(no subject)
Title: Hair Cuts and Dr. Phil
Characters: Dante, Eva, Rem Saverem, allusions to Vash, allusions to Kuchiki Byakuya, Sparda, Souichiro Nagi and Bob Makihara
Year: Fifteen
Location(s): Rem's salon at first, and then the Sparda household for a moment.
Summary: Dante getting his hair cut and bitching a lot while trying to be a mama's boy, followed by Eva deciding to wash his mouth out with soap. Sparda deciding to put teenagers to work as cheap labor.
Notes: Obviously this is extreme AU. Reference here
Dante looked so disgruntled, as he sat there and moped under a curtain of shaggy hair. He didn’t want to be there, in that flower-filled salon with the rest of the chairs occupied by giddy women talking about things like dinner parties and new wash machines (and he wish that wasn’t true, because as sexist as Dante could pretend to be, he liked to be remotely positive). Alas, he was stuck, however. The reason was simple.
No one fucked with Eva Sparda. She sat nearby with her blonde locks in loose curls that fell over a dark, simple top that blended into camouflaged tactical pants that were a complicated patchwork of pouches and pockets that were filled with any number of trinkets and items that were, Dante had no doubt, most likely illegal in most civilized countries. Of course, while that made her a scary woman? That also made her an awesome mom. Dante could take pride in the fact that his mom could beat up anyone else’s dad if she wanted to. She had before.
“Why do I have to do this?” Dante asked, still moping as he fingered a hole in his shirt. He should have stalked Vergil to Estersand Elementary. He would’ve gotten grounded worse, but it would have beaten this.
“Because,” his mother responded. Her eyes were fixed on a hunting magazine splayed in her lap, sunglasses latched over her forehead rather stylishly. (Dante wasn’t into that, but he could admit his parents knew how to dress.)
She turned a page, and Dante closed his eyes. “These flowers make me itch.” They were everywhere.
“Then scratch where it itches.” Dante shifted his hand at his shirt downwards, reaching between his legs until Eva intercepted with a, “In places that are rated PG or under, Dante.” Dante pouted, his hand moving to scratch at his knee before slumping in the seat. “I realize that you don’t want to do this, but if I don’t have Rem do maintenance on that hair of yours, it’s going to need to be shaved off entirely.”
He slumped more, not daring to speak back to her (that was reserved for his father and brother), only to be ‘tsk’ed straight by the cheerful salon manager: Rem Saverem. She was a good friend to his mother, and the adoptive mother to a set of twins as different as Dante was to Vergil. Dante first encountered the twins when he was in fourth grade, and found the younger twin, Vash, crying by himself at the edge of the playground during recess because a blond hothead named Nagi-somethingorother crushed flowers he’d been putting together for Rem. Dante normally hated sissies with a fiery passion… but Vash really was okay. Mama’s boy he may have been (as though Dante had room to talk), but he beat the shit out of his own brother, Knives, once and ended up pantsing then-twelfth grader Kuchiki Byakuya. So, yes, his awesome was sealed in Dante’s book due to originality.
“I was thinking about this for you, Dante!” the dark complexioned Rem said with a bright smile. She dropped a magazine image, clipped free from its home, in front of him while being mindful of his shaggy hair. He had to see, after all!
The image was of a male model in a suit of armor, seated regally atop a solid black horse that looked a bit out of proportion to the ‘knight’. His hair, dark and shaggy, was much like Dante’s, only shorter and more layered. It was a sissy boy’s cut, but all Dante could reply with was, “That’s inaccurate.”
“Huh?” Rem pulled the paper back to look over it, puzzled as to what he meant.
“He has to be on a Clydesdale,” Dante replied, eyeing her with the one eye that managed to get sight through his messy hair. “I don’t know what that ad is selling, Miss Saverem, but it has left me completely unconvinced.” He had some choice words he would have loved to use there, but his mother was present. Besides, he didn’t want to hear Vash if he found out Dante had been profane around his Rem.
“Now,” Eva said as she glanced up and towards him, “if only you would use that brain of yours for something more than blowing up sewage systems.” Her eyes returned to the article she was reading about how to gut animals several days aged. “I love the style, Rem. You have wonderful taste.”
