BATTLE THEME

[ToF - Sparda and n!James]

Mon, 21 Aug 2006 12:38:51 GMT

MMMkay, Thessaly, how do you want to do this. :o?

[Dante & Vergil - TOF]

Wed, 09 Aug 2006 19:38:43 GMT

Yeah. So. He shouldn't have been there, and technically the drinking age in Desai was twenty or so? But it was Redlight Haven. No one cared in that area. Tayon, Redlight, they never carded.

Which was why the young man sat in a corner of the sleezy, dingy bar with a mug of... he didn't know what. It started off as beer, but each time he ordered, the demands grew slurred, and he'd request various things thrown together, and even though the bartender got a little eye quirked, he catered to the bizarre requests of the young man. Hey, he had the money, so why wouldn't the greasy tub of whale lard not?

It was sad that Vergil was a bit of a lightweight to begin with, so after a good five or six drinks--something that, if Vergil recalled correctly, Dante would have taken with a grain of salt--he was feeling rather numb (or was it three drinks?). It didn't help that he wasn't the most pleasant drunk, and some of his former hostilities from younger years were shining through, which could be seen from the man that had "taken a spill" when walking past Vergil for smelling like he'd stuck his head up the ass of an elephant.

And all the while, as Vergil could have sworn that was actually his seventh drink (third, really) in front of him, he was grouching. Did people have nothing fucking better to do with their goddamn time? Getting attacked on the "big bad intarwebs" (oh, if you asked him, it didn't bother him), to getting fucking... molested by a red headed fag without the sense to know you don't touch those places on random passers-by (he was trying not to admit that sparked other things). And hadn't his father killed that stupid bitch yet? And why was Dante such a fucking... brother. Why couldn't he be a blazing asshole like his other self, and--

--why was he even there again? he wondered, along with where he'd gotten that eighth (third) mug of... what was that shit? He peeked over the rim to study the foamy syrup (beer).

Taken with a grain of salt? More like come out of stone sober, but that was only because Dante, really, could have been considered a borderline alcoholic. But that wasn't the point, at the moment. The point was, something was really, really wrong with Vergil, and though Dante tried his best to let it alone, he couldn't. Truth be told, he hadn't been lying when he'd said he had nothing to say, because he hadn't, but he'd wanted to, and didn't they say it was the thought that counted, to begin with? Or did that even matter.

Regardless. There he was, once again puppy-dogging because he couldn't very well leave well enough alone. It wasn't like it was hard to begin with, anyway. That sixth sense, or whatever someone wanted to call it, led him right to where he needed to go. And while he hadn't been surprised it was a bar, he was a little surprised at the type. After all, it was more his kind of digs than Vergil's, but then...It wasn't like he questioned much of anything to begin with.

And once Dante was in said sleezy, dingy bar, he'd admit to raising an eyebrow, because...Really, now. He'd had higher expectations of the places here in Desai, from the bars he'd been in, but this? This was sad. It almost made him homesick for the places right down the street from his shop. But that wasn't important, Vergil was. And, well, whatever the hell was bothering him. So, quickly scoping out the room, it didn't take long to find him (like the two of them didn't stick out anywhere, anyway), and made his way over, before nonchalantly dropping into the seat across from his brother, like he'd meant to meet him there all along.

"Hey."

It made him twitch. What the fu... Didn't he tell Dante he wanted... well, no, he didn't, but he thought it was easy to see that he really just wanted to be alone. Sure, something was wrong, but did it matter? No. Because it just... the whole situation made him absolutely livid with himself. Never, in his whole life, had he been so horribly sensitive about... anything. Sure, he'd been through quite the emotional jostle--something that he was still healing from, his prior lacerations but bruises along his body then, and his hand was still occassionally being utilized as a chewtoy--but that was no excuse. He was acting like a woman.

But there Dante was, and had he been anyone--anyone--else, Vergil would have thrown his damn mug at his face. But as it was, it was Dante, and he found himself hanging his head and tugging at his hair with his good hand. "...what are you doing here." No, it was not said with a small hiccup.

Like Dante would have really listened in the first place. Alright, so maybe he would have, but as it is, he couldn't ignore what his gut told him, and if anyone didn't like it, that was their problem, not his. Dante had always tried to go by what he felt was right, anyway (stints as a completely heartless dick against anyone who wasn't family aside). Besides, in his own mind, he had a lot to make up for, from what had happened before.

