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Dreams Will Be Made Of These	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3810 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. Blah, blah, blah-no money is made off of this either.

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
Chapter 23: Give Me a Reason
High-heeled black boots calmly strolled out of an alley, twirling a pair of customized, semi-automatic pistols before blowing the smoke from a gray barrel, putting the weapons away. A steady pace walked to a silver and black Diavel Ducati.
The air blew crisp and fresh compared to the rotten, sordid smell accompanying the back street, inhaling the refreshing atmosphere after feeling pleased with the exchange about an informant's whereabouts in the darker side of society.
My, it was quite a plethora of information "given" when "asked" about the news going on in the demonic neighborhood. Word through the grapevine said that a certain islander got his fingers on some taboo goodies, and sort of "shopped around" to the highest bidder in a trade for a higher calling of power.
With these mystical oddities now in the bidder's control, they created unique concoctions to use and indulged in a little ruckus when the opportunity presented itself. When the questions arose about the party planners organizing this crazy bash the informer quieted; sweat forming on his brow,like someone had a laser aimed at his head.
And he did have one aligned with his forehead as Luce wanted to make her acquaintance known. Even with the ivory beauty pointed at him, his eyes widened with doubt. Suffice to say if he wasn't in the mood to talk, Luce would be more than willing to do all the yapping for the both of them, and she did.
She struck a conversation to his knee but became bored with the dumb chat, and instead opted for a session with his shoulder. When that tired she moved towards his left foot, closing out with a quick "wave" to his skull.
Standing by the sleek motorcycle she pulled out a slim phone from her pocket, dialing the number to the main office where the rest of the demon hunting denizens congregated. It's been a while since a visit happened, but she stayed confident of Dante maintaining the calm city. He couldn't have screwed up any jobs after having added help. The youth owned this no-nonsense attitude, and she felt convinced that Nero would tell him to get on track if Dante needed it. Male egos aside however, they complement each other at keeping each other on their toes.
The object rung twice before it picked up, silence meeting her for a full ten seconds; believing Dante had his mouth stuffed with pizza but she couldn't hear any unruly smacking.
"Dante?"
"… Hello?"
A soft, shaky voice made it hard to recognize the recipient, yet the tone appeared much more familiar.
"Nero, is that you?"
"… T-Trish."
"Are you okay? Where's Dante?"
Displeased grunts met her ears, harsh exhales pressed through the receiver to transform into a drawn-out sigh, sounds of a rustling nature overtook her hearing until it quieted. Light blue eyes scanned across the area, noticing the lack of consumers that should have occupied these streets. However the district surrounding her wasn't a thriving community.
However, in spite of acquiring an grandeur away from the limp part the half-devil called home, it ceased to exist next to its downtown metropolis. Those who financially lacked shopped here usually, but it had some products proving more quality-driven than usual. Surprisingly, this section of the city didn't inhabit a name, so the locals named it Mid-Town.
"Nero, are you still there?" The blond leaned onto the bike, trying to retain contact with the youth. He had an assertive and confident way about him whenever he spoke, but now seemed unsure in bereft of those qualities.
Something sounding like a pouty moan shot through the phone, similar to a canceled trip disappointing a child. Or in this case his moodiness resulted in Dante winning a foolish bet and rubbing it in his face.
"Nero, is everything okay?"
A long sigh rushed through the device, followed by some indistinctive rattling. "Everything's fine on my end." His impatience coated his voice, but there sustained a note of alarm as well. "Is something wrong?"
"I just felt like calling," she said. "I meant to-"
"That's all? You just felt like calling?"
"That's what I said... why are you snapping at me?"
Forced air came through the gizmo again, sounding much more despondent this time. The teenager sniffed harshly, snorting out thick phlegm deep within his throat before spitting it out. Trish arched a manicured eyebrow at the odd behavior, thinking him to be in one of his fuming modes after a spar with the hybrid.
"Where's Dante, Nero?"
"Jail."
"What?" Her other eyebrow joined its twin in complete surprise. Perhaps the duo battled in public and he took the sparring a little too far, destroying property or accidentally harming a human? How in the world can Dante wind up in the slammer? How bad dwelled his crime to end up there? When did he go and how long would it be until his release?
"How did he go to jail?"
"By car," Nero answered in a dry voice.
"You know what I mean."
"It's... a long story." His tone seemed defeated, lost in a sea of frustrated purpose to even elaborate on a simple question.
