Chapter four
Boogieing with the bizarre
Well, it's about time, Dante thinks as he hears the familiar to the bone engine roar. Trish takes her time as always and walks into the main room of the office leisurely and inhumanly gracefully. Fighting off a glad smirk he offers an unconventional greeting.
"Hey, the party's back in town and why wasn't I notified?"
She's in light spirits it seems and so she replies to his playful banter, while tossing her bag onto the couch and then removing her shades.
"The party comes when it's needed"
"Spare me the quotes" he jokes.
A mock-insulted expression rules the demoness's features.
"I was not going to quote"
"Catch anything?"
With genuine laughter comes the reply from the femme fatale.
"Yes, I've reeled in something"
"Brought anything back?" the half-blood questions.
"Sadly, no" and the sorry tone is all fake and that 'course is all good.
"Such a shame" a posh accent is a must to respond to the faux. The demon hunter expects to prolong this non-serious conversation, for it's been ages (not really) since he's last laid his eyes upon his partner in hell-trash slay. But he doesn't always get what he wants and she simply sighs, the sound signifies satisfaction at being back, although what comes next is a mystery.
The short black leather jacket with metal studs joins the discarded fancy-lookin' bag (he's not expected to remember all her accessories, now is he?). She curtly looks around the area.
"This is a pig stall" the demonette notes the state of the main room of Devil May Cry, which is of course poor looking. There's garbage and upturned items, something that might possibly be a sign of tantrums but it's him and she doesn't question what happened here (because it really always looks like that when she's not in the picture).
"Not my fault" the hunter shrugs and reclines in his favorite chair behind the desk. "But hey, the maid's back, so that's fine!" before he can determine whether the remark was worth it or not (it's a honest jest, okay?) and no doubt her comeback is swift in its delivery but he still manages to live through a tiny, inward doomsday.
She snorts not amused.
"We'll see if you'll still be saying that when I'll make you scrub every centimeter with a toothbrush"
It's not like the half-breed's never cleaned anything before and he's- scratch that, he is not alright with it. But he's managed to survive the deviless's slave-driving not once, so despite the heavy and much too serious (in its literality) threat, he could deal with it eventually and regrettably. It's not like he's an enemy of decent living conditions (not that there are vermin running about, seriously if there were, the shop would have been burnt down long ago), it just happens.
He's quick to correct her, although that's not like the infamous man, probably it's the solitude to blame. Depending on just how much 'sunshine' is in the huntress's mood, his unharmed state hangs in the balance. And he didn't mean to be obnoxious or maybe he did unconsciously want to tug at the whiskers of the lioness.
"Inches"
And the returned woman almost answers with a 'what'. However, she's quick to find a leeway there.
"Americans..." still joking – that's good. "You do know that the metric system is used by the majority of the inhabitants of Earth?"
Of course he does but what's the entertainment if you can't poke fun at things? Especially when in all truth he's quite good at using the said system. The half-devil puts his clasped hands behind his head to take a position even more comfortable, as if propped legs on the writing table are not enough.
"Meh, not my problem, I'm American"
She sits down on the (thankfully) empty-ish desk. There's something so chillingly perfect and right that her gorgeous ass is rested upon his desk. Trish fancies that place and the half-blood does not oppose either (quite contrary).
"Hardly. Which part of 'half-devil' with an impressive Hell bloodline qualifies for that, Yankee?" oh and that confidant, lip-gloss covered smirk shows that she knows that it's the ace of spades in this card game. But well, ain't that mean – and good, it's obvious who's back.
"Oh, I'm sorry and what do you identify yourself as? Eh, European?" he ridicules lightly and she laughs.
"Not in the slightest. I am from Hell and that's no suburbia for you, son of Sparda"
And Dante's reminded how much he truly hates being called by that fucking title. When it's from the demoness – it's a thousand times worse. It has ties with times he doesn't wish to reminiscence, memories he's got a love-hate relationship goin' on with. From the time of that motherfucking start, she called him like that in the beginning and it was always meant to hurt. Worse part – it did and even does. And like that he feels that this convo can quickly turn into a shitstorm, not really an argument or something but simply the sort of chitchat that'll leave you feeling shitty. But how does that saying go? Oh yeah, the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Real fitting, he wanted to play on her good-side and treaded into that dark-side lurking in the closet. Hopefully, he's simply exaggerating.
