(no subject)
[ooc note; Obviously, it's not REALLY Vergil in this thing, but hey. Gotta get Dante to puppydog along somehow, and that? Was the perfect way. It's long. D: Forgive me, he wouldn't shut up.]
He'd been lounging around his shop, doing a lot of nothing, just as Lady had pegged him for, a bottle open on the desk in front of him where he'd kicked back with his feet on its surface. He'd been going to meet her, like she'd wanted, but as he willed himself to rise from the chair, he just didn't have the energy. True. He'd probably had a bit too much of the hair of the dog, given the circumstances and his habit of doing that lately, ever since...
Dante shook his head and brushed the tangled white locks from his face, holding them there in place where they flopped over his fingers in a sloppy imitation of the one he was trying to forget's hairstyle. It didn't do any good to think about it; any of it. It just made him drink more and fight more and become far more self-destructive than he'd ever been before. If before the tower he'd been drifting, now he was just listing to the side in the middle of nowhere, barely staying afloat. They'd barely known one another, at all, if the truth were known, but some things never really died. He supposed the bond between twins was one of those things, which was why he felt so lost then and there; he'd lost an important anchor, probably the only one he'd had, because Lady, while a good friend and someone who, up until then, had kept him somewhat leveled out, just couldn't be. She wasn't blood, and they'd only been thrown together just because of who's kids they happened to be.
It felt like the blink of an eye, from the time he released his hair until he found himself on the ground, his chair having tipped completely over, leaving him sprawled there on the floor. From where he lay, he could see he'd knocked the bottle of rum over on top of his desk, and it had gurgled out of the bottle, leaving a sticky, drying puddle underneath his right shoulder, and leaving him smelling to high heaven of booze. And while Dante fully admitted he was a drunk, he didn't smell like one, and the rum was potent in the otherwise dusty air. His nose wrinkled and he gave a slight groan as he started to push himself upright, and with a shake of his head he cleared the hair from his eyes so he could see, even if the only thing to look at in his somewhat reclined position was his legs where they dangled over the edge of his chair, as flat to the floor as he had been.
He needed to get up. He knew that. He swung his legs over the chair and rolled to his hands and knees, still trying to shake the feeling of muzziness that just wouldn't let him go. Maybe...Maybe it was time to lay off the booze, just for a while, until he could get his bearings again. It would leave his nerves raw and exposed, but it was for the best. Maybe. He couldn't spend the rest of his days drinking like a fish and trying to flog himself for everything he could have done differently to change the outcome of how things had come about. And if Lady caught him being so melodramatic and mopey, she'd stomp his head in with those shit-kicking boots of hers. It wasn't all that pleasant of a thought.
He groaned in a more irritated fashion as he climbed to his feet, boots hitting the floor with loud thumps as he hauled himself straight and straightened the collar of his jacket, the too-long hair at the nape of his neck deciding to bother him where it was tucked in. He needed a haircut, too. And probably a lot of other things, that he just hadn't bothered with in a while. Food came to mind. He supposed it was a good thing he was what he was, or he probably would have starved to death at that point.
A few stumbled steps later had him heading toward the kitchen in the back of the shop, not at all sure he'd find anything decent to eat there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to go shopping for anything other than booze. Such was the story of his life, really. He wasn't even sure if he had the cash to cover something like that, at that point. Oh, sure, he'd been working. Working kept his mind off of things, after all.
The hardware that made up parts of his jacket clanked as he drew to a halt outside of the kitchen, something causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention, and he promptly stuck his nose in the air and sniffed, not placing the odd scent. Not demonic, at least...But then...What? Dante hesitated a moment before nudging the swinging door open with his foot and inching his way with it, to peer into the darkened room, eyes adjusting with an unnatural swiftness to the dark.
What he saw wasn't his kitchen. Not really. It was bigger than the kitchen, far more expansive, and no tall, dusty windows let the fading sunlight in. Where the cabinets and counters and fridge had stood were, instead, a row of doors, all marked with a roman numerals counting to five.
"...Okay." He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, reaching behind him for his guns, only to find them missing. That's right, he'd left them on the desk. It was split-second, the way he backtracked and scooped them up, gripping Ivory tight in his right hand as he flung Ebony into the holster on his back, before reaching for Rebellion as an afterthought. There was no way in hell he was going into what was an obviously possessed room without being armed. But he couldn't leave it there, either. Curiousity killed the cat, and all that bullshit.
When he returned, it was gun first, ears pricked for any and every sign of something, as his gaze darted about him a bit nervously. It was different, when it was home turf that had been warded, that was being warped and twisted. But his gait was sure regardless, as he started toward the doors, taking in every detail he could. This was beyond odd, it was beyond enough to get his back up, and he wondered, really, if he shouldn't have just...Stopped with the booze before then. But he was sure as hell sober now.
"Dante..." The voice was quiet, carrying a tinge of amusement, and was so familiar that, for a moment, his heart lurched to his throat and he almost stumbled, before firming his grip on Ivory where the parts of his hands not covered by his gloves had become slick with sweat.
"...Vergil?" It couldn't be. He knew that, on a conscious level, really he did, but it didn't stop him from looking around for a splash of blue and white against the black, hoping against hope he'd come across it. "...Vergil, where the fuck are you."
He could hear the footsteps, but there was no one there. He was overwhelmed with the sense of him being there, but there was nothing. Only sound and feel.
"I'm right here." Dante found his arm holding Ivory being forced downward, and as far as he knew, only one other person was strong enough to do that, especially when he was as high-strung as he was at that moment. "So slow, Dante. Wake up."
"Fuck you." The words were clipped, but he willing dropped his arm the rest of the way, feeling the resistance of keeping it up release. "What, you die or something? Come back to haunt my ass? Get the fuck out."
"I'm sure that would make you thrilled. Pick a door, Dante." The footsteps continued, in what was a slow circle around him, sounding as though they'd come to a halt right in front of him, and Dante found himself reaching out to see if anything at all was there.
Of course, there wasn't, but it didn't make it any less frustrating. "Why the fuck would I wanna do that, huh? Do I have 'stupid' tattooed on my forehead? Didn't think so."
"That's debateble, brother." There was laughter in the voice, and Dante scowled, trying to make out anything at all in front of him, before the footsteps started again. "You need to pick four things, Dante, and four things only to take with you. I imagine you want your silly guns; that's two. Father's sword makes three." Something clinked at his feet, and when he glanced down, his amulet lay there, glinting in the non-existant light to his demonic vision. "I recommend that."
"Fuckin' lot of good it's ever done me," Dante grumbled under his breath, bending quickly to retrieve it and sling it around his neck. "Yeah? Now what."
"A door." There it was. That irritation he was used to hearing from the other, underlined with the infinite patience of an older sibling. "Choose, or I choose for you, and we all know how you hate to be babied."
"Pushy bastard where?" It was snapped, as Dante started for the doors, slinging Ivory into the harness against his back. "Yeah? And what's the fuckin' point of me picking a door?"
"If you needed to know, I'd tell you. Now choose." The footsteps followed Dante as he made his way to the row of doors, and he paused there, glancing over his shoulder as if Vergil was really standing behind him, with a smirk. "Now, Dante."
"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a bunch." He took his time, before reaching out to open the third one, faced with infinite darkness as it swung open. "There. Ya happy now, assmonger?"
"Beyond words, Dante." And with that, Dante felt a rough shove in the small of his back, just above his guns, that sent him toppling inward.