Permission was given in that small blurb to let Rem do as she pleased. Dante’s eyes widened, and he started to pull off of the seat. “You didn’t even look at it!” he whined.
However, his whining was lost behind Rem’s gleeful laugh and clapping. “Excellent!” she cheered. She clasped her hands around each of Dante’s shoulders from behind and forced him back into his seat. “You’ll look so handsome!”
“I’ll look like my furfag of a brother,” Dante blurted as he flailed once.
Eva popped her lips together, and clapped the magazine shut. Dante already knew what was happening, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. “Rem,” Eva said, “where’s the soap?”
Rem knew it too, and only giggled and replied, “In the back bathroom, of course!”
Dante hated when mothers got together. Didn’t matter if they were biological or adoptive--they were evil.
The house. It was quiet.
At first, Sparda was convinced that his ears were deceiving him. No wife. No sons? Unheard of. Usually there was someone roaming around, and the sounds of their hearts or the thumps of their footsteps rang loudly in his optionally sensitive ears.
If there was one thing that Sparda disliked about summer, it was the fact that it brought about bugs and children. While Vergil and Dante were growing older, and thusly were growing more independent in the summertime, Dante tended to sleep late into the morning after staying up and out all night, and Vergil tended to sleep very little, if at all, spending most his time studying to a point even Sparda’s head began to hurt.
But he was alone! Legitimately all alone, with not a child to harass him or a wife to order him around, and it made Sparda feel a certain sense of peace and calm that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. After so long of trying to get Eva to take up a safe job somewhere tucked in a dark corner far away from him, as opposed to her wanting to take up her more illustrious hunting activities from once upon a time, they both fought into a standstill where she simply stayed as a stay-at-home mother.
Peace! Calm. Sparda decided to make the most of it by sweeping into the entertainment room and taking up the remote control. It was two in the afternoon! Surely, surely Dr. Phil was on by that point. His frankness made Sparda happy, in an entirely sadistic way.
However, when he was just about to plop himself into his armchair, there was a rapid knock on the front doors. They were thick and reinforced, as Eva and Sparda both agreed upon. They took to warding those doors, as well, to keep out anything paranormal that would mean their boys harm. So, the fact that someone was able to knock and cause the sound to echo through the main hall of the considerably large house (by modern standards), all the way to the second floor entertainment room, Sparda figured they were either very strong, or they were dropkicking the door.
He guessed the latter, honestly.
And how right Sparda was, as he made his way down and swung the door open without much care. There, in front of him, were two boys he knew all too well from one of the less refined areas of the city. They’d been busy beating someone’s head into his car when he was out shopping one night for birthday gifts for his sons. They were both displayed with sacks, as though it were Halloween, with bright smiles on their faces.
“Souichiro and Bob,” Sparda said with a cluck of his tongue.
His voice seemed to serve as a wake-up call, that caused both boys to jerk and double take at who they were presenting their sacks-o-begging at. They were young, around Dante and Vergil’s age, and while annoying with how hotheaded they were (particularly Souichiro Nagi), Sparda couldn’t help but feel a passing amusement at them. “What are you doing? I expected to see the both of you in summer school.”
The response was hardly matching, but spoken simultaneously with a, “We’re too smart for that,” from the blond Souichiro, and a, “Souichiro decided he didn’t need it and I have to put up with him,” from his best friend. It prompted a dirty look and a sneer from his significantly shorter friend.
Sparda still looked amused as he watched them begin to bicker back and forth about why it was or wasn’t a good thing to keep their mouths shut in regards to Sparda. While Bob seemed to be miles more intelligent than his cocky friend, Sparda still concluded he was a moron. Why did they have those bags? What were they even trying to bum off of people? They hardly appeared the sort, if Sparda was to be honest, but teenagers were retarded little creatures to begin with.
He reached up over their heads and snapped his fingers a couple of times to grab their attention from their increasingly loud argument. Attention gained, he grinned slightly. After all, if they had that much energy, he could find something for them to spend it on and for productive ends. He’d even pay them for what he had in mind.