The bike roared to life, Trish straddling the black machine en route to the office to receive detailed answers. One may think that two capable men could take care of themselves, but stay gone a couple weeks and the world burns.
"All right Nero, I'll be there in a few."
"I'm going nowhere."
She pressed the hang-up button, sliding the phone into her pocket, kicking down the pedal. Indubitably, it appeared as if they ran into some trouble on their own. Might as well tell everyone the happenings on their adventures to discover if anyone had a common correlation; to see if a duplicate thread took charge with their enemies. And just how did that red rogue land in jail?
Her hand slid between her cleavage to pull out a set of black sunglasses, perching them on the bridge of her nose. She settled the bulk of her weight on the back of the bike, the front end rising high into the air. A tire spun, accompanied by the deep tremble of an awakened engine. The immediate connection of rubber and asphalt chocked up debris behind her as she let go of the clutch, speeding out into the streets hoping to understand these current events.
Trish slowed the motorcycle several yards away from the shop, a strong infiltration of demonic presence sending unease throughout her being. Luce sought residence in her hand with a swift notion, carefully edging towards the door while her senses scanned the area.
Gelatinous globs of a dark substance littered the cemented road, trailing all the way to the office's entrance. She parked her bike along the curb, inhaling the smell of fleeting, rotten flesh and smoldering ashes. Parts of gooey entrails lay glimmering in the darkened sky, the moon light casting the neighborhood in a dusky atmosphere.
A battle of immense proportions took place here, if the stench of corpses carried anything to go by. Hmm, did that pose the reason Nero seemed so agitated? Did a swarm of demons come by and he had to fend them off? Did he make a wager with the hybrid and lost the bet? If so, then what happened to Dante? Were humans involved in the scuffle and the blame came upon him? Might be speculative of why he's in jail; he's real good at stirring up trouble.
She knocked on the door once after storing her glasses back in their "case", noticing how loose the knob was, opening it to reveal a dirtied hunter sweeping the floor. Small piles of wooden splinters awaited their chance to rest in the dustpan. So a fight did take place, but inside the office?
Sky blue eyes turned to look at the bullet holes in the wall, confusion settling on her face. Nero looked over to her, irises laced with languor before he resumed with his cleaning. That little movement brought her attention to the opposite end of the wall, vision growing slightly wider for a certain oak décor turned up missing. "Hang on a sec." If these timber chips are in here, then that meant...
"Who destroyed the desk?"
"Nice to see you too." Nero gave a bitter response, resuming the last bit of his tidying, brushing the broom with force. The blond stared at his form, noting his dirtied, cut-up t-shirt and blood-stained jeans.
Brown marks of dirt smudged his pallid skin, the same color showing light traces under his nose. His usually pristine white hair had tendrils of varied reds, debris from outside adding to his disarrayed appearance. "Dante did."
"How?"
He shrugged. "It was like this when I woke up."
She looked doubtful. “Were you here all day?"
"Yup."
"In your room upstairs?" Trish added as an afterthought, more as a means to joke. "You slept like the dead then?"
"Uh-huh."
"… Are you sure?"
Nero stopped sweeping, pointedly looking at her as if she dared to question his truth. What reason would he have to lie to her, especially concerning anything pertaining to the office? What other explanation could he have to give to her, other than he or Dante destroyed it? "Why wouldn't I be?"
"That's kind of difficult to not hear the desk dying. Just how hard did you sleep?" Trish raised an eyebrow walking further into the room. She sat down on the arm of the couch, glancing through the items that once situated themselves on the furniture.
"You don't know the half of it," he mumbled to himself, sweeping the litter up into the dustpan.
"I suppose a couple of your Fortuna friends came and visited you," she pursed her lips together in reflection, waiting to be filled in on what happened to him and Dante.
The conversation that followed began with the call yesterday morning and the voyage thereafter, carefully leaving out the part where he called the red hunter out of his name and of his usage as a devil arm. He told of the powerful she-witch, of her fountain, and her plan to become some unrighteous leader; of her second in command and her antagonizing convert. Careful again not to tell her of the close, physical interactions shared between the two hunters.
Talking about about the human captives gained her attention in full, Nero delving into detail about the blow to Dante's head, and the defeat of the elder's demon-turned wife. He skipped the specifics of his "down time", telling her of his pure exhaustion and his inability to wake up from the noise. He explained to her that Dante went back out there to the small town, but he neglected to explain to him of his findings.
