Title: Time Out
Characters: Dante
Word Count: 1.212
Summary: If a man's home is his fortress, then a devil hunter's office, no matter how neglected, is his home.
Warnings: Some mild language.
Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and all related characters belong to Capcom.

Dante never did appreciate long and drawn out jobs. He always complained of boredom and lack of challenge in any of the jobs he took on, but deep down he knew that he actually disliked the ones that drew out too long. It wasn't that he got tired so much as that he just felt jaded and uninterested. One would think that dealing with demons on a fairly frequent basis would mean saving the world just about as often but that was not the case. The kind of jobs that required world-saving bravado and his complete attention were few and painfully far between.

So much that he often resisted the temptation to go and goad people or demons into starting another of those charades. He sometimes wished that someone would in fact go and try to deconstruct the world just so he'd have something worthwhile to do. He always felt guilty when that thought crossed his mind and he could even get a bit moody, then immense himself in one of these lesser jobs, even if they frustrated him to no end.

Home, sweet home, Dante thought sarcastically, after one such long and yet small-fry job, pushing open the front door.

He stepped inside with a soft sigh of jadedness, almost overcoming his sense of appreciation for a good place to rest. He paced over to his desk and propped his sword horizontally on two hooks that were drilled into the wall, letting the door slam shut behind him. With a huff, he removed his coat and negligently threw it on the hanger beside the bathroom door. He flexed his arms a bit as he reached out and removed Ebony and Ivory from their holster and tossed them onto the desk. He took the holster off and threw it on the hanger along with the coat, uttering a small grunt of soreness. He stretched his back, grimacing at the small popping sound that escaped the base of his neck.

Story of my life, Dante thoughtfully, rubbing his neck. 'Nother boring-as-hell job, 'nother day wasted.

He approached the window and forced a slit between the blinds with his fingers, looking at the dusk sky overhead. Clouds pulling together, he noted silently. More than likely meant a thunderstorm on the way. Fun.

At least he had the forethought to park his motorcycle under the shed of the alley next to his office. The less he needed to take care of it, the better. The job he had just completed was nothing more than a mild infestation of Bloodgoyles that a rookie Satanist had somehow managed to pull off. Dante had scoffed at the sheer terror of the culprit for the very demons he had summoned. But he was so bored of the whole deal that he didn't even have the mood to mess with that sorry sop's head.

I should stop taking jobs with small-time vermin and just pass 'em over to Lady, Dante thought to himself.

He walked over to the other door leading to the small kitchen behind his office. He swung the fridge door open, mused the sparse contents: A leftover pizza and Chinese takeaway and some materials for sandwiches that he was certain were fairly old by now. He picked a beer bottle from the door shelves and glanced around. Because he hardly used the kitchen to cook anything, it was probably one of the tidiest places in his office, though not quite the cleanest.

Letting the fridge door swing shut, he popped the cap off with his hand and went back inside the office, rubbing the back of his neck in an unsuccessful attempt to massage it. The dark hues of twilight were painting the office with tones of mauve, dark blue and ashen, dulling all the other colors. He didn't bother to turn on the lights, enjoying this dimming light and the tranquility of the hour. Sirens of police cars shrieked somewhere in the distance of the slums that made up the nervous system of the city; unrest was never absent, just like a body never stopped fighting off germs. He wanted to relax after that dull job and get back into his routine of passive anticipation till the next job. He regretted that Trish wasn't around to mess with; Lady was out of the question, of course.

Taking a swig of the cool beer he appreciated how it trickled down his throat, cooling his thirst. He walked right past his desk, absently glancing at the framed photograph of his mother. A minute pang of guilt hit him as he continued past it; there was a time when he used to greet her quietly, but not anymore. It had sunk right through his routine. It wasn't that he had completely let go of his mother's death at the hands of demons. He just had tried hard to come to terms with that loss and move on as best he could...but then again, he did hunt demons for a living.

Dante went straight to the jukebox at the corner of his office and, after a moment's hesitation, pushed one of the buttons. He frowned as the machine gave no favorable response, and prodded the button irritably. He was close to punching it and possibly breaking it-yet again-when the machine let a soft click and the disk finally slid into place and began to play.

Gotta love this old piece of junk, he thought with a sigh. He wouldn't have to have to get violent with the antique again.

The couch groaned in protest as Dante collapsed into it leisurely, letting the tunes of a song by System of a Down to start booming in the room. Relaxing, he put his legs up on the small coffee table in front of the sofa, and thudding his ankle on the wood, and crossing the other leg over it.

He downed another swig of beer; this is more like it.

He let his lead tilt back and rest against the soft cushion, staring at the ceiling where the twilight cast shadowy tendrils and forms about the room. He smirked a bit. Even though he hardly paid it any attention, he appreciated his office dearly, especially for these relaxing moments where he could just kick back and rest without being bothered.

He exhaled deeply, even humming a bit of the music absently before he closed his eyes and took another swig of his beer, enjoying the twilight peace. Dante knew Trish was out of town on one of her trips and Lady was on a job, so he didn't have to worry about anyone interrupting his peace. Sometimes he really appreciated having a personal space like this and even more so when he had it all to himself to relax.

And then that darn phone rang. Dante opened his eyes slowly as the harsh, repetitive sound drilled in his ear and he sighed slowly.

No rest for the wicked and all that... he thought as a wry smile passed over his features.

For a long moment he was tempted to just let it ring on and on but then he got up slowly and walked over to his desk. He picked up the receiver with a lazy grasp.

"Devil May Cry..."

NOTE: I've always liked the design of Dante's office in the games. It looks like such a messy place but for some reason, at the same time it just looks like Dante belongs there. It's a great metaphor for his character, in fact and this scene more or less was written with that in mind and my own idea that Dante really appreciates his dingy little place.