Trying to salvage the presumably worsening conversation he inquires something that should draw her gaze away from that purgatorial pathway.
"So what did you do in Europe?"
"I'll get back to that but first I'll get rid of my stuff" she hops off the table and goes to gather her belongings.
He doesn't say anything to that. There are thousands of reasons why she could possibly choose to do so and it isn't worth the mental strain to pick which is more believable. There is no need for her to get her packs out of the way because heck, the place is hoarded with plenty of items that are the furthest thing of being put tidily. Perhaps there's something she needs to unpack or maybe he's overthinking it and she simply does shit without any solid reason, for it just hits her fancy. So the hunter leaves it at that.
Before she heads upstairs there is a string of her name repeated by the seated male.
"Hey Trish, Trish, Trish, Trish... Trish!"
The demonette knows this tactic well, it is obvious that he is about to ask something of her. She turns to meet his expectant pale blue eyes.
"Grab me a beer from the fridge while you're at it" the kitchen isn't quite on the way but still he requests it of her, even though it is more likely that she'll decline.
The huntress shakes her head lightly, he doesn't change his stripes, now does he?
"Get it yourself" and she walks away with that.
Despite the reply it can actually go either way, solely depends of what she feels like. The half-breed knows thus for sure.
When she returns and hands him the requested bottle he's visibly giddy about it.
"Thanks" he mumbles, to that she replies with rolling her eyes.
It's rare of him to ever spare a couple words of appreciation, since he's incapable of showing gratitude. And it is not like he's never grateful but the half-devil simply doesn't display it.
The deviless perches on the spot she had occupied before and he takes a satisfying and refreshing gulp of his beer.
"What had you been up to in wherever it was that you where?" the half-blood continues with the previously discarded topic.
"The usual: lazying about, exploring, slaying a pest here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary"
He nods at it. Afterwards a slight pause stretches between them, the conversation just doesn't seem to stick. The demoness saves him from wracking his brain too much.
"What did you do when I was gone?"
He opts for the truth, it's not like there's any reason to hide the facts.
"Nothing productive. I'd thought that I would catch at least a few hunts when you were away but just my luck – everything died down as if in an enchanted forest or some fucking shit like that. Yeah, Hell doesn't give a damn about my plans. Nope, certainly doesn't" the hunter inquires "Was it any more active overseas?"
"No, not really"
He notices the slightest of frowns marring her features. She looks tired. The demon hunter realizes that a month or something like that is kind of short for one of Trish's trips. Somehow this unsettles him and he presses the issue.
"I thought that you'd be gone longer, why did you return so soon?"
A dejected sigh escapes her. He wonders whether he should be worried, she's displaying a behavior that is very uncharacteristic to her.
"It was tiresome" comes the confirmation but the demonette offers no more than that.
"Oh?"
Reluctantly she tries to explain.
"I am not fond of large crowds"
That's strange – the drinking man thinks, it's not like their residence is far from any large populations, if anything they're in the epicenter of one.
"But aren't we living in a crowded place?"
"That's not quite the same. I don't often have to interact with so many mortals when I'm here"
"I never thought that you had a problem with that" he offers genuinely surprised by the revelation.
"It's not that I have a problem with humans. But... it's difficult to be nearly constantly surrounded by such masses. It still is in the end the best season for tourism there, the streets were packed with people" the huntress crosses her hands over-chest and continues in a wary tone "Humans... humans they're all so different. The very auras are so... different. It's like being shoved into a beehive, even if you can avoid the stingers, it is still so busy, busy, busy... You know that I'm not really a mind reader but still, the level of my awareness is high, sometimes the sheer quantity of mortals makes it overbearing. It is not like Hell is vastly different in that sense. But most demons are very much on the same wavelength, from their objectives, motives to desires – they're all the same. I had held a high rank in the hierarchy of the Underworld, so I could always remove any hindrances or avoid greeting them altogether. The high devils are not as simpleminded as the lowest vermin but they still have the same basis. Well, humans do too but they lack the single-mindedness of demons, they're just scattered all over in their mentality. Dealing with such uniqueness is intriguing, but comes to wear me down after some time. I guess I was more aware of the mortal count about me this time"
Dante tries not to be bothered with her words. He shouldn't really be, but he is. He successfully steers the conversation away from these heavy topics.
