𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖕𝖔𝖙

His boot stays exactly where it is, propped on the old desk like it's paid rent there. A faint scrape of leather follows as he shifts his heel a little farther, just to make the point.

Then he finally tilts his head toward her, lazy grin already forming.

"Must you always notice the important things?"

He taps ash off an unseen cigarette or just mimics it out of habit, like the idea alone is enough to complete the image. His eyes flick briefly over her face, then back to the ceiling fan groaning overhead.

"This place is held together by spite and bad decisions. My boots are basically structural support at this point."

A beat.

a mix of arguments, tension, manipulation, gossiping, fighting, & general emotional messiness!

you  weren't  supposed  to  hear  that.

don't  look  at  me  like  i'm  the  only  one  lying.

want  to  tell  them,  or  should  i?

you  think  i  don't  know  what  you  did?

i've  hit  people  for  less.

oh,  i  thought  you  already  knew.

that's  funny,  you  didn't  say  that  last  night.

say  that  again.  i  dare  you.

you  wanna  talk  about  loyalty?

no  offense,  but  if  you're  the  last  to  know,  that's  on  you.

go  ahead  -  pretend  like  it  wasn't  your  idea!

they  deserve  to  know  the  truth.

you  didn't  hear  this  from  me,  but  -

oh,  so  now  you  care?

don't  flatter  yourself.  you  were  just  convenient.

you  crossed  a  line.

we  had  bets  on  how  long  it  would  last.

it's  not  even  a  secret  anymore.

you  don't  get  to  cry  about  it  now.

touch  me  again  and  see  what  happens.

say  it  again.  louder  this  time.

you  really  thought  nobody  would  find  out?

don't  act  so  innocent.

okay,  but  am  i  the  villain  for  laughing?

tell  me  who  else  knows.  right  now.

this  whole  time,  and  you  didn't  say  a  word?

don't  act  brave  now.

you're  really  gonna  do  this  here?

it  wasn't  supposed  to  get  this  far!

you  can't  rewrite  history.

oh,  i'd  never  say  it  to  their  faces.

it  was  supposed  to  stay  between  us.

we're  all  thinking  it,  i  just  said  it.

you're  not  as  untouchable  as  you  act.

do  you  even  feel  guilty?

they  warned  me  about  you.

go  ahead,  make  it  worse.

if  you  repeat  this,  i'll  deny  everything.

the  next  thing  out  of  your  mouth  better  be  an  apology.

you're  about  three  seconds  away  from  regretting  this.

you  keep  pushing,  and  i'll  push  you  back.

they're  going  to  find  out.

one  more  lie,  and  i  walk.

they're  lying  to  you.

you  need  to  back  off.  now.

you're  defending  them?  after  everything?

don't  try  to  hide  it.

tell  me,  was  i  just  a  placeholder?

you  really  think  sorry  fixes  this?

there's  nothing  left  to  say.

don't  act  like  you're  the  one  hurting.

i  don't  owe  you  any  explanation.

whatever  helps  you  sleep  at  night.

you  should've  seen  this  coming.

i  hope  it  was  worth  it.

i  told  the  truth.  just  not  all  of  it.

you'll  miss  me  before  i  miss  you.

smile.  you're  ruining  the  mood.

i'd  watch  that  tone  if  i  were  you.

it's  not  my  fault  you  believed  me.

you  have  such  a  talent  for  pretending  you're  innocent.

we  both  know  this  is  over.

i  never  said  i  was  a  good  person.

Patty sighs and brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "No, Dante, I mean get out more outside of work. Do you people not go to bars to unwind? You need more friends."

He leans back in his chair, chair creaking under the movement, and gestures vaguely at the surrounding chaos.

"Okay, first of all, this is not a pigsty."

A beat.

A loose paper slides off the desk on cue.

"...It's a strategic mess. Keeps demons guessing."

He kicks the paper back under the desk like that settles it.

Then his grin softens a notch, because Patty's not exactly wrong and he knows it.

"And hey, I do go out."

He points toward the door.

"I go out there. I just usually come back through a wall, or a window, or whatever's left of the building after a demon throws me through it."

He pauses, scratches his cheek, then adds a little more honestly under the humour.

"Bars are...fine. I've been to a few."

A glance sideways.

"Most of them don't stay standing long after I show up, though. Not exactly great for repeat business."

Then he finally looks around the office the way she is, really looks at it this time. The broken furniture, the clutter, the half-lived-in exhaustion of the place.

His shoulders lift in a small shrug.

"As for the rest..."

A short exhale, like he's conceding something he doesn't love admitting.

"Yeah. Maybe I've been a little busy lately."

The grin comes back, but it's lighter now, less shield and more habit.

Dante glances around the office, the busted jukebox, the stack of unpaid bills, yesterday's pizza box that's become today's coaster.

"...I go out all the time."

He counts on his fingers.

"Demons knock down a wall. I go out."

"Somebody screams. I go out."

"Lady wants me to do her job for her. I go out."

