look me in the eye and tell me that I'm satisfied

[wegotwork]

Sam needs some air. The past few days have been claustrophobic at best between him and Dean, though at least now they've upgraded to a room with two beds instead of being forced to share the one. Between Dean's sudden aversion to all meat and his own rather fond attitude towards clowns (which he discovered upon seeing one in a window display and

Comments

[halfadevil]

Dante's not usually a diner type of guy -- if he's not at a bar, he's ordering pizza. On rare occasions, he might stop by an ice cream place.

Still, part of the fun of getting to know a city is learning every potential meeting-place for clients he can get to, and Chicago's got a lot more going for it than Cicero. So he saunters in, standing out as only a well-muscled guy with white hair and enough leather on him to make up at least two separate cows can stand out.

He notices Sam sitting here, and... hey, he knows that kind of research. It might not have been his forte -- Vergil was the book-geek of the family, not him -- but when your dad's been alive for thousands of years, he tends to have weird notions about how kids should be educated. Latin, Greek, Aramaic, Sanskrit (though the last two, he knows he's incredibly shitty at), and a whole lot of occult theory, all crammed into his head at an impressionable young age, before Sparda finally up and split.

He heads over to Sam's table, leaning over to look at a book for a second, and then snorts. "Y'know, when even I can tell you've got a crappy translation, that's saying something."

[wegotwork]

He sees the shadow before he sees the man, shifting the book out of the way in order to get a better light on the page. But when the shadow moves again, his gaze snaps up with a tinge of annoyance accompanying it.

"It's the best I've got right now," Sam says, "so I'm making the most of it." It's a shame his ability to translate has gone downhill in the last couple of months, but he's not about to tell this guy that.

[halfadevil]

Dante shrugs. "Hey, no offense, but best you've got or not, unless you're writing a paper on why it sucks, you're pretty screwed if you want to do anything with that. I mean, I'm rusty, but that right there? The terms are mixed up. You do that the way it says here and any door you try to open's more likely to blow up in your face."

Of course, considering the original text paints it as a door to hell -- oh yeah, that's a word he recognizes -- he's not entirely sure he should be doing too much correcting. "Hey, whatever, not my business... Send a postcard through the Rift if it works."

Yeah, someone studying a way to open a door to hell? He's thinking this kid's not a native, especially since most of the demons around here seem to be pretty fucking convinced there's no such place. If anything, his big concern is why this guy's got books about hell-portals just laying around for light reading.

Unless he's wrong, in which case, he's just confused the hell out of some random research-geek. You win some, you lose some.