Several hours of random conversing later, which had managed to be light and funny much like their norm, the half-breed asks her about food. Hunger had been gnawing from the inside of his stomach for most of the day.
He picks up the phone and turns to the deviless.
"Want some pizza?"
She shakes her head and offers a lopsided grin.
"Not for another decade" he knows that she's joking. "Something Chinese would be wonderful"
The half-blood nods.
"Yeah, I think I'll get some noodles or something too" after the said words a sheepish looking smile overrules his expression "You should call then"
The demoness quirks an eyebrow in question. He squirms in his seat under the scrutiny of her gaze.
"The pizzerias about – know me, so they know that sooner or later I'll pay back, with percent if needed. But that's sort of just for them, can't have my feeders too upset, 'less they wouldn't feed me anymore. The other places are not too keen on goin' 'ere though. I sorta owe some of them"
There's more judgment in those unnervingly gorgeous blue eyes.
"Okay, so maybe I owe lots to all of the nearest restaurants, the two Chinese ones included. But if it's a girl talkin', they can't refuse" disguising his melting bravado is not easy, not at all.
She rolls her orbs.
"Fine"
Trish curls like a cat towards the black phone, gracefully ignoring his propped feet. That view is indescribable and the halfling makes a conscious attempt not to leer too much. Their relationship(?) is not such that prohibits such blatant admiration with darker themes beneath. But still, he tries to refrain himself from being too obvious about his less than innocent stare. It's not because this intimate bond(?) had been rocky in the beginning and still is from time to time. No, it's more because the half-devil's careful to not upset the balance of this, whatever it is that is between them. He knows from experience that it is not rare for the smallest of things being capable of causing the greatest damage. But he's probably just too damaged in the head and is having delusions on something that is not worth fretting about. In jests he often says untrue and much more dangerous things, which are sometimes replied to in a violent manner, but she nearly always sees that he is messing around. The demon hunter sighs inwardly, he doesn't really want things to be any different but he understands that having neat, little labels to describe this connection between them would be easier to deal with. But perhaps it's more fun to boogie with the bizarre. Now that the missing troupe member is back, the duo can hit the stage again.
The returned female starts dialing the number of the takeaway that she's chosen, knowing the digits by memory. It's nothing peculiar – hellish memory 'n' all. Although if it does not concern pizza (Italian restaurants are not included if they don't serve quality pizzas, and fuck them and their macaroni, even if those are perfect), then he suffers from amnesia when it concerns the numbers of those places, where sustenance can be ordered and brought to the shop.
The demon slayer catches and manages to force himself out of his stupor. His partner would probably not be too pleased if he were to uncover this piece of information post factum of the order.
"Babe, it's on you, right?"
She pauses in turning the little rotary dial with the prettily written numerals.
"Why?" the woman asks but knows well enough what the answer will be.
"Weeeeell, ya see, I was kinda out of business"
"We weren't exactly broke when I left" the remark is harsh.
Yes, well, that's right. He reckons that there's no escape from this.
"I had to eat and there was this thing with collateral damage..."
"So if you have no sport, you vent on innocent buildings."
"That's not quite-"
She cuts him off.
"Shut up. I'll pay and then I'll make sure to triple whatever you had lost."
Demons or no demons, Dante knows that she will pull it off. There's no reason to doubt her words.
He tries to make play, make light of the situation, maybe even calm himself – he feels that he's failed whatever that he had resolutions not to fail while she was away.
"Ouch. Soooo mean!"
The deviless replies with a glare and dials the number anew.
The hunter knows that now that she's back, things will get a lot more interesting. Real boredom won't even linger on the horizon.
A/N
Due to the lack of readers' interest and my own time being occupied by other projects – Repetition Complex has not been updated in quite a while. I do not know when it will be updated.
If you are still interested in this story, do review.