Characters: Dante, Eva, Rem Saverem, allusions to Vash, allusions to Kuchiki Byakuya, Sparda, Souichiro Nagi and Bob Makihara
Year: Fifteen
Location(s): Rem's salon at first, and then the Sparda household for a moment.
Summary: Dante getting his hair cut and bitching a lot while trying to be a mama's boy, followed by Eva deciding to wash his mouth out with soap. Sparda deciding to put teenagers to work as cheap labor.
Notes: Obviously this is extreme AU. Reference here
Dante looked so disgruntled, as he sat there and moped under a curtain of shaggy hair. He didn’t want to be there, in that flower-filled salon with the rest of the chairs occupied by giddy women talking about things like dinner parties and new wash machines (and he wish that wasn’t true, because as sexist as Dante could pretend to be, he liked to be remotely positive). Alas, he was stuck, however. The reason was simple.
No one fucked with Eva Sparda. She sat nearby with her blonde locks in loose curls that fell over a dark, simple top that blended into camouflaged tactical pants that were a complicated patchwork of pouches and pockets that were filled with any number of trinkets and items that were, Dante had no doubt, most likely illegal in most civilized countries. Of course, while that made her a scary woman? That also made her an awesome mom. Dante could take pride in the fact that his mom could beat up anyone else’s dad if she wanted to. She had before.
“Why do I have to do this?” Dante asked, still moping as he fingered a hole in his shirt. He should have stalked Vergil to Estersand Elementary. He would’ve gotten grounded worse, but it would have beaten this.
“Because,” his mother responded. Her eyes were fixed on a hunting magazine splayed in her lap, sunglasses latched over her forehead rather stylishly. (Dante wasn’t into that, but he could admit his parents knew how to dress.)
She turned a page, and Dante closed his eyes. “These flowers make me itch.” They were everywhere.
“Then scratch where it itches.” Dante shifted his hand at his shirt downwards, reaching between his legs until Eva intercepted with a, “In places that are rated PG or under, Dante.” Dante pouted, his hand moving to scratch at his knee before slumping in the seat. “I realize that you don’t want to do this, but if I don’t have Rem do maintenance on that hair of yours, it’s going to need to be shaved off entirely.”
He slumped more, not daring to speak back to her (that was reserved for his father and brother), only to be ‘tsk’ed straight by the cheerful salon manager: Rem Saverem. She was a good friend to his mother, and the adoptive mother to a set of twins as different as Dante was to Vergil. Dante first encountered the twins when he was in fourth grade, and found the younger twin, Vash, crying by himself at the edge of the playground during recess because a blond hothead named Nagi-somethingorother crushed flowers he’d been putting together for Rem. Dante normally hated sissies with a fiery passion… but Vash really was okay. Mama’s boy he may have been (as though Dante had room to talk), but he beat the shit out of his own brother, Knives, once and ended up pantsing then-twelfth grader Kuchiki Byakuya. So, yes, his awesome was sealed in Dante’s book due to originality.
“I was thinking about this for you, Dante!” the dark complexioned Rem said with a bright smile. She dropped a magazine image, clipped free from its home, in front of him while being mindful of his shaggy hair. He had to see, after all!
The image was of a male model in a suit of armor, seated regally atop a solid black horse that looked a bit out of proportion to the ‘knight’. His hair, dark and shaggy, was much like Dante’s, only shorter and more layered. It was a sissy boy’s cut, but all Dante could reply with was, “That’s inaccurate.”
“Huh?” Rem pulled the paper back to look over it, puzzled as to what he meant.
“He has to be on a Clydesdale,” Dante replied, eyeing her with the one eye that managed to get sight through his messy hair. “I don’t know what that ad is selling, Miss Saverem, but it has left me completely unconvinced.” He had some choice words he would have loved to use there, but his mother was present. Besides, he didn’t want to hear Vash if he found out Dante had been profane around his Rem.
“Now,” Eva said as she glanced up and towards him, “if only you would use that brain of yours for something more than blowing up sewage systems.” Her eyes returned to the article she was reading about how to gut animals several days aged. “I love the style, Rem. You have wonderful taste.”
