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🪽 — Last blog ⏪

DANTE

After a very rough breakup you found yourself at a club with a few friends, well… You weren’t quite sure if you could call them friends after what happened.

They swore up and down they’d babysit you so you could cope over a couple shots. But then a couple of shots turned into a few, a few into a handful, and a handful into a shit ton. The last thing you could properly remember was dancing with an older looking man, hell, you probably danced with the whole city that night but who you ended up with the following morning was the aforementioned older man.

Dante was out on a similar mission. He hadn’t been broken up with but he certainly had a justified reason to be on a binge. His whole life he felt justified in his overconsumption of alcohol, but that night he had seriously overdone it. He started drinking in his early twenties at pubs, usually sitting around on a stool while other mercenaries whispered about him behind his back. He really only ever drank by himself, but decided after a few decades that it was time for a change. He loved to dance, but never really went out to clubs. Too loud, too crowded, just not his vibe.

You couldn’t seem to get yourself up and out of bed. Your eyelids would flutter open, you’d groan and look around the room, but it took you nearly an hour to really get up and open your eyes. You were terribly sore, every muscle in your body twitched and ached as you tried to get yourself up to sit on your ass. The side of your head was throbbing and your right ear was ringing. It was like you’d just been hit by a semi-truck.

Unbeknownst to hungover you, the ‘semi-truck’ was laying right beside you. Dante, improperly dressed, wearing only his gloves and socks. Neither of you noticed one another, that is until he finally woke up and sat up once he sensed you. His body did a much better job at metabolizing liquor than yours did so when he looked at you he was immediately overwhelmed by all the blurry memories of the previous night. You turned to look at him when you felt the bed shift and screamed bloody murder, terrified at the old man in your bed.

“Hey, hey! Relax!” He whispered, hoping that his calm tone would calm you down.

You couldn’t be bothered to properly assess the situation or process any of the regret that settled over you in that moment. You just dragged two hands over your face and let out a disappointed groan. Where the hell did your friends go?! What happened to them being your babysitters? You never got yourself into trouble like this, you had survival instincts—at least you thought you did up until now.

“Are ya’ okay, hun?” Dante grumbled while shifting around under the sheets. He felt embarrassed, wasn’t sure where the hell he was and he didn’t have any clothes to save him if he had to dash out of this place.

“Did we have sex.” You said bluntly, it came off more like a statement than a question. It was a dumb question to even want to ask, you were both laying in the same bed completely naked and clearly hungover after a long night of partying.

For a second Dante just stared at the wall, then flicked his eyes towards you just to find that you couldn’t look at him either. “Uhh… I think so, ‘m sorry. I’ll go, yeah?”

“Hold on! I have… questions.”

Nero

Sometimes you, Nico, and Nero would gather in Kyrie’s garage after some hardcore demon bloodshed. Nico would supply a few beers but when you noticed Nero abstained from drinking on most occasions you inquired about his preferences on alcohol.

Turns out that super hard worker, the quarter-bred demon with an engine powered sword and a revolver that had the power of a sawed off shotgun was more into sweet drinks and liquor than anything. He wasn’t exactly repulsed by the bitter, bready taste of beer, but would much rather have something smooth and fruity to soothe the stomach. Y’know, that first shot of vodka or tequila after a long day of work burning its way down your throat and settling heavily in your gut. That’s the feeling he loved.

You on the other hand would drink just about anything that was provided to you. But you decided that Nero deserved a bit of a treat after Nico tortured him with Stella’s and Budweiser’s all week.

That weekend you pulled up to Kyrie’s place and knocked on the door, but Nero was the one who answered and thankfully he was alone. No kids bouncing off of the walls, no wife to order him around. He let you in while trying to hide that grin on his face when he saw the bottle in your hand.

“Are ya’ just gonna invite yourself over and throw a party at my place?! You didn’t even call to ask,” He laughed while locking the door behind you. You had already walked over to the dining room table and set down the bottle of liquor on the wooden surface, even setting down a couple of shot glasses.

“I’m not throwing a party—I was hoping it’d just be me and you. I planned on calling Nico but I think it’s about time me and you get slammed on our own time.”

It was late, you were already a few drinks in. Nero had a can of cola in one hand as a chaser while preparing to take another shot. You tried to keep up but after about four doubles you decided not to drink yourself to death. He decided that shot would be his last, gulped down the rest of his soda and slammed himself back onto the single seat recliner with so much force he tipped the whole thing backwards and ended up under the seat by some ridiculous miracle.

There wasn’t much hope left for either of you. Nero groaned in pain while you watched, one of his hands reaching out to signal for help like all those times Wile E. Coyote ended up under a comically massive boulder. You couldn’t help but laugh maniacally in your drunken state. The eight shots only seemed to amplify the effect his fall had on your already exhausted body. You laughed so hard you swore you’d grown a six pack once it was all over.

Kyrie wasn’t too happy when she got home the next morning to find the recliner on its side, you sprawled out over the couch, and Nero curled up on the ground.

Vergil

“You always come up with the most foolish ideas. You just breed mischief don’t you,” He stood at the end of the table with his arms crossed.

You proposed the idea of a drinking game and had even come up with rules and circumstances. But when Vergil didn’t wanna do something you’d know it. He’d roll his eyes, cross his arms, stare at you with his signature judgmental glare. He’d never outright reject you, instead he’d just have this look on his face that screamed ‘leave me alone’. But you had a loophole to get through to him and it worked every time.

“Y’know if you’re scared i’ll win you can just say that.”

In an instant Vergil scowled and rubbed the bridge of his nose before finally taking a seat beside you. A pile of cards sat stacked in front of him, you had already grabbed a card to read aloud. The premise of this game was rather simple. Be asked a sensitive question, if you choose not to answer then you take a drink. There was one problem. You were shameless, Vergil on the other hand was blunt sure, but had lots of secrets. a

“Ready?” You asked him while raising a brow. He huffed and nodded his head.

“Alright, Vergil… What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve said in bed?” You couldn’t help but giggle as you read the card out. Before you could even finish Vergil slammed a fist down on the table and turned away from you.

“Ridiculous! You don’t expect me to answer such a question, do you? All to prove I can handle a few schnapps?” Vergil shook his head and stood there again, his arms crossed, rolling his eyes like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

“Come on! It’s just a question!” You put the card down and looked at him, trying to fend off the laughter threatening to burst out through your lips.

“Draw another card.” He snapped back, turning to face you with that same expression from before

“If you want me to draw another card then you’ll have to take a drink, you know the rules.” And so you poured him a shot and slid it towards his side of the table where he still stood with his gloved hands tucked under his arms.

“Fine, I’ll play along with your game.” He took a little sip, furrowing his brows at the sharp flavor hitting his tongue. When he caught you watching him in his peripheral he decided to just bite the bullet and down the rest of the drink.

The night continued on in the same way. At one point Vergil stopped arguing over the nature of your question and would just slide his glass toward you while clicking his tongue with that signature Vergil sas. After a few more Vergil was slouched over in his chair, his words barely connected, it almost sounded like his tongue was numb. It didn’t take long for him to finally knock himself out, his head crashed into the table and he made a pleasant smile almost as if it had been years since he’d gotten any rest at all.