Ceruleans looked at her, seeing her in silent rout upon absorbing the information. It felt like he gave her Intel on a need-to-know basis, yet he held doubt she cared to realize all the finer details.
Nero finished sweeping up the waste on the floor, emptying it out in the kitchen trash can, then taking the bag outside. When he returned, Trish had a troubled visage, scrunching her lips to one side deep in consideration.
"Well, I could see all of that happening, but what does this have to do with Dante in jail and all those guts in the road... and the gun holes in the wall?"
"I'm getting to that." Nero implanted his fingers into his hair, separating a few sticky strands, disgust consuming his features as white and brown particles floated down in front of his eyesight. His vision locked with hers; she holding the same face prior to a slow shaking of the head. He quickly wiped his dirtied hands on his jeans, a warm blush tinting his cheeks but letting that fly under him.
"While we were out there Dante... helped himself to some stuff and I guess Ramona's group found out about it. Some cops drove here and cuffed his dumb ass. One of them got punched and his gun pelted the wall." He sat on the edge of the pool table, swinging both legs as he elaborated further on his story; he wouldn't even dare tell her about the kiss.
First and foremost, he wasn't privy to telling people about his personal trivialities and secondly, it wasn't any of her business. He argued with himself that the lip lock was a distraction and it harmlessly meant anything significant. And he still had to understand what his relationship came to be with the elder.
Are they friends or are all these signs indirectly pushing him towards something else? Feelings and judgments of an emotional nature needed sorting out, and an outsider's opinion shouldn't be placed in this matter, at least until he felt comfortable of what he wanted for himself.
"When they left, these... things came by." The youth dug into his memory, recalling the human-type creatures that showed up in front of the office; all slimy and gross and new-looking to his eyes.
"Things?" Trish moved off the couch closer to him, intrigued about these unique monsters.
"Yeah these... humanoid freaks. Like they're people-demons or something."
"Description?"
"Okay," he stood up this time, walking over to the door to give a broader view on what he fought. "Say I grew over eight feet tall and my skin turned dark gray... and my clothes disappeared." He shifted his eyeballs back and forth, cheeks darkening a shade at the memory, pausing a moment to gather his wits. He held his right arm to where the indicated height resided.
On a quick side note, if there was another person he didn't mind being seen with his devil bringer unbound, it was her. She had this relaxed persona he developed comfort with, enabling him to lower his defenses some. "So, I'm here and my ey―"
"Do you lose your hair too?" She said, a ghost of a smirk showing on her lips.
"Uh, yeah." A pale eyebrow rose into dirty locks, blinking a few times at the unexpected question. "Anyway, my eyes and nose are gone, and my teeth are crookedly sharp." His mouth opened wide, motioning with his finger the length of the chompers the thing had. "My arms are all long and gangly, and I have a hook and a clamp for hands."
Trish nodded once in understanding, filing this information into her mind should she ever encounter this creature. "Fire seems to stop them quick, and they attack you as if you're smothered in blood."
Nero recalled the ferocious way they charged, like their movement swayed to and fro before lashing out; making it difficult to lock on to a target for more than three seconds at a time. Their arms extended from their normal range, their left arm shaped into a fisherman's hook. Curious of all about the monstrosity stood the gem situated outside of its rib cage.
The fridge back in Whetstone held a similar ornament; the hearts in closed jars sporting the same look as on the monster's chest. What did all of this mean? Did the stone act as a source of demonic power? Were average humans affected by this or did it belong to the exclusive members of Ramona's club?
"Hmm, what stuff did Dante take?"
"Follow me." Nero beckoned his finger, leading her towards the kitchenette to the recently "bought" items. After the bout with the humanoid creatures he collected the cases in the truck, placing them in his closet should the girls want to see the goodies.
He had this hunch the chieftain would be sorely upset if the ladies plowed, mostly Trish, through his junk and he didn't have time to do so first. However, it wasn't his to begin with, but since it "fell" into his possession, he might as well hold his accountability for it.
He scooted over to the side while crossing his arms, allowing Trish entry, keeping his eyes on her to gauge a reaction.
"This is his work?" She pointed to the silver refrigerator in disgust and awe, entranced that Dante would pull such a stint. She walked further in the kitchen, taking in the sleek food preserver and its out-of-place setting. More of the kitchen's objects settled on her mind; the microwave and toaster adding a metallic charm to the dreary room.
