#devilmayreply

@devilmayreply sent . . . "So I hear there's another guy out there who treats chaos like a full-time job. Gotta say, I respect the commitment, though I'm guessing your medical bills are worse than mine."

‎ ❝ Probably 'cause I don't have an actual job. ❞ That's supposed to be a joke, even if his tone lacks the humor to accompany one.

The cigarette is lowered as ribbons of smoke leave his nostrils, they prance higher in the air until eventually fading. Dude's eyes roll toward the white haired stranger.

‎ ❝ My credit score's fucked. Partially why I live in a shitty trailer instead of a nice home. ❞ That, and because he lacks a job, like he had just said. ❝ Apparently the government won't let you have shit if you build up debt 'cause you nearly died. Assholes. ❞

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?"

Updog? That's NOT a word Vergil has EVER heard in all his years. His eyes lift from the book of poetry that he was skimming through: waiting for Dante to continue his statement. Silence lingers between the two brothers for a few awkward seconds. Vergil realizes that the other man isn't going to explain himself at all.

❝If you want me to have an ACTUAL conversation with me, you'll have to use REAL words.❞

He snaps his book shut, agitation becoming CLEAR. Vergil KNOWS he ought to just drop this topic all together. It's not WORTH entertaining Dante, but his curiosity is KILLING him right now. He leans back in his chair now, crossing arms over his broad chest. Finally, he concedes.