"Trish says it'll 'only take five minutes.' I definitely go out."

He shrugs.

"i guess i have the bad habit of toppling into trouble like that. i'll have to find my checkbook sooner rather than later. or my jewelry. i find a lot of it's turned out to be a good investment."

a pause.

"So you're telling me people keep hiring you to get chased by killers.."

He rubs his chin, pretending to weigh the evidence.

"...And outside of work, you somehow keep finding the supernatural."

He points at her with a knowing grin.

"That's not bad luck anymore. That's a lifestyle."

He waves a hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about the checkbook just yet. Jewelry's easier to pawn anyway."

A beat.

"...Kidding."

Probably.

When she starts counting off the roles on her fingers, he looks genuinely intrigued.

"Huh."

"I would've figured haunted houses would've been beating down your door."

He shrugs.

"Then again, maybe the ghosts take one look and go, 'Nah. She's got enough going on already.'"

A laugh escapes him.

"Meanwhile, slashers?"

He makes a broad gesture.

"Those guys are persistent. Mask, knife, creepy breathing...they always think they're the toughest thing in the room."

His smile widens into something cockier.

"They'd last about thirty seconds around here."

He hooks a thumb toward the shop behind him.

"Funny thing about monsters is they all think they're starring in their movie."

His eyes flick back to Louise.

A devilish grin appears on her lips.

"What? If you're gonna lock yourself away, then someone's gotta take over the shop. And I think I deserve it. I've stuck around the longest."

She's only joking, of course. But she does have a point. She is the one who gave him the idea for the name Devil May Cry in the first place. She doesn't actually expect him to hand over the deed, though. She's more than content to come and go as she pleases. She prefers it, actually.

"You know this place could use a good tune-up. Put me in the management position and watch! I'll have the plumbing fixed, the bills paid, and all those damn cobwebs gone in a matter of no time! Hell, I'd even bring this place up to date decor-wise."

"Uh-huh."

Another nod.

"Fix the plumbing...pay the bills...get rid of the cobwebs..."

His brow furrows.

"Lady...are you trying to improve my business?"

He looks genuinely alarmed.

"That's...that's not the Devil May Cry way. This place has a reputation to maintain. If customers walk in and nothing leaks, they'll think they got the wrong address."

He gestures broadly around the office.

"The cobwebs are atmospheric. The broken neon sign builds character. Half the chairs are held together by hope and poor financial decisions. It's a vibe."

He pauses, eyeing her suspiciously.

"And 'updating the decor?' Lady, are you planning on replacing my jukebox with one of those fancy Bluetooth speakers? Because if so, this interview is over."

A grin finally breaks through.

"Besides..."

He hooks a thumb toward himself.

"This dump only works because I'm running it. The second somebody competent takes over, people are gonna start expecting professionalism. I can't have that hanging over my head."

Her last comment earns an approving nod.

"See? That's what I'm talking about. You get the nice apartment with the view, I get the office that sounds haunted every time the pipes cough. Everybody wins."

He glances around as the building lets out a faint, suspicious creak.

Dante points toward the ceiling.

Gun smoke and carnage were one thing, the overt reek of something infernal was another. A miasma of it surrounded them and the man they could assume was the perpetrator. Coyote's face twisted into a grimace. "Eugh..." The back of their hand covered their nose. "Not you, the smell." Despite all the awful things they've had the displeasure of sniffing in their life, this smell was one they could hardly abide by.

"It's your lucky day. I'm not in the mood to lay into somebody based on their methods of destruction." Way too flashy, way too messy. "No snacks. Unless you want a cigarette to chew on." On that note, they lit one up in hopes the smoke would force everything else from their senses.

Coyote was here alone. A threat, maybe. A threat to Dante, not at all. They scoffed, dark brows furrowing. "I'm not with these bozos, if that's what you're thinking." The burn of abhorrence tainted their voice. There was something about Coyote, something entirely different. Not at all demonic, still malicious, but stagnant. "Dig the sword. Compensating for something?"

"Ouch. You know, most people at least buy me dinner before they start psychoanalyzing my equipment."

He plants the tip of Rebellion against the pavement for a moment, resting a hand on the pommel without putting any weight into it. More relaxed than defensive.

"And for the record?" His grin grows. "The sword came first. The ego just grew around it."

His attention lingers on the cigarette for a second before drifting back to Coyote. They didn't smell human, not exactly. Definitely not demon either. Whatever they were sat in a category his nose couldn't quite file away. Strange. Old. Hungry.

"Guess that answers one question." He gestures loosely with two fingers. "You're not with the ugly crowd."

Another glance at the carnage surrounding them.

"Which leaves me wondering why you're here."

He studies Coyote for another beat, expression still easygoing, though there's a little more intent behind it now.

"Because people don't usually stroll into the middle of a demon attack looking annoyed by the smell instead of the monsters."

A crooked smile returns.

"So either you've seen weirder...or you are weirder."

He gives a small shrug.