Somehow, the previous owners of this establishment speculated that a beige, rose printed, wall-papered backdrop went lovely with green cabinets. A major renovation would bring the décor up to date and fitting with the new appliances, but Dante gave one of his "if it ain't broke" speeches and nothing moved towards a resolve. Be that as it may, she assumed, the kitchen didn't appear as bad with the smaller devices, thanks in part to Nero's extra input.
Whether as an obligation or a responsibility to aid Dante she didn't know, but the added help benefited them in more ways than one, howbeit in the form of accompanying Dante. Trish sensed an “at ease” demeanor in the half-devil as of late.
Whenever Lady waltzed in with a job he always had a mind to say something snarky, but now he listened. He paid attention to what she described and only elaborated on a few inquiries, and then shared the petty remarks to Nero. Along with this calming mood came a growing bond between the two men.
At first, the partial-hybrid moved around quietly as a mouse, keeping to himself and rarely involving himself in group sessions. Not that he was a shy little creature, withal these new circumstances produced mild caution to branch out. A closed society like the small island town could've been detrimental to allowing him to create his own opinion of the world.
Through exposure to the dysfunctional bunch of the three Devil May Cry members did he slowly let his reserves down. And Dante's exclusive, gentle consideration had further lulled this uncertainty within him; that he halted to take pride in himself because of his arm.
"How's Dante been treating you?"
The simple question minimally enlarged his eyes. "Um... it's okay?”
"Well, he isn't modest in many areas, but it's nothing too serious, right?"
What would he tell her as a response? 'Oh, I had some weird, psycho-sexual dreams I had about him' or some 'touchy-feely' advances happened? He would not pry those details out before he knew what he himself felt secure in saying.
Lying came easy around the time of injury to his arm and thereafter, but Trish, Dante and―that woman―let their guards down (namely the former two) so he could feel more relaxed. It didn't seem fair, but would telling one more little lie hurt when concerning himself?
"It's... a work in progress." A partial fib will do. He didn't like being under the microscope, an unknown fear of blurting secret goods out made him a tad paranoid.
The direction refocused on the refrigerator once more, pointing his chin towards the woman to open it. An astonished expression met him not too long after―then narrowed with surprisingly vicious intent.
"What have you done with Dante?" Trish looked ready to kill with those blue orbs.
"Huh?" Nero's voice escaped him, sounding weak and small in response to her darkened aura. He cleared it, speaking out his statement much stronger this time. "What... what do you mean?"
"I couldn't get this Dante to fill up his fridge even if I paid him, so what charm did you weave on him to work this out?" she answered with an insinuating undertone; his cheeks coating to a darker tint.
He swiped the side of his nose in shame, looking shy to the left of her when the color drained from his face; anger replacing it soon after because that moron had the nerve to bring home a sample of the foul evidence... in a pickle jar.
She started from her spot, glancing into the refrigerator to lay eyes on the cause of Nero's sudden tiff. She grabbed the container and held it up to her face, turning it this way and that to examine the heart. Words from her "friend" flooded back, filling in the missing links about the recent increase in demonic activity.
It all began to make sense. Whatever the moron brought from Fortuna must have made these pretty trinkets, distributing the goods out so the immoral humans can have a little disastrous fun. A small trip to the island town may be voyaged upon in the future, just to ensure no more funny business took place or anyone planned on doing so.
The question remained of who would tag along with Nero out there; he wasn't going alone if he went right now. Something told her the peculiar bond with the hybrid couldn't be simmered off if he took a solo trek. So when will the opportunity arise to tell him of the heart's origin?
"That asshole!" The teenager said in a clipped manner, rubbing his forehead where he received that punch from the neophyte.
"You didn't see it in here at first?" Trish replaced it on the door.
"Nope. Looked straight in the freezer then on the shelf for something to drink." He crossed his arms again, feeling the familiar rise of bile trying to settle in his core. "I had a little... trouble... with it.
"The heart."
"Yeah. Thought the lady served it to me in meat form." Nero closed is eyes in disgust, shuddering the insight away before anything else from yesterday popped up, namely that dream.
"Which reminds me, La―uh... the brunette pissed Dante off pretty badly. Don't know what she did, but he told me not to say her name in his presence."
