[Thread] A cold day in Hell.
Who: Larxene [larandorder] and Dante [flyhard]
Where: Dante's shop.
When: Late in the evening, 02/07.
Summary: Things just don't seem right, and Dante has something to tell an old friend.
Rating: Probably PG-13 for language and hinted violence.
Other: I hate writing intros. :D
Let’s get one thing out of the way: this whole spectacle was against her better judgment right from the start. It might just be her sense of self preservation kicking in, but heading back to these grounds in Terra just seemed like a bad idea. I kid you not, for even if Nobodies are hard-wired not to feel the sting pesky emotions like fear she certainly felt an unnerving sensation creeping up along her spine. The memory of getting stabbed and trapped underneath a building in the midst of a quake is just something you can’t peel away in a rush, dream or not. Call it acting on a well-justified sixth sense that something bad would happen or the inevitable side-effects of skipping out on her medication, pick whichever fits you best.
That said, it was just petty irrationalities on her behalf, right? At least that’s what she tried telling herself as she ventured through the sunset-lit street (more like alleyways and other less visible paths) of Terra of while doing her best to avoid the ID-scans as she went. That man better have had a good reason to call her out in the late hours when her level-3 ID no longer was valid on this level.
The fact that she actually bothered to make the effort though pointed to something as strange as, and hold on to your jaw here, her actually feeling a sense if respect for Dante, as strange as that may sound given their (mildly put) turbulent relation in the past. Again, feel free to blame that on her skipping out on her medication. He was one of the few people that knew her that could actually open his mouth in her presence without getting a damning rebuttal aimed at his persona in return. And given what kind of character she actually was, that said a thing or two.
But with her reflections on events out of the way, here we have it: Devil May Cry, advertised with a neon sign that even a blind man couldn’t miss. It took her a second or two to actually grab the handle to the door and open it up due to her expectation that Rebellion (Dante’s sword-of-choice for the uninitiated) would give her a stinger the moment she showed her face. When that didn’t materialize, and she was actually able to open the door without getting impaled, her body drew a silent sigh of relief. A cautious Larxene? Hey, hell had to freeze over some times too.
With the surprise - not getting attacked - out of the way, the things that were expected kicked her in the face. As the door closed behind her to the tunes of rock music coming out of a jukebox she could be forgiven if she had mistaken this place for a bachelor’s apartment rather than a office. A drum set, a pool table, more stereo speakers than could be counted and a vast assortment of guns and swords were just a few of the items of notability spread around this place. The crown jewel on it all was the desk in the top-right corner of the office (seen from where she was standing) where the King of Style himself sat on his throne, partially obscured by a small tower of pizza cartons. Right then, time to get to business.
“Well aren’t you lucky, Dante. I don’t usually make house calls you know.” She started as she slowly approached him, one heavy step of from her boots at a time. “So the walking handbag’s been bothering you too, huh?” Cocky as she may have been, it was pretty clear on her somewhat defensive stance, with her arms crossed around her belly and going into her unbuttoned coat, that she didn’t fully trust his motives all the way out. Hey, for once you can’t blame her for it; swinging a blade at someone doesn’t make a very good first impression.
Where: Dante's shop.
When: Late in the evening, 02/07.
Summary: Things just don't seem right, and Dante has something to tell an old friend.
Rating: Probably PG-13 for language and hinted violence.
Other: I hate writing intros. :D
Let’s get one thing out of the way: this whole spectacle was against her better judgment right from the start. It might just be her sense of self preservation kicking in, but heading back to these grounds in Terra just seemed like a bad idea. I kid you not, for even if Nobodies are hard-wired not to feel the sting pesky emotions like fear she certainly felt an unnerving sensation creeping up along her spine. The memory of getting stabbed and trapped underneath a building in the midst of a quake is just something you can’t peel away in a rush, dream or not. Call it acting on a well-justified sixth sense that something bad would happen or the inevitable side-effects of skipping out on her medication, pick whichever fits you best.
That said, it was just petty irrationalities on her behalf, right? At least that’s what she tried telling herself as she ventured through the sunset-lit street (more like alleyways and other less visible paths) of Terra of while doing her best to avoid the ID-scans as she went. That man better have had a good reason to call her out in the late hours when her level-3 ID no longer was valid on this level.
The fact that she actually bothered to make the effort though pointed to something as strange as, and hold on to your jaw here, her actually feeling a sense if respect for Dante, as strange as that may sound given their (mildly put) turbulent relation in the past. Again, feel free to blame that on her skipping out on her medication. He was one of the few people that knew her that could actually open his mouth in her presence without getting a damning rebuttal aimed at his persona in return. And given what kind of character she actually was, that said a thing or two.
But with her reflections on events out of the way, here we have it: Devil May Cry, advertised with a neon sign that even a blind man couldn’t miss. It took her a second or two to actually grab the handle to the door and open it up due to her expectation that Rebellion (Dante’s sword-of-choice for the uninitiated) would give her a stinger the moment she showed her face. When that didn’t materialize, and she was actually able to open the door without getting impaled, her body drew a silent sigh of relief. A cautious Larxene? Hey, hell had to freeze over some times too.
With the surprise - not getting attacked - out of the way, the things that were expected kicked her in the face. As the door closed behind her to the tunes of rock music coming out of a jukebox she could be forgiven if she had mistaken this place for a bachelor’s apartment rather than a office. A drum set, a pool table, more stereo speakers than could be counted and a vast assortment of guns and swords were just a few of the items of notability spread around this place. The crown jewel on it all was the desk in the top-right corner of the office (seen from where she was standing) where the King of Style himself sat on his throne, partially obscured by a small tower of pizza cartons. Right then, time to get to business.
“Well aren’t you lucky, Dante. I don’t usually make house calls you know.” She started as she slowly approached him, one heavy step of from her boots at a time. “So the walking handbag’s been bothering you too, huh?” Cocky as she may have been, it was pretty clear on her somewhat defensive stance, with her arms crossed around her belly and going into her unbuttoned coat, that she didn’t fully trust his motives all the way out. Hey, for once you can’t blame her for it; swinging a blade at someone doesn’t make a very good first impression.