Dante turns heads.
It's rather hard not to notice him when he's just walking down the street. It isn't just his clothing, though the bright red trench-coat certainly keeps him from blending in with the crowd. It isn't physical, that inhuman beauty of his form and features. Nor is it the fact he doesn't feel any particular need to hide the weapons that are his constant companions. That huge sword at his back in particular is hard to ignore, overcompensation jokes notwithstanding.
But no, it isn't anything about is appearance in particular that draws eyes to Dante. It is the way the air around him seems to hum with barely contained energy. There is no way to look at him and not know he's something other than this world, no matter how human he looks. It draws some to him and repels most.
He doesn't look up as he walks, frowning at the ground thoughtfully. It's only when he hears a group ahead that he finally lifts his eyes. Not demons. Protestors.
He grunts in irritation and moves to circle around the group standing in front of a building and blocking the sidewalk. On another day he might just plow through them on general principle but he can't be bothered today. He catches a glimpse of signs in their hands, isn't sure what they're protesting this time, doesn't care. He steps out on the street only to find an earnest looking woman keeping pace with him, waving a pamphlet in his face, pushing it at him and trying to get him to take it. "Accept Christ as your lord and savior!" He's not taking the pamphlet. Determined to do her duty, the woman plants herself in front of him and proclaims grandly; "Without Jesus in your life, the bowels of Hell await you."
That finally gets a glance from Dante, who pats her on the shoulder comfortingly as he moves her aside. "Don't worry, I've been there. It's not so bad, really."
He's through the city and into the slums before he realizes the streets have changed.
He pauses, frowning, turning his head to look at a building to his left. For a moment he thinks he might have gone down the wrong street.
But no. That building there, with the upper windows smashed. He'd gotten jumped by a group of demons there. And right across from it there's a green car with its tires slashed that no one had bothered to tow yet. He could swear he'd been further into the slums when that fight went down. Near where he'd found the alter and the manuscript inside it.
Puzzled, alert, he continues down the street, hands shoved into his pockets.
He glances toward the sign his passing on his right. Bakker Street, yeah he's headed in the right direction.
He keeps thinking about what Fara told him. She hasn't finished translating all of the manuscript yet and what she has translated she's puzzled by and very disturbed. Very little disturbs Fara.
Dante glances up again to figure out which way to turn and stops when he sees the street name on the sign.
Bakker Street.
He whips around and stares down the road. There's the green car, and the building. Or so he thinks.
Because the broken window isn't there anymore. The sheet of glass glitters in the sun, reflecting the afternoon light.
"What the hell…?" Dante turns back and catches a glimpse of the street sign again.
Forum Blvd.
Dante narrows his eyes and glares around. He hates this mind game shit. It's so much more simple when they just attack. "Don't want me paying a second visit? People might think you have something to hide."
No answer. The whole street suddenly seems overly bright, fake, like a cheerful set held up by two by fours. A slick, glossy coat of paint over rotted wood. Or something rotten, at least.
"There's a fun image…" Dante turns slowly in a circle. His guns are out and he doesn't remember pulling them, instincts honed over a hundred battles kicking into gear without him having to think about it.
But nothing is there. That's the thing. There's nothing to indicate there's a demon sneaking up on him from any side, no tension in the air, no smells that are off. Nothing except that sense of wrongness around him. Flashes of something in that blind spot out of the corner of his eye that no matter how fast he turns never shows itself.
"You were a lot more fun when you were spouting demons out at me." Dante isn't sure who he's addressing now, some unseen entity or the street itself.
Stupid, really, how can a street be alive?
Dante keeps his guns out as he turns and heads back down the street determinedly. He hangs a left. Bakker Street again. Next block over, the sign reads Forum Blvd. And that's how it stays as he walks in a straight line down the middle of the street, eyes on the signs.
Bakker, Forum, Bakker, Forum, Bakker, Bakker, Bakker, Forum, Forum, Bakker…
He never sees anything change, can't pick out a pattern, and when he looks back there's that same crossway again. The car. The building. Several times the car is undamaged, then its back to having its tires slashed again. The window breaks and fixes and breaks again without a sound.
He finally stops, frustrated, feeling that half crazed sensation that comes with being lost in a maze.
However he'd tracked the cult here the other night is obviously not working now. He has an uneasy feeling the whole damned street isn't working now. Whatever that means.
"Have it your way." Dante turns around again and heads in the opposite direction, the way he came.
The broken window shards glitter in the sunlight. The car almost slumps in its spot on its flat, flayed tires. The leaning, defeated neighborhood seems to relax somehow as he moves past the building back toward the city. Ahead he can hear a group of children laughing and the faint sound of a train passing through.
Dante runs his fingers through his hair, pushing strands of silver out of his face, and considers. The direct approach is a failure, which pisses him off but what can you do? Looks like a bit of snooping is in order, at least until Fara finishes the translation, which might clarify things.
Or fuck things up even more. At the moment, he isn't sure which it will be.