girls back at the end of the bar. They kept breaking out into shrieks of laughter, and Dante kept forcing himself not to look – they'd been trying to get his attention for the last hour, and he was hoping that if he pretended he hadn't noticed, someone would resort to flashing him.

Or crawling into his lap.

Or asking him for a ride home. Hers, preferably. His was a mess.

It'd be nice if he didn't have to work at this for once.

Lady downed another vodka, and choked on it.

He rolled his eyes. "You're really going to try and drink as much as me?" He looked back at her drinks. Had he really had twelve already? He wasn't even buzzed.

"Yes."

"Why?"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed another one back. She seemed to be getting the hang of this, actually. At this rate she'd probably get through another, what, seven? And then she'd be passed out, and, later, pissed off.

"Barkeep, 'nother one over here," he said, and Barkeep dropped off two more vodkas. One for him, and one for Lady.

"Y'know," Dante drawled. "You try and drink me under the table, you'll end up dead. And not just 'cause you're a chick."

"Fuck you."

"What? What did I do? How come I can't get an answer more than two words out of you?" He downed his drink, and slammed the shot glass down on the bar.

She did the same. "If you're so worried," she said, "stop ordering drinks."

"Hey, hold on, I'm not—You know? I don't even care anymore." He swiped a drink from in front of her and downed that, too. "Hey, barkeep," he called, pointing at Lady. "She's gonna need two more."

So what if she'd asked him to stop drinking. About five times. She'd also said something about leading those girls on, she'd complained about him being, what, obnoxious? Lady seriously needed to lighten up. Maybe booze would do the trick.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered to the other end of the bar. And, man, were those chicks happy to see him.

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