So, instead of having just...Left well enough alone, there he was, witnessing a rare sight, indeed. Not that Dante blamed him. That would have made him one hell of a hypocrit, if he had. After all, he was the one who drank like a fish in water anytime any little thing got him worked up even slightly, aside from, well, job-related things. But despite all that, it wasn't something he'd have seen Vergil doing in the first place. That was Dante's thing.

Which he helpfully pointed out, too. "Here you are, stealing my habits, too. I do believe we've rubbed off too much on each other." No, no, he wasn't ignoring Vergil's question, he was just working his way around to it. Slowly, as he slouched a bit more, rubbing the back of his neck; a sure sign he was uneasy, if one were to pay enough attention to recognize his habits. "I didn't have anything better to do." Which was close enough to the truth, and he was going to be leaving it at that.

The first comment was almost ignored, simply being reacted to with a small frown as he sloshed his drink back and forth in his mug. Sadly, it was true that this wasn't Vergil's thing. Vergil was usually able to roll with it. To take it, to shove it away, and keep it away where no one would see it. If there was some external force, like a person, contributing to make it worse, he'd often just... take them out at the knees in order to better keep it to himself. Misconstrued as anger problems, that.

...nevermind, Vergil did have anger issues, especially back when he first reunited with his brother. But he'd deny it to that day.

And at the second comment, he rolled his eyes and thunked the mug twice against the table before fixing his eyes elsewhere. Damn it. "So, out of all the clubs and shops and bars, you just happened to hit this one," he said with a rather drastic slur. Dante... was a good brother, but Vergil wasn't blind to the puppy dogging, for the most part. It was okay, and kind of funny most the time, but times like right then? He wanted to rip Dante's nose off for it.

See, he hated that. He did. And were he a few years younger (and smarter, some would have said), he'd have just gotten up with some offhand comment about just dropping in for a second, anyway, and shuffled off to go mope in peace. And, in truth, part of him still wanted to do that. Okay, most of him still wanted to do that, but doing that, and slinking off just because he felt uneasy had led up to a lot of stuff that shouldn't have happened, which was why he wasn't going to this time. Yet, anyway.

That, and Dante could be incredibly bullheaded and obnoxious when he wanted to, and though that wasn't the intention here, it was still the truth of the matter.

"Uh, yeah, just like that." No, that wasn't a slightly-smartassed tone (it was). Like hell he was going to actually admit to following Vergil there. Vergil, honestly, should know better by now, and good thing, too, with the way he was going down, and fast. "Good thing, too, 'cause what would you have done otherwise, since yer a lightweight?" Like Dante didn't know that, either. Seriously, now. And really, even Vergil couldn't be dumb enough to let himself get wasted in some bar in the redlight district like a dumbass. Well, maybe, since that was kind of what was happening, but he should have known Dante would follow him.

God, had the little twat been any other person on the face of any planet, Vergil would have mauled him. Regardless of the fact that Dante could thoroughly wipe the floor with him, Vergil would've. But, no, he didn't have anger issues. At. all.

Instead, Vergil just found himself shaking his head, loosely and a bit wildly because of how gone he was. "...you act..." He let himself trail off for a moment, still shaking his head. He didn't care. He didn't care at all. No one else sure as fuck cared about any of it, other than the mirror image of himself, dissimilar tastes aside, sitting in front of him. At least that's what it felt like, right then. The knowledge of a father on his way, and a mother away to keep herself free for the both of them long forgotten, taken away by the effects of the bitter fluids he kept taking in, all his mind remembered was that he had Dante.

...but Dante was a big boy. No matter how much Vergil tried to shelter him, the street-raised twin was probably far more capable of surviving on his own than the sheltered one. "...probably roll into a ditch and let the local wildlife and insects eat at my flesh."

"And wouldn't that have been a shitty way to wake up." Dante nodded slightly at that, because he knew he was right. Well, in some respects, anyway. Besides, the vibes were killing him; he was just choosing to ignore them for the moment. Because, to Dante, it didn't matter if he could wipe the floor or not with Vergil. He didn't want to, and wasn't looking for a fight. Well. Not with him, anyway. Now. Had that slutbag of a bitch that had threatened to have his mother locked away waltzed in...And he'd found out that's who she was, then he'd have his fight (not that it would be much of one, really).

"Trust me on that one." Not that, you know, he had any experience with that. At all.

Whatever it was, he couldn't ignore what his gut told him, and his gut told him something was wrong. And given that, really, some part of him was terrified something would happen that would take Vergil away from him (because Dante didn't have any creepy, stalker-like tendencies when it came to his brother at all), he'd just...It didn't matter. It didn't matter, because he'd followed Vergil, and there he sat, toying with a lock of hair that hung in his face, in some dingy bar, having forgotten all about their father looking for them. All because something was wrong with Vergil, and it was his job to make sure nothing else happened.