"But he's not here." Trish rummaged through the fridge, glad to eat something other than cold pizza. On the bottom shelf she saw a pack of wine coolers, grabbing a yellow bottle and popping off the lid to swallow it down.
"True, but I think these walls can talk, and they'd rat on me in a moment." The teen looked over behind his right shoulder, several demonic heads staring back at him, as if they recorded his every move to show Dante later. When he turned around Trish was already downing her second drink, ignoring the surprised stare on his face.
The blond eyed him briefly, stopping her rapid swallowing to give a small shrug. "I'll get a reason from her."
"There's more food in the cabinets." Nero moved to the living room, glancing to the door leading to even more goodies that the captain "indefinitely" borrowed. "Oh yeah, Dante got more crap in the garage." He threw over his shoulder drawing nearer to the steps, mind urging him to take a shower to rid of the remnants of the past couple of days.
He had an inkling, knowing how Dante operated, he might be back here sooner than expected. He needed to prepare to return to the world and handle this unfolding situation, alone. No way in hell would he partner up with the dope after the possibility of that shit storm happening again.
"Really, wha' suff?" Trish came out of the kitchen, cavity stuffed with hot fries and went in the garage. She made an alarming sound, walking into the office to speak to the teen on the banister.
How di-" She quickly chewed and swallowed the chips. "How did you charm the lazy bum to grab all this stuff?" She popped more of the red sticks in her mouth, waiting on Nero to explain.
What the hell? Why does she keep saying that? What made her assume he convinced Dante to do anything? He formed his own mind to collect this shit on his own, and he helped out some, that's it. And what was he going to say to him; try to steer him away from his amoral actions? Dante could light a match to those items for all he cared.
And even if he rested his charm on him, and that's a very big if, why would he tell her of the way he wooed him, if it ever happened? Just what did she imply? He felt calm around her enough to talk freely, but if this immature persistence continued he would start giving her the cold shoulder.
"I charmed no one, he took it of his own will." Nero answered with an edge to his voice, leaving her no space to taunt and assume about what she thinks he did to the hybrid. Trotting up the stairs to his bedroom, he garnered one more glance at the blond, morbidly smirking up at him as if she withheld information on a knowing secret.
Well, whatever she assumed she can chew on that. Content she didn't ask any further questions, he turned and readied himself for round two; in preparation to go on a hunt and acquire treasure to his liking, alone.
After a soothing shower, Nero hurried to his room, a towel wrapped around his waist and one drying off his damp hair. While looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, he noticed a faint pink scar in the center of his sternum.
Recalling that surreal dream he grew nervous, remembering how the mark seemed too vivid in his sleep to be real, yet it showed up in front of him; the impact it left forever embedded a reminder into his memory.
He finished toweling off, going to his duffel bag (mysteriously picked up after someone emptied it) and grabbed his spare clothes. His warrior garb needed major renovations, as a thorough washing. White socks with blue trimmings pulled over frosted feet, followed by gray boxers with a red waistband hanging loose on his hips.
Such a fitting color to wear on the hips; might be even better if something red took it off.
There goes that unwanted, Hellish conscious mouthing off again, expressing concerns of no relation to him. At the most inconvenient of times did it want to talk about absolutely nothing important. The hybrid's absence allowed time to think on his demonic voice and the unusual behavior, concluding the reason this happened.
It all started with Kyrie.
Things went steady between them, it was slow but it steadied on. They grew close to each other and shared a few interests, like catching a bite to eat at the cafe and seeing whatever corny movie played at the matinee.
One day after helping to rebuild the main plaza, they took a stroll along the sandy line where the sand faded into the dark water. There they united in their first passionate yet reserved kiss. She held onto his shoulders, anchoring herself from floating up to the sky and beyond. He loosely held her hips, steeling himself from plummeting to the underworld to not flush her tight against his body.
Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach when their lips connected, transforming into bats sucking his insides dry in not taking their loving ministrations further. He guarded his self-control, concerned that laying it on too thick would bring out the devil in him and it may turn out disastrous results.
He assumed one of those carnivorous mammals crawled up into his head and tried to communicate to him, rather poorly, that some lovin' needed to happen between him and the curvy brunette. What else could his mind attempt to tell him other than that? Simple: nothing.
