whatever, lady!

               selective   𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘   from   the   𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋   𝐌𝐀𝐘   𝐂𝐑𝐘   series.   canon   divergent.   mutuals   only.   ----   a   tale   of   loss,   fall   from   grace,   and   a   fight   for   survival.   

@vergl​  said:      "  ever  since  back  then  you've  made  your  whole  world  demonic."  loosely  releasing  the  leaf  of  a  book  it  was  returned  to  the  empty  slot  alofta  shelf.  not  yet  had  his  gaze  moved  to  face  the  other.  though  his  attention  was  hers  and  hers  alone.  a  typical  silence  followed  between  them  accompanied  with  a  stillness  from  his  posture.  only  when  fixing  his  collar  was  his  frame  turned  to  face  lady.  a  slow  gait  to  close  the  gap  between  them  just  as  worldless  as  prior.  In  the  moments  of  rejoining  her  the  blue  gaze  of  his  own  held  onto  those  split  colored  eyes  of  hers.  eventually  there  no  longer  was  distance  to  part  them.  just  an  intimacy.  digits  rose  up  within  their  gauntless  to  take  hold  of  cascade  of  her  framed  face.  only  the  tips  of  brunette  locks  brushed  his  fingers.  regardless  of  what  vergil  imitated  in  his  skewed  and  self  imagined  thought  of  romance  he  still  would  present  to  her  a  loyalty  and  a  sense  of  companionship.  there  gazes  held  like  those  of  hands  interlocking.  quietness.  .  .  a  brush  of  his  thumb  against  the  height  of  her  cheekbone.  the  rumble  of  a  hm  within  his  muted  amusement.  he  was  amused  afterall.  "  you've  even  gone  to  call  a  devil  a  lover.''

            to  others,  vergil  was  an  extremely  intense,  cold  +  calculating  individual.  the  way  lady  understood  him,  however,  was  far  more  than  mindless  assumptions.  in  her  apartment,  he  takes  off  his  shoes  before  entering.  he  treats  her  things  with  the  respect  and  care  that  even  she  wouldn't  give  them,  and  how  he  speaks  to  her  in  such  a  low,  careful  register.    maybe  he  isn't  kind,  but  there's  a  kindness  in  his  eyes,  coupled  with  an  admiration,  and  the  tiniest  bit  of  humor.  

it  was  true.  when  she  was  a  child,  demon  reports  and  dissertations  were  all  she  cared  to  pay  any  attention  to.  what  made  them  tick.  what  they  were  weak  to.  how  to  take  one  apart.  it  was  all...  driven  by  a  blind  need  for  vengeance,  mixed  with  a  gut-wrenching  anxiety  for  what  was  to  come.  her  father  had  taught  her  what  a  monster  was  truly  made  of,  and  how  he  fit  in  with  the  ilk  so  seamlessly.  dante  and  vergil  had  shown  her  the  depths  of  their  hearts...  how  they  bleed  red  just  as  she  does.  

still,  in  their  line  of  work,  the  books  were  still  handy.  

as  he  approaches,  lady  keens  her  head  toward  him,  eyes  casually  expectant  as  she  bored  them  into  his.  his  touch  follows,  and  at  the  hold  of  his  palm  at  her  neck,  she  feels  her  eyes  flutter  closed.  

were  they  ever  all  that  different  ?  she  remembered  two  stubborn,  misguided  teenagers,  met  at  blade's  edge.  both  chasing...  any  sort  of  control.  their  paths  meandered  far  away,  but  they  always  found  each  other  again.  each  time...  less  and  less  spiteful.  from  this  deep  resistance  grew  familiarity,  and  from  the  familiarity  grew  respect,  and  from  this  respect...  grew  affection.  

her  cheek  chases  his  palm,  and  his  given  warmth  spreads  over  her  face,  and  her  lips  involuntarily  pull  into  a  smile.  soft,  and  sweet.  she  was  putty  in  his  hands,  prepared  to  fall  asleep  at  any  mention  of  the  word.  after  a  moment,  her  eyes  crack  open,  and  she  peers  at  him  through  lidded  eyes,  the  tiniest  hint  of  mischief  allowing  the  corner  of  her  mouth  to  flick  upward.  

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏  𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘  𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋  𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 ,        frown marring his expression as he enters into the dim lighting of the pizza place .  How it was that Dante managed to convince him to pick up his pizza is beyond him  (  vaguely recalling the sweeping annoyance  &  groan with a door slam as he stepped out into the sunlight outside the Devil May Cry  ) .   It’s difficult to ignore ,   aside from the already STUFFY atmosphere resting on both of them ,   instilling the desire to simply receive their order  &  effectively quit the place without a second thought .                                           HIGHLY UNLIKELY. 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋  𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇  𝐇𝐄  𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓 ,        he opts to glance over her as brow slowly quirks upon his forehead .   Hers is a familiar face ,   recalling her as a friend of Dante’s ,  &  one of the faces that made their attempts to stand against the THREAT against humanity that loomed not so long ago .   

                                              you like pizza ?