Yeah, something was wrong. Something was really wrong, but it made Vergil feel ill thinking about it, so he was trying to not. And it did nothing, having Dante there, to help him with it all. It'd been too reoccuring a memory through the demoness, with that filthy red head's treatment of him as nothing but the topping on the cake. So much so, that as he sat there, staring at Dante, reminding himself of it, did he find his one leg bouncing not unlike a fidgeting child, while his left hand made its way to his mouth so he could mindlessly chew on his thumb, and hard.

Between gnaws, however, he replied with a, "...maybe." And his blue eyes trailed away as he continued, staying quiet as he spoke, still between his grinding teeth into flesh. "But if I don't remember what happens between leaving here and waking up there, does it matter? I think not." That logic made sense to him. Really.

Dante wondered, then and there, if he could do anything right. Apparently not, but he wasn't going to just give that trepidation away. He kept his expression as neutral as he could, but it was damn painful to watch Vergil do that, because he'd pretty much gotten his brain around the idea that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hell, he couldn't stop much of anything, really; never had been able to, truth be told. But he wasn't going to ever show that, not like he had. He wasn't that weak. At least, he didn't think so. Was he? He didn't...

It didn't matter. His own personal lack of...Anything remotely useful didn't matter at all. Not when it was doing nothing but making him slouch lower in his seat, until he caught himself with his elbows and hauled himself upward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers and looking the opposite direction. He couldn't watch it. He couldn't. Because he couldn't stop it, and it was like...He didn't know. He didn't have anything at all to compare it to, really, except feeling hopeless and helpless, and he wasn't going to do that. Not here, anyway.

"I dunno. I think it does. Been there, done that..." It was said as offhand as he could make it, giving a shrug. And it was hard, but he thought he managed it reasonably well.

[Dante and Vergil - Original Sin]

Wed, 19 Jul 2006 01:13:24 GMT

A trail of blood led from the small office he'd hijacked, belonging to a man he'd met a few years ago when he was walking home from school, and saw them haggling him in the very alley he was in that night. A little guy at the time, really, he still had enough strength to take them on, though not without suffering an injury or two. Between then and present day, the man allowed Dante use of his small cafe, now one equipped with the internet, on occassion whenever he pleased. Mostly, Dante was technologically retarded in regards to that sort of stuff. Wiring, cables, he knew about that shit like plumbing and...

...what was he thinking? There he was, sprawled in that alley, missing a good portion of his right leg, and body cut up in several places. And humming. Humming Yankee Doodle Dandy, and it was good. Oh yes it was. He'd tried to get out of there, to get to his place, so he could hide, because out in the alley, he was exposed to any passing demons that might've smelled his blood. They liked chomping at half-blood flesh, the crazy shits.

Just like that little, mangy dog that was sitting by him, trying to get at his leg. Seething whenever that doggy tongue would lap across his raw flesh, Dante would snarl and flail and kick weakly at the dog. He almost shot the fucker once, but didn't want the sound to give him away like that.

Okay, so. He was hidden behind a dumpster, and... yeah, as soon as the colors stopped spiraling around in his vision, and as soon as the sound (and feeling) of a train going through his brain ceased, he'd continue on his way home.

Was that dog smiling at him?

He could smell it just as clear as anything. That was strike number one against Dante. Strike two was the fact he could feel the distress of it all, and it wasn't just through the bond they shared as twins. Dante, for all practical purposes, had left himself as an open target for anything of the demonic kind that cared enough to pick up on it. Which proved he was a fool. And forcing Vergil to drag (haul) ass over there, on his own and only following his own senses? Strike three. Which put Dante in a very bad position indeed.

And so there Vergil was, on foot, overcoat in dark blue wrapped around him, as he followed the invisible trail to his little brother, cursing under his breath the whole while. There, for all intents and purposes, had better not be a need to carry the idiot, or he'd relieve him of something else with his blade, which was, as always, tucked away at his side. Especially now, when he'd be a fool to come to Dante unarmed. That would have been asking to land himself in the exact same predicament. And, well, Vergil wasn't half the idiot Dante was.

And as he drew closer, he caught the humming of Yankee Doodle Dandy, he did, indeed, and he rolled his eyes as he tugged his coat around himself even tighter, wrinkling his nose. An alley. Oh, how typical of Dante. And while he understood the need to...Stay out of the public eye while injured, it was always an alley. Every time, anymore, that he saw his brother...It was in an alley. But that was fine, because Vergil didn't plan on leaving either one of them there too long. It, to be plain and honest, wasn't safe.