Dark blue distressed jeans, a white v-neck shirt with navy-patterned stars, and matching dark blue Converse sneakers rested comfortably on his frame, grabbing a gray sweater to knock the chill off his arms. He traveled to the bathroom, picking up his apparel in lieu of washing them. Nero hoped to have enough time to suds his clothes and put them back on; somehow his current choice of fashion wouldn't last long against this new class of enemy, should he run into them again.
In the far corner of the garage rested the washing machine, turning on the switch to let the water rush in to fill up, placing the setting to 'SMALL' prior to adding two caps full of fresh cotton-scented detergent.
Assessing his work gear didn't take long; the red sweater and jeans thrown into the washer to rid of the sweat, blood, and dirt accumulated on them. However, the navy blue tank top he wore had cuts and holes all over, rendering the shirt useless. His jacket―well that couldn't go in the appliance, given the state of it. Maybe he should soak it in the tub or find a hose to lessen up the particles wanting to glue themselves to the fabric.
"That dark-pink coat-wearing asshole!” He set his jacket on top of the dryer, deciding to wash it later. Next thing on his to-do list involved a basic sweep of his weapons, just to see if they were up to par.
"A lot on your mind?" Trish stood in the garage door, Oreo cookies in her hand this time, momentarily noticing his irked stance.
He scoffed. "Dante isn't good with plans."
"That he isn't." She looked from him to the truck, thinking of how they carried this gear without raising suspicions. "I'm surprised you guys could get all this stuff back here and they haven't raged into this place yet." She finished off the statement by separating the cookie in half, licking the creme filling in delight.
"Yeah they did, just not for their possessions. Those bullet holes belong to them."
"But they came for Dante."
"Yeah, but why they didn't reclaim their stuff... I don't know.” Nero closed the washer's lid and shrugged. "Maybe he took the back way home or something. I was asleep."
"You sure are sleeping a lot."
"Yeah 'cause being around that guy is mentally and physically exhausting." He relented, leaning against the washer as he voiced his aggravation. "Sometimes it feels like I'm partnered up with a baboon―with the lips of a baboon's ass!"
You mean he has the ass of a baboon.
The voice caught him by surprise, trying to conceal the rising blush to his cheeks by masking it with anger. Yet a feminine chuckle broke him away from the nagging sound, dissipating the pink on his face. Even though it felt nice that she thought on similar terms with him, he still pushed his words as truth; Dante possessed this immature charm that grated on his nerves a little.
The youngster could act as he damn well pleased given his youth; he had an excuse to signify his behavior and Dante didn't. With age and experience brought maturity, or so Nero once observed. Man, that know-it-all attitude irked him wherever the red dope decided to shed knowledge on what he considered he needed to know.
"So the cat's out of the bag. It isn't peaches and cream with him, is it?"
"Like I said, it's a work in progress."
"Well, you should take it as a good thing. Dante's quite the loner sometimes and he's rarely in the company of others, mostly by choice. His upbringing wasn't in a social environment and―the brunette―and I aren't the best conversationalists to him, with us being the dames; we lacking an interest in some of the things he does." Trish stopped to put a cookie in her mouth, enjoying the sweet bliss, allowing Nero to let her words sink in.
Maybe he needed a deeper understanding of how Dante operated so he could adjust to his mood, depending on the occasion. She continued, "Perhaps you, being who you are, can share experiences with him more than you do already. I mean, you both taunt each other with your spars and spats don't you?"
Nero nodded in absent focus, folding his arms in reasoning about her earlier statement. What did she mean by his lack of socializing growing up? Socializing as in he couldn't talk to anyone given his heritage, or he stayed secluded from people overall? Dante told him he had a brother; they talked and chatted up a storm together, right? He made a mental note to question Dante about his rearing, with respect, just to verify if his asshole-ish tendencies justified his actions.
He guessed his biological make-up played a part in his snippy attitude; one wasn't necessarily in a mentally secure state if darkness ran in their blood. However, where did his brash nature come from; with puns thrown to the enemy and his middle finger raised to the universe?
Perchance they weren't so different from each other.
"He probably enjoys hanging out with you, seeing how you two act around each other. I don't think he means any harm; I guess he sees you as a close confidant," she said that last sentence more to herself, reminiscing on their male companionship and how they seemed to complement each other.
Both lived through hardships and hurdled over grand obstacles, and they weren't privy to fall under society's tricks; ridiculing many affronts to what society stood for.
Once in a while Dante complained of the shortage of sport he bluffed out, and that solution resolved itself rather quickly; Nero proved to be a diversion from the dull combatants. He added a spark to Dante's otherwise simplistic, yet odd life. This simplicity had been originally combated by dozing the world away and he became complacent, not even bothering with menial tasks because they were hardly worth his time, so he says
"Just think of yourself as his shiny new toy able to mend itself, and he as your regenerating punching bag. Sometimes to get through to Dante you have to play his game or tell him how you feel. He'll listen, just that he's not much of a talker when the spotlight is on him." The final cookie rested in her hands, splitting it in half before the one with less filling shot into her mouth. "Dante's not privy to letting people in, but once he does he's not letting them go, even though he has a strange way of showing it."
That was… insightful. To be honest, he didn't see it in that light. Formerly, he perceived that the hybrid was being a spiteful jerk to him, especially recently, but as Trish suggested he got a kick out of his company.
For brief moments, he forgot about the good that came from the elder, but his mood swings would override the decent times and Nero would focus on the exclusive negativity.
What she said about letting people in your life also struck home with him. Granted, he only gave a toss about two people in his existence, but from a young age he didn't let people wheedle into his heart; the significance of pain, misery, and betrayal too heavy of a burden to encounter. It seemed funny how close their interests are with each another, like they were lov... lo-lo-loving entities of... stubborn emotions. Yeah.
And Trish's statement about him being Dante's chew toy didn't sit right with him. He would take her offer of Dante being his punching bag, however.
"Thanks," he said after a moment, moving away from the machine after it began swishing the clothes around. "I'll keep that in mind when I'm bashing his face in."
"There you go!" Trish smiled jovially as the other half of the cookie plunked into her mouth, dusting her hand off of the excess crumbs. "Just make sure he doesn't bash yours in before you tell him what you need to say." She disappeared from the door's entrance, presumably to fiddle more in the fridge.
Nero walked out of the garage, heading towards his room to get the required items to clean his weapons. Sitting on the couch he draped a towel over his legs, setting the cleaning agents and screwdrivers on the table in front of him.
The double-barreled revolver ejected the remaining slugs from the slot, laying them on the table to recycle them. Succeeding the separation came dismembering the metallic beauty, taking apart the wooden panels, various bolts and pins, the cylinder, targeting sights and the barrels. All the pieces lying before him would've made the most professional gunsman sweat in doubt; the display before him looking like an ancient clock dismantled to the last nail. But he didn't mind the work; he personally customized the gun to take down enemies without hassle.
Forty minutes rolled by after he cleaned, lubed, and reassembled Blue Rose, wiping the perspiration off his hands with the towel and proud he had no solvents on him.
He grabbed the broadsword to assess her state. Red Queen had cerulean blues scanning over her, but she wasn't stripped to her naughty bits; she took her bath a week ago and she wasn't ready to have another until some time next week. Or at least until a friendly battle waged on between the duo.
It's something about the way Dante attacks that motivated him to giving his all, perhaps a bit too much. He'd seen Dante's altered devil come out and decimate his foes into nothing when aggravated, but he never exercised that form on him. Sure, the teen unleashed Yamato on him in an instant when one too many kicks or face slaps landed on him, but Dante refrained from using his demonic force on him.
And every sparring Nero anticipated on him doing so. He wanted to see how strong the veteran’s powers escalated to; judging how he would fare against such a threat. Maybe the reason he grew ecstatic with their sessions relied upon Dante taking a hit and not dying.
Demon-spawn had shitty stamina when licked by Red Queen's fire, but Dante could take punches and be good as new; his own regenerating punching bag indeed. It always gave him a goal to look forward to, a chance to better himself for the day when he defeated the hybrid fair and square. But until then, he'll take his little "losses" as a trial and error, a guide to discovering what made the captain vulnerable in battle; he'd have to find that vulnerability first.
But there's no rush; it'll end when he goes back to Fortuna, when the time arrived, so why do anything now? He's enjoying comfortable leisure in Dante's company, and Dante's fun to be around, when not in one of his asshole modes.
Yet that's part of the problem. Unknown to him, the hybrid's becoming a habit that might be awfully hard to break.
A/N: Aw, Nero. Now you get a glimpse as to why Dante likes to press your buttons :D I hope I got Trish's character okay; she doesn't really talk much does she?

That DmC game... Capcom why do you keep running around with decapitated heads?
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