Permission was given in that small blurb to let Rem do as she pleased. Dante’s eyes widened, and he started to pull off of the seat. “You didn’t even look at it!” he whined.
However, his whining was lost behind Rem’s gleeful laugh and clapping. “Excellent!” she cheered. She clasped her hands around each of Dante’s shoulders from behind and forced him back into his seat. “You’ll look so handsome!”
“I’ll look like my furfag of a brother,” Dante blurted as he flailed once.
Eva popped her lips together, and clapped the magazine shut. Dante already knew what was happening, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. “Rem,” Eva said, “where’s the soap?”
Rem knew it too, and only giggled and replied, “In the back bathroom, of course!”
Dante hated when mothers got together. Didn’t matter if they were biological or adoptive--they were evil.
The house. It was quiet.
At first, Sparda was convinced that his ears were deceiving him. No wife. No sons? Unheard of. Usually there was someone roaming around, and the sounds of their hearts or the thumps of their footsteps rang loudly in his optionally sensitive ears.
If there was one thing that Sparda disliked about summer, it was the fact that it brought about bugs and children. While Vergil and Dante were growing older, and thusly were growing more independent in the summertime, Dante tended to sleep late into the morning after staying up and out all night, and Vergil tended to sleep very little, if at all, spending most his time studying to a point even Sparda’s head began to hurt.
But he was alone! Legitimately all alone, with not a child to harass him or a wife to order him around, and it made Sparda feel a certain sense of peace and calm that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. After so long of trying to get Eva to take up a safe job somewhere tucked in a dark corner far away from him, as opposed to her wanting to take up her more illustrious hunting activities from once upon a time, they both fought into a standstill where she simply stayed as a stay-at-home mother.
Peace! Calm. Sparda decided to make the most of it by sweeping into the entertainment room and taking up the remote control. It was two in the afternoon! Surely, surely Dr. Phil was on by that point. His frankness made Sparda happy, in an entirely sadistic way.
However, when he was just about to plop himself into his armchair, there was a rapid knock on the front doors. They were thick and reinforced, as Eva and Sparda both agreed upon. They took to warding those doors, as well, to keep out anything paranormal that would mean their boys harm. So, the fact that someone was able to knock and cause the sound to echo through the main hall of the considerably large house (by modern standards), all the way to the second floor entertainment room, Sparda figured they were either very strong, or they were dropkicking the door.
He guessed the latter, honestly.
And how right Sparda was, as he made his way down and swung the door open without much care. There, in front of him, were two boys he knew all too well from one of the less refined areas of the city. They’d been busy beating someone’s head into his car when he was out shopping one night for birthday gifts for his sons. They were both displayed with sacks, as though it were Halloween, with bright smiles on their faces.
“Souichiro and Bob,” Sparda said with a cluck of his tongue.
His voice seemed to serve as a wake-up call, that caused both boys to jerk and double take at who they were presenting their sacks-o-begging at. They were young, around Dante and Vergil’s age, and while annoying with how hotheaded they were (particularly Souichiro Nagi), Sparda couldn’t help but feel a passing amusement at them. “What are you doing? I expected to see the both of you in summer school.”
The response was hardly matching, but spoken simultaneously with a, “We’re too smart for that,” from the blond Souichiro, and a, “Souichiro decided he didn’t need it and I have to put up with him,” from his best friend. It prompted a dirty look and a sneer from his significantly shorter friend.
Sparda still looked amused as he watched them begin to bicker back and forth about why it was or wasn’t a good thing to keep their mouths shut in regards to Sparda. While Bob seemed to be miles more intelligent than his cocky friend, Sparda still concluded he was a moron. Why did they have those bags? What were they even trying to bum off of people? They hardly appeared the sort, if Sparda was to be honest, but teenagers were retarded little creatures to begin with.
He reached up over their heads and snapped his fingers a couple of times to grab their attention from their increasingly loud argument. Attention gained, he grinned slightly. After all, if they had that much energy, he could find something for them to spend it on and for productive ends. He’d even pay them for what he had in mind.