"Oh, Dante," he commented conversationally, as he came closer, mentally going over what was done to his little brother, "did you fall down, go boom, little brother?"

He didn't feel him. He didn't sense him. At all, probably due to the bloodloss, and the shock of hearing his voice caused Dante to reel towards him and train his .40 Beretta on the speaker, eyes unspeakably wide and dark as he tried to figure out who that was. Under the sound of the train barreling through his brain, he just couldn't tell.

It was only after he got himself to blinking a few times that he slumped against the filthy concrete and kicked limply at the dog that seemed unaffected by Vergil's arrival, too preoccupied with Dante's leg, or, rather, the lack thereof. He rested his head against the ground, irregardless of the muck and yuck covering it in the shadows, and let his eyes close for a minute or two. "Go'way, Vergy-pervy-wervy-nerdy." Yeah, his brain was running off and spewing words out a little excessive. Bloodloss sucked. "Nothin' to see here, right?"

Stupid... why'd he have to show up? Dante had everything under perfect damn control, after all. He did! He was just resting.

Uh huh. Under perfect control. Right. Vergil would believe that when Dante got up and did a two-step. Oh, right. He couldn't, missing part of his leg. Resting Vergil's ass. "Uh huh." He stepped closer, glaring at the dog though it ignored him entirely, and moved around to Dante's right side, attempting to shuffle the creature off that way. It would be a pity if the only blood he happened to spill that night was of a mutt, really. And he knelt, shaking his head, which was the only show of any kind of emotion he'd allow himself, though in truth his blood was bubbling. Someone had hurt his little brother, and Dante had mentioned getting gipped. That meant someone had to die.

"You're right, Dante. I can't see half of your right leg." And it was said just as flatly as it could be, as he glanced up to peer at the younger twin's face. "You look like hell." Which was bluntly said as well, because it was the truth. Dante did look like hell, moreso than usual. And that just pissed Vergil off more. He was going to find whoever was doing the 'gipping' and he was going to kill them slowly, just because he could. All things like 'fair play' went out the window when it concerned his little brother.

"You're delusional. What the hell..." He paused, shaking his head. "Well. To be perfectly honest, Dante, I don't believe you'll be dancing any time soon, horizontally or not. And let me tell you, it's oh so much fun to regrow limbs." Not that Vergil had any experience there, of course not. He hadn't spent two weeks regrowing a leg and an arm once. Not at all.

Gipped. Story of Dante's life. And while Vergil thought it was just because Dante was a damn moron... well, to some extent it was, and Dante would admit it, though only to himself. He'd been doing decently for a while there, until he got fucked in Midgar. Customer wanted the head, and the body had been... well, there was no head after the whole sector got crushed. He'd put a lot of damn effort into that job, not bothering with other jobs because the pay off on that was going to get him his fancy shit. Make him look like a real damn hunter.

After that, Dante... got desperate. But he'd been "off the mart", so to speak, for so long that some new hunters came in and he was forgotten. Some thought he got his ass killed. Getting back to getting reputable status, to get reputable 'customers' was fucking hard, though, after being there once before and disappearing.

So, he was fucking desperate, especially with that kid now there in his life. And even though, every so often, he'd haggle Vergil to bum a meal off of him, he didn't want to do it except once in a blue moon, and then just as an excuse to annoy Verg. Any other time, like that moment, he wanted no help from him. He didn't need it. "Go home, Verg," he said, words involuntarily slurred as he spoke them. "...erything's fine here. Gotta go do shit." He opened his eyes, that had been shut when he was speaking, focusing on Vergil. "Without you. Seriously... stalker."

And through that, Vergil actually didn't bother looking at Dante, pausing instead to examine his fingerless gloves, almost going so far as to hum in the back of his throat. It was just Dante whining and wibbling while trying to look like a big boy, and Vergil didn't buy it a bit. He knew Dante too well, whether Dante realized that or not. Besides, they were twins. Vibes. That, and Vergil wasn't as oblivious to things as Dante was. "Of course you can, Dante. Of course you can." He straightened to his feet, reaching out to smooth the front of his coat as he did so, before taking a step back and swinging his hands behind him, clasping them there.