                        ❛    No .    ❜        𝐡𝐞  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬  𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 ,  𝐧𝐨  𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧  𝐭𝐨  𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭  𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐡 .   Never has he been FOND of the greasy foods that Dante often seems to seek out ,   day in  &  day out .   A sharp exhale ,   head turning away to glance up at the poorly backlit menu behind the lone cashier in the facility  (  the employee themselves making attempts to alleviate their ennui with the rapid tapping on the screen of their phone  ) .   ❛    I decided to come in Dante’s stead .   I had no desire to remain in that rotting building he claims to be a living space .  ❜ 𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘  𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 ,  𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  &  𝐘𝐄𝐓 .   He approaches the young man at the register ,   grimacing at the large pink bubble that pops  &  is promptly vacuumed back into his mouth as he vacantly glances up at the Devil .  A slight turn of silvery crown ,   piercing achromatic gaze falling on the woman ,   regarding her closely .   Carefully .         ❛  ———— you don’t strike me the type to live off of bread  &  cheese .    ❜

             “  so he... “   she’d kill him. she’d kill him. she’d string that dumb bastard up by the red of his coattails. ( she’d make a devil cry, alright... ) a gloved hand of her’s tenses into itself, anger twisting onto her face, but careful enough to turn a way no one would see it. dante did this. deliberately. imagining the smug look on his face ---- no, she had to calm down. 

it wasn’t like she didn’t want to see vergil ---- she was interested in how he was coping in their “human” world after spending so much time away from it. she’d unconsciously followed his journey: from the small amount trish would tell her, and the smaller amount dante would. a sad, tragic tale ---- though, she knew better than anyone not to feel sorry for him. pity was the worst thing she could give him, give anyone. however, none of the conversation topics that rested under her tongue and un-rested in her mind were at all appropriate for the current situation. instead, the two of them were forced to interact in a completely casual setting. for now, the only thing that gave her any piece of mind was the fact vergil had walked here without instigating anything with his brother. ( though, at the moment, she wasn’t thinking much about her own peace with dante ) 

❝       my   memory   has   become   vague   on   many   things  .   from   what   I   remember   it was   a   young   man   looking   for   power,   a  𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋   with  enough   𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑   to   fill   the   temin   ni   gru ,  and   i can’t remember   the   last   person   there.    ❞      that’s not true, he just doesn’t care to mention his name.

😳 what if we... shared a dark/light parallel symbolizing our tragic shared experiences  😳 (and also kissed in the temin ni gru)

❛      so  …  you know the son of sparda ?   what do you think of him ?      ❜

despite sounding inviting ,   interested ,   &  inquisitive with her tone ,   her stature contrasts that of her voice ,   being reserved  &  closed off in nature .   her arms wrap around herself as if she’s holding herself up ,   preventing herself from crumbling under the unbearable weight of her self doubt .   she’s intimidated by lady arkham out of both respect  &  admiration for her ,   so lucia tries to maintain the facade of a cool  &  collected assassin ,   sworn to protect humans from the demonic threat ,   in order to potentially impress her ,   to provide the illusion that she is more than she truly is .   lucia has always felt less than others ,   especially after her discovery of her true origin ,   but dante helps to keep her upfloat from drowning in her own pool of self hatred through his continuous encouragement of her  &  her abilities .   however ,   she doesn’t even believe she deserves the abilities she possesses ,   &  finds herself delving into a familiar downward spiral while she awaits for an answer from her companion .   when will the torment end ?

         of course, lady knew of lucia. while dante himself wasn’t too keen on spilling details, certain information trickled downwards sooner or later --- mostly in the form of trish’s gossip. lucia: an able fighter, trustworthy, dante’s friend. 

“ that guy.... “  quickly, lady’s expression takes a form of annoyance. what did they think of dante? what a loaded, unpleasant question. “ horrible. just horrible. “  their nose scrunches, lip following suit. “ y’know, he set out to ‘borrow’ my motorcycle, again! i oughta- “ lady cuts herself off, biting her cheek to halt the incoming rant surely to come. 

sheepishly, she grabs at her pockets. “ he’s not all bad....just, well i’m sure you know about how irritating he can be. “ with that out of their system, her soured expression fades, and a smile swiftly replaces it. dante being dante wasn’t lucia’s fault, anyway. 

❝   𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥l      𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥  ,    —-   that    was   a    long   time   ago  ,      ❞

all of which, was not suited for the all too empty lobby of devil may cry’s favorite pizza place.

oh, she could just die. embarrassment coagulated with the anger of the vague possibility she knew who put them up to this. (she’d kill him. for real next time) the muted, broken top ‘40 serenading them was not, in-fact, helping. 

lady needed to say something. there was absolutely no way she could simply play off not recognizing him. he was still carrying yamato. and while there was no evidence he even recognized her, lady starts: 

                                 secondhand rapture   /   accepting 

      at first, she doesn’t understand what he means. hands slow over haggard bandages, allowing herself to feel the torn gauze with bruising fingertips. 

of course, lady knew pain. she’d known pain from the day everything changed. the first step into her childhood home, on that day. on that day. on that day, the glass ceiling shattered into millions of rose-tinted daggers. her heart is just as scarred as her body. it heals. it heals over and over itself. old wounds are as visible as the new ones. 

such is life. 

“i hardly think “devil hunter” is a riskless job.” she laughs, more bite behind her words than she’d intended. lady pulls back the curtain, revealing a tattered, yellow flesh. with heavy icing, this was back to working conditions in two days. not half bad. 

they didn’t expect him to understand, not with the regenerative prowess he had. lady wondered when they’d stopped interpreting such a cold, icy gaze as calculating, and instead saw the worry in his brow. instead saw the debate behind his eyes. instead saw the conflict of body and mind.  though, she supposed recovering from pain was a skill he’d learned, too. pain was his lover, too. a distant, forgotten one. 

“don’t look at me like that, i’m not so stupid to go and get myself killed, now. “ again, she laughs. a breathy chuckle against a bargaining smile. (why is she laughing? was it funny?) and, ever so slowly, her hand reaches to his own. hesitant. comforting. and with his finger, does she trace the constellations in her flesh. the soliloquy of survival, the story of her life, told by countless battles hidden in a toughened, uneven skin. “plus, a younger me would’ve called me ‘cool’. i don’t think she’d change a thing.”