☠ 01 : Something to Take the Edge Off
Who: _devil_inside and somarium
Where: Random bar in the Residential District
Style: Prose preferred
Status: Open like a whore's boudoir.
He'd heard the song a million times and still loved it. Although not normally the hard rock he usually preferred, there was still something about the instrumental and the lyrics that spoke to the devil hunter, somewhat soothed the savage beast lurking beneath human skin. A necessity these days.
He'd ventured out from his customary haunt after waking from what seemed, to him, a wonderfully refreshing nap. No crappy dreams, no horrid nightmares, no slavering monsters haunting his sleep. For once. Refreshing, that. Emerging into the city, Dante had discovered that the creatures infesting the Industrial District had become even more of a menace; civilians were being attacked with frightening intensity. Hell, the military had even been called in. Uncharacteristically, the Man in Red had given those boys a wide berth, content to simply observe as they went about their duties.
But watching those who'd been "infected" with damned purple stone had turned even his stomach. So, he'd joined in, doing his share of duty to keep safe those who now lived in fear of their own sanity.
Tonight, however, Dante was a bit terser than normal; he'd done enough slaughtering to glut a regiment but still somehow wanted - needed - more. He knew exactly what the problem was: the devil inside needed out. It needed release, the chance to slip this pathetic human meatsack and revel in destruction, death and chaos. And he supposed it was way overdue, at that. Back in LA, though it damned his soul to hell forever to admit, he always made sure to let it out at least once every five weeks, choosing a dilapidated part of town to unleash his demonic vengeance. But always, come the morning, the carnage had left him sick to his stomach.
Such was his heritage.
A snort at that thought. Thanks, Dad. Really. He downed the shot in his hand, flicking the empty glass back across the bar for another; the barman refilled it without a word. Alcohol often took the edge off, but never fully quieted the beast. It was just a matter of time. The tall man leaning against the bar sighed, closing shockingly bright blue eyes and ran a gloved hand through unruly platinum, feeling the surge roiling in his blood. Fuck.
"Ya all right, man?"
He opened his eyes but stared at the bar as he heard the old man's tentative question. And Christ knows he had no right to be surly; the old geezer took good care of him, after all. Dante was by now a regular. So he bit his tongue on the sarcasm that rose first to his tongue and heaved a deep sigh, instead.
"Yeah, I reckon. Just...tired." Wasn't that God's truth, though. So very tired of all this fucking shit...
The song ended then and Dante glanced at the ancient music box before getting up and once again pressing "repeat", then returning to his bottle and the bar. Small comforts, at that. Small comforts.
Where: Random bar in the Residential District
Style: Prose preferred
Status: Open like a whore's boudoir.
He'd heard the song a million times and still loved it. Although not normally the hard rock he usually preferred, there was still something about the instrumental and the lyrics that spoke to the devil hunter, somewhat soothed the savage beast lurking beneath human skin. A necessity these days.
He'd ventured out from his customary haunt after waking from what seemed, to him, a wonderfully refreshing nap. No crappy dreams, no horrid nightmares, no slavering monsters haunting his sleep. For once. Refreshing, that. Emerging into the city, Dante had discovered that the creatures infesting the Industrial District had become even more of a menace; civilians were being attacked with frightening intensity. Hell, the military had even been called in. Uncharacteristically, the Man in Red had given those boys a wide berth, content to simply observe as they went about their duties.
But watching those who'd been "infected" with damned purple stone had turned even his stomach. So, he'd joined in, doing his share of duty to keep safe those who now lived in fear of their own sanity.
Tonight, however, Dante was a bit terser than normal; he'd done enough slaughtering to glut a regiment but still somehow wanted - needed - more. He knew exactly what the problem was: the devil inside needed out. It needed release, the chance to slip this pathetic human meatsack and revel in destruction, death and chaos. And he supposed it was way overdue, at that. Back in LA, though it damned his soul to hell forever to admit, he always made sure to let it out at least once every five weeks, choosing a dilapidated part of town to unleash his demonic vengeance. But always, come the morning, the carnage had left him sick to his stomach.
Such was his heritage.
A snort at that thought. Thanks, Dad. Really. He downed the shot in his hand, flicking the empty glass back across the bar for another; the barman refilled it without a word. Alcohol often took the edge off, but never fully quieted the beast. It was just a matter of time. The tall man leaning against the bar sighed, closing shockingly bright blue eyes and ran a gloved hand through unruly platinum, feeling the surge roiling in his blood. Fuck.
"Ya all right, man?"
He opened his eyes but stared at the bar as he heard the old man's tentative question. And Christ knows he had no right to be surly; the old geezer took good care of him, after all. Dante was by now a regular. So he bit his tongue on the sarcasm that rose first to his tongue and heaved a deep sigh, instead.
"Yeah, I reckon. Just...tired." Wasn't that God's truth, though. So very tired of all this fucking shit...
The song ended then and Dante glanced at the ancient music box before getting up and once again pressing "repeat", then returning to his bottle and the bar. Small comforts, at that. Small comforts.