"Well, then, big bad hunter, get up. Prove to me you can go do this 'shit' you have to do, and I'll quite happily go the hell home, because it's not like I don't have better things to be doing." Really, did Dante think he was made of free time? That he wasn't...Well, none of that was important because none of it was Dante's business. "Otherwise, it looks like you're stuck with me. Come on, baby brother. We could use some quality time together."

Oh, he was being a bastard, and he knew he was. Unfortunately, that was the only way anything at all could ever be proven to Dante, because the boy was too thick to realize it any other way. So let him try to get up, and fall flat on his face, and when Vergil had picked himself up off of the ground from laughing at him, he'd take the wibbler somewhere safe so he could heal.

Teeth gritted and fingers grasped at the pads on the ground, as he glared at Vergil--over a shoulder, as he'd rolled onto his stomach by then. And if looks could kill... but he just didn't fucking understand it. He didn't. He wanted to be alone, and did Vergil have any damn clue how fucking humil... no. No, he didn't, because he was Vergil, and he was a bastard.

"...weasly shocktard," he grumbled. He began to rock at the hips, in preparation to heft himself up. He was going to do it, oh yes he was, and he was going to show that bastard how able-bodied he was, missing leg or not.

Muscles had to really work, as Dante crawled his arms backwards, to ease himself up onto his good knee. He was taking his air in puffs, huffing and grinding his teeth tighter as he tried to get himself up. It hard, really hard, especially as he had nothing to grip to help him, beyond the seals between the bricks. Why couldn't the asshole just leave him to lick his wounds in peace? Huh?

It had been a good battle for the white haired young man. A good battle, and he was nearly able to straighten his one leg to support his entire bodyweight, when weakness from lack of blood caused the knee to cave and there Dante went, cracking against the ground in a messy, loud padding of flesh against... gravel, glass, and whatever else had been left there to dig against him (again), and he growled before popping a bloody hand against the ground. And Vergil never was about giving someone a second chance to prove themselves.

Well, he'd tried. And failed. And no, Vergil wasn't about giving second chances, because that was bullshit. If you couldn't do it right the first time, then it was on you, and that's all there was to it. But he did snicker slightly, from behind the back of his hand where he'd pressed it against his mouth for the purpose of holding that snicker in. But it was funny, the way Dante had flopped there, even if he was still going to kill whoever was responsible for his brother's missing leg, oh yes he was.

But it didn't change the fact that Dante flopping like a fish out of water was hysterical. But at least he had the good grace to not outright laugh at him, like he wanted to do. Or point out that Dante sucked at his job, because every time, almost, that Vergil had heard anything from him recently, he was either hurt or starving. He clucked his tongue and started forward, giving a sigh as he bent down in preparation to get Dante to his feet- foot. "Oh, Dante. You knew that was going to happen. And now, brother dear, you leave me no choice."

Dante could suck up his honor and pride like a big boy, because Vergil, from that point onward, wasn't going to be listening to his bitching. He didn't care. Which was why he went about situating Dante's right arm around his shoulder, so that he could lean on Vergil from that side as...He didn't have most of his right leg, so he could get him...Wherever. Vergil wasn't sure where he wanted to leave Dante, to be perfectly honest. He wasn't taking him to his rathole apartment, not for the kind of healing he'd have to do. Because he really didn't think Dante understood.

Your turn, VE.

[Jack and Vergil - TOF]

Mon, 17 Jul 2006 21:46:28 GMT

[Placeholder for Jack and Vergil :)]

KARA. WHO DO YOU WANT TO START. I CAN.

[Dante and Lady - TOF]

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 01:47:37 GMT

[Placeholder]

HEY NAT. Like...:O Dante and Lady can meet in Cordova maybe? Where the animals are going crazy? And...And...DANTE CAN GET ATTACKED BY A CHOCOBO OR A MOOGLE OR SOMETHING. :O?

[Dante and Vergil - TOF]

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 10:04:07 GMT

Er. No reading. >:[ Lots of aaaaaaaaaaaaaangst. And enough grossness to put ME off of eating. Your turn, VE. Dun make me cry again. ;;

The hotel staff was going to be pissed.

It was in there somewhere. It had to be. He swore it, as teeth chomped tightly down on the flesh of his arm, spooned free by use of glass shard from the mirror he broke during his search for reality.

Reality. One minute he had it, the next he didn't, but in a split second it came back, but just as soon was gone again. It was enough to drive him insane. Everything that gave a remote relfection was marred or broken in a quest to find it. The dressers and nightstands and tables were scarred with clawmarks and blood, where his nails gave out and cracked free, but even despite, he scratched until something else caught his fancy.

