Bear's Multimuse

MULTI MUSE - INDIE - MULTI VERSE

18+ & somewhat selective — AS TOLD BY BEAR MAIN ACTIVE MUSES: Karl Heisenberg (RE8) — Dante Spards (DMC)

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— ' ' Could you also work like an 8ball ? Like if I shake you up really hard you will tell me some yes & no wisdoms ? ' '

That sure is one H̶͍̀̈͒́͝͝e̸̺͉̞̊̊̉̇͝ͅl̶̡̃̌͆͆̈́͝l̶̨̦̹̺̲͍̇̇̏̽̃ of a question. The soft WHIRR of electronics springing into action fills the silence. His eye narrows, the blue light flicking its gaze up, then down, left to right, and back. He is clearly thinking this over, though that silence doesn’t last long.

“Uhm, I’m going foooor…No.” A pause. “Wait, yes!”

“I mean– There ought to be a good chance I can absolutely calculate the likeliest ‘yes or no’ outcome of your questions. Without the shaking. Wouldn’t recommend shaking me around. Lots of delicate electronics in here, wouldn’t wanna scramble them up and— and uh, damage me. I do not recommend damaging me, at all.”

           @lasraichean ASKED:

           ❝ it’s not normal for someone to be as stupid as they are tall, and yet there you stand. ❞

  “  Oh? Does my pet think her tongue so clever as to insult me? Your lacking wit does your attempt at mockery a grave disservice, I’m afraid to say.  ” 

  “  Leave the eloquent art of cutting words and stinging barbs to the bards, little lamb. For even the dullest knife among that lot has sharper words to spew than you.  ” 

                                       Gives Dante a kiss , Gives Dante a kiss , Gives Dante a kiss Gives Dante a kiss , Gives Dante a kiss , Gives Dante a kiss , G----

How long had he been away for this time? Hell if he knew – some jobs just had you forget that time passed, or even the ways in which it did. All that Dante knew now was that he wanted to strip out of blood-soaked clothes and sleep.

Boots were haphazardly kicked off at the door and his leather coat dumped somewhere on the floor down the hall. His body was too heavy with exhaustion to care about where he left his things, scoldings be damned. The one singular thing on his mind being that he needed to reach a place to rest, something which thankfully did not take long. He rolled his shoulders with a loud groan, stretching his arms above his head and letting himself fall onto the supple worn leather of the large couch that stood in the main area of Devil May Cry.

One could call it a rude awakening, being attacked by a peppering of kisses. The tips of claws dig into the fabric of his shirt as hands rest heavy on his shoulders. A pleasant warmth radiating from somewhere half above and half beside him. And every couple seconds hot lips press kisses to a different part of his face.

There was no doubt on who his attacker was.

           @lasraichean ASKED:

           ❝ i’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but i’m not that good a liar. ❞

           "  And without manners.  ”   The Devil quirks his brow at her, gaze boring into Annie. Eyes intense, he yet manages to keep his expression calm and collected. Almost blasé.

“  Our business has not yet concluded. If I may be as bold to remind you, you’ve yet to complete your side of the contract. And there is still more you owe me for the gifts I’ve bestowed upon your sorry hide.  ”

Raphael circles her then, eyes never leaving his prey.

“  A little lamb, abandoned and lost,     wandered off the beaten path.     Out of its safe little fields, into shaded underbrush.     Everywhere it went darkness followed close behind,     Intent to sink wolfish teeth in pristine hide.

    So did the lamb run from its predicament,     seeking a haven from harm.     And where did it end up but in wide open arms?     Of a shepherd so kind with room to spare,     a roof put over her head where she could now take care.

    In safety she was part of the flock.     Working hard using the skills that she brought.     She’d earned her keep but weary she grew,     forgoing kindness shown, aching to start anew.

                                        "It is quiet here."

This whole shift between worlds still took some getting used to — or perhaps it was more apt to say the workload took getting used to. Dante felt like he hadn’t stopped fighting since Darck took him under her wing after he got spat out in this reality. The threats  (small in comparison to home though they were)  being far more present in this world than demons ever seemed to be in his.

Just a hundred little fires in the form of various lingering outbreaks that needed to be put out constantly. ℍ𝕖𝕙, it was almost enough to make him miss the world-ending scenarios he’d gotten so used to facing. At least with those he’d gotten a break between jobs.

Not to mention the unease he felt when faced with their targets. The knowledge that these were once just regular people getting infected by no fault of their own — it made it difficult to distance himself the way he could when facing down your run of the mill hellspawn.

Fingers tighten themselves around the handle of Ebony  (Ivory still resting in her holster, snug at his side,)    as he stares ahead into the darkness. Her comment earns a snort with the corners of his lips quirking upwards. It sure as hell wouldn’t stay that way for long. Whatever was at the other end of that darkness, he was ready to go in.

“Looks like they planned us a surprise party.

                                    "Hey! it's me! Remember me?"

The ‘crispy’ sound of embers burning away the edges of a freshly lit cigarette is almost as calming a sensation as the nicotine entering his system. Centering him. It was a better ‘bad’ habit than drinking — the comparison surfacing unbidden, expression twisting into a sour grimace. It didn’t seem to matter how far he’s come since falling into the bottom of a bottle, the memory was going to remain a biting one.

Good job, Redfield. You’re accomplishing the opposite of what you set out to do.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep drag, allowing himself to fully drink in the sensation. Steadying, re-centering. Eyes still closed, Chris could smell the traces of the exhaled smoke dissipating into evening air and feel the cold nipping at the exposed skin of his face. The sounds of a city transitioning from day to night slowly coming into focus as he properly grounded himself.

The sound of footsteps some ways behind him came into focus, too. It couldn’t be a threat. Not here. And if any part of him were in some way, shape, or form on the defence . . . well, the voice that came with said footsteps washed any worry away.

Plucking the cigarette from between his lips, he turned. Managing a smile (weary as it may seem) with which to greet an old friend.