Vases and pictures were shattered all across, in a path of destruction that came to a head in the bathroom, where the mirror was punched to pieces. He'd broken down, the communicator being the only thing left untouched, being his only communication to his brother. But he'd broken down, and would never admit to the tears that burned at his face, nor the respite that followed as blood-slick hands, pieces of nails dropping off as new ones slowly regenerated in their place from his earlier digging frenzy, he babbled to his brother.

And his brother's announcement that he was coming to find him, followed by another snapping between mental states, threw him into a worse frenzy, the urge to find 'reality' being turned to his flesh. So there he sat, blue and grey fabrics sopping wet in red, digging at his left arm with a large shard of glass, until the flesh stopped responding to the digging and slicing movements, and he grabbed the flesh with his teeth, not unlike a wolf with its kill, and ripped, taking skin and muscle alike when he did so, the pain not detering him, but only driving him to work on his upperarm, as opposed to his forearm, which was a stringy, useless mess.

All the while, he muttered and mumbled to himself in various languages, seething because he just wasn't finding where it was.

Dante had no idea. He didn't, because he was simply...Oblivious to just about everything, anyway. He really was, and the fact that he was worried about Vergil (because no matter what anyone said, though Vergil was...Always a little off, he wasn't crazy), and that had just...Overrun everything else, even his own senses. One would have thought that would have sent them into overdrive, considering, but Dante...Worked funny. And that was okay, really.

But there he was, actually using the front door of the hotel for once, looking a mess himself, thanks to his run-in with...Whoever that had been. He didn't know, didn't believe it was himself, so he didn't much care. All he cared was that the guy had whipped his ass, and now something was wrong with Vergil. The closer he got, the more he could feel it. Hell, he could smell it. After all, twins though they were, Vergil's blood smelled different than Dante's, and it only prodded him to move faster, to break into a jog and finally a flat-out run as he tore through the hotel to his brother's room.

Whatever was happening...No, Dante didn't understand. He didn't, but it had him scared. He'd admit that. He was scared. Mother alive or not, Vergil was his responsibility, his only family, really, and something had happened. He didn't even bother with the courtesy of knocking or announcing his arrival as he let himself into the room (something else housekeeping could be pissed about, when they found the door half-hanging from its hinges), before he was stunned to a halt, taking in the mess the room was in.

And he just stood there a moment, gaping at it all, unable to force his feet to move him, before he forcibly shook himself loose and started following the trail, slowly, too...Shocked? Stunned? Freaked out? To go much faster, as it led him to the bathroom. And his voice was very small, to himself, when he could finally force words to unstick from his throat. "...Vergil?"

He didn't look up towards the voice. Tears still burned at his eyes, frantic, pained and worried, as his right hand, slick from the glass slicing his flesh repeatedly, continued to dig, right down into his bicep, and--

Letting out a strangled scream, Vergil threw the shard against the bathroom tile, and the sound of it breaking went unnoticed as he frantically tore his shirt off, as it was getting in the way, goddammit. Getting in the way, but not anymore, as it was thrown aside as well. Thrown aside and forgotten, as he grasped his torn arm by the elbow and forced it upwards, fangs grasping and tearing. The sound of his skin and muscle tearing was akin to fabric being torn, scritching apart from his arm, sound hideous.

But he didn't take notice. No. Still muttering, still trembling, he released the flap of skin from his teeth and shoved his fingers into the tear, wiggling them up towards his armpit, audibly seething and rocking worse as it burned from pain and caused his arm to spasm violently. "It's--It's in there--" he choked, near hyperventillation. "H-Has to be--I can't--" A leg kicked out, in reflex to his fingers managing to scrape against the flank of his ribcage. "Why--?"

Dante reached him then, and for a moment could say or do nothing, except clasp a hand to his mouth, at the bile that burned in the back of his throat. He's seen worse, so he didn't understand why this, of all things, would bother him now. Maybe it was because it was his brother, and the fact that he was doing it to himself and...He didn't know. The smell of blood was overpowering, enough to make him gag behind his hand, though he couldn't tear his horrified gaze away. He couldn't move forward, either. He couldn't do anything at all, really, except unwillingly stare, trying to swallow back what was coming up.

And then he was moving, but it wasn't toward Vergil. It was away, to the window at the far side of the room. Of course, some small voice whispered in the back of his mind, it wasn't like he could make a bigger mess of the room. He tripped over something, he didn't know what, he hadn't been paying attention, and he didn't care because it hadn't taken him down, only tripped him up a little, and sending him crashing into the very window he was trying to reach. He struggled with it a moment, but finally got it open, and for a moment stayed perched there, wondering if he should go back and try to stop Vergil, or find someone to help him. He didn't know, he wasn't good with things like this.

He didn't puke like he thought he was going to, though. That was one good thing. But he was woozy. Really woozy. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to get some semblance of...Composure? He didn't know, before he turned around and went back in there and...And did something. He wasn't sure on that, either. He didn't want to be forced to hurt Vergil further to make him stop.

Well. Vergil hadn't been kidding about something being wrong. That was for sure.

He glanced down, to where his hands gripped the sill, to find them shaking madly, and he simply breathed again, willing them to stop. He wasn't strong enough for this, he wasn't. He was the little brother, it wasn't supposed to be like this. And the room, the way the blood had smeared...It was like then, just like then, when he'd walked in and seen it. It had stunned him into silence for almost a year. He hadn't had Vergil to help him then, either. And just like then, he was too fucking weak to do anything but cry.

It wasn't there either. It wasn't. He'd torn and ripped, and now his mid-ribs were exposed, and only then did a flash of lucidity smack him in the face and cause him to choke and stop, slapping his hands over his face, his palmheels pressing into his eyes tight. No. This wasn't right.

Nothing was right. He could feel the switches in his mind, back and forth, back and forth, from one belief set to another, and so drastic. From stone emotion to lust in the veins of the most vile taboos. Willingness to participate in the most cringeworthy acts, to wishing for nothing more than to sit in a corner and read books and learn how to wield his powers better...

His brother. That was... the scent, familiar, suddenly hit his senses amidst the entry of polluted air from the open window in the next room over. And in that moment of sanity, temporary or not, he didn't know, the pang of regret hit. He hadn't meant for Dante to see it. He hadn't, and being the type to always attempt to shield Dante from needless sights of violence (which was ironic, considering his brother's job), all it felt like was a failure. A huge failure...

Granted, in this spike of sanity, Vergil wasn't truly all there anyway, as the urge to comfort his brother overrode the thought that he ought to stay there and try to regenerate before doing so. He attempted to hoist himself up, too, except with his one arm utterly destroyed, and his other's hand still cut wide and slick with fluid, he slipped and slammed his chest against the glass-littered tile. Pathetic. He was looking pathetic, and he was weak. Bloodloss. It wasn't nearly comparable to when he was a child, fringing along the edge of death that last night, but...

"...Dante..." he said in a choked voice, strangled out of a sob he didn't realize was there. Madmen sobbed. Why was he doing that? He was stronger than that... "...you need--to go. Dante... why... why--I told you not--search my own--"

He wasn't okay. He wasn't alright. And Vergil's voice only made it worse. Sobs he'd held back gave way to bubbles of laughter, that try as he might, he couldn't force back like he wanted to. He tried, though. He did, but they broke free, anyway, and were hard, until he was weak-kneed and his voice cracked. He knew, consciously, rationally, that it was the kind of laughter that came in moments of intense duress. Again, enough time spent in the psych's chair when he was younger, trying to piece together his memories from before that night told him that.

But he didn't care. There wasn't a rational reason for any of it, no matter what they'd said. In fact, the only thing that had held any water whatsoever was the fact that, yes, his ability to mentally process things of this nature was fragile. And he'd pushed it, day in and day out with his job, never thinking he'd walk in on something like that again, with family again. Never thinking it would catch him completely offguard again. And it was his fault, just like it had been the last time, because he couldn't do a damn thing without someone there to hold his hand. He was still a baby, so much so.

He took a few deep breaths and turned from the window, slowly making his way back to the bathroom; to Vergil, though he didn't have a clue as to what he was going to do. He didn't, and it scared him, it really did. All this time making himself stronger; at first for revenge, and then to make sure nothing happened, and it hadn't done anything but put him back where he'd been years ago, shocked silent and numb and scared and cold and helpless all at the same time. He was still pathetic and weak, really. And he supposed that thought should have stung worse, but at the moment...

It didn't show, though. He would have been proud of how blank and calm his face was, as he moved to kneel next to Vergil, if he'd cared. But he didn't. He really didn't. He was more worried, really, about Vergil. Hyperfocused on it, even. So much so that everything else kind of...Blanked out around him. The glass gouged through his worn jeans, and into his knees, but he didn't feel it. It crunched underneath him, but he didn't hear it. Vergil was hurt, which meant he took precedence over everything else, including Dante's now destroyed peace of mind. Which was why, though he himself was silent, he didn't hesitate to calmly (he noticed that, how steady his hands were) reach out and touch Vergil's face, shaking his head to make him stop talking.

Vergil couldn't still himself if he tried. He'd thrown his body into a stage where small spasms were rippling over his arms and chest, and he was tensing with every tiny twitch. And the pain was maddening. If he hadn't already snapped with how his mind couldn't decide if he was one way or another, the pain probably would have done it for him; it was so maddening that no matter how hard he tried to stop the choking, the sobbing, he couldn't.

Even when he felt his brother's fingers on his face, all he could do was bite back his strangled pleas for Dante to just go, and instead found himself turning his head into Dante's hand. It wasn't right, that he had to lean on his brother like that. Vergil was the big brother, he shouldn't have been the one accepting comfort like that...

And yet, there he was, grabbing onto one of Dante's hands, while he tried to writhe himself up closer to his brother. It was difficult, without the use of his other arm, but he was making it, with his eyes tightly shut. It wasn't anything perverse, as it might have been if all had been well, and had he been in his more amoral state of mind... no, it was simply him, feeling about as young as he was sure his brother was feeling, and he couldn't help it. The trembling was becoming worse, as he felt the urge to start digging at himself climbing, and so he pushed himself closer at Dante, eyes squeezed shut while he began to mutter coherently.

No, it wasn't alright, and he wasn't sure if even having Dante there would do anything at all to make it right again.

Dante had always been the one to need physical closeness to begin with. He was needy on a good day, and today...Well. Today was a very, very bad day. Something, of course, was wrong, as if that wasn't glaringly obvious, he just didn't know what, exactly. He only knew that he had to, really, be a good little brother, and accomodate Vergil as he could, though words failed him. He didn't have the energy to make himself speak at all; to make a sound.

Which was why he shifted closer, using his free hand to brush Vergil's hair back before moving to brush away the glass shards underneath him. They had to be uncomfortable, though he himself still couldn't feel the ones that were biting into his knees. One sliced into the bottom of his palm, near the base of his thumb, and for a moment he only stared at it, as the blood welled up and fell away, mingling with Vergil's below, before going back to clearing away the glass, still just...Not feeling it. That should have worried him, but he just didn't care, really. It would heal, at some point.

And doing so, he got as much of the glass away as he could, but he couldn't reach it all, and he was, for all intents and purposes, afraid of moving Vergil for fear of hurting him worse. He could be clumsy, after all. He sat there a moment longer, wondering what he could possibly do; he couldn't even offer words of comfort, not that he would know how now, anyway. He really couldn't do much of anything at all, except be there. Which further proved the theory that, even after everything, he was useless. He sniffled a bit, and reached up to wipe his nose with his bloody hand, leaving a red streak across his face, but even that went unnoticed, as he bent forward and leaned over Vergil, being mindful of where he was hurt. Again, he was clumsy sometimes, and didn't want to jar or aggravate anything further, even as he nosed his way into Vergil's hair. At least the scent was the same. He still smelled like Vergil, and that was comfort on its own, he supposed.

[Possibly Sparda and Aerith Scene - TOF]

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 03:15:59 GMT

[Placeholder]

[Hitsugaya and Namine - TOF]

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 03:15:12 GMT

[Placeholder for scene]

Yo, Tess. You want me to start?

THE LOWDOWN

Tue, 02 May 2006 19:28:45 GMT

Er, if you're looking at this, you've been directed here for scenage. Because, um, for some reason or another I'm a loser and can't do something over AIM/Trillian. Ahem. Anyway, as you can see, most posts are friends-locked, though current scenes in games I'll leave open until their completion, and go back and flock them again, because, I dunno, I'm anal about that kind of thing. If you'd like to friend this journal to keep up to date, I certainly don't mind. I'll even friend you all nice and pretty back. Anyway, on to the kids.

TIDES OF FATE:
epigoni: This is Dante, pre-DMC3 and as far from canon as he can get. He followed his brother to Desai, and now...Well, those of you that have been following the logs very well know what happened. If you want to scene with the crude and incorrigable thing, feel free to drop a note here, and I'll get us all set up.

nomortalcoil: Sparda has spent the last several years in Hell, being tortured and driven out of his mind in God only knows what ways. (He's hinted but, uh, I'm not going to go sharing that info.) He's not like my other Spardas, for those that know him. Instead he's crude, he's rude, and he likes to live fast and loose, for the most part. He really ended up being more like Dante than Vergil.

icy_devil: Hitsugaya here has come in right after the fight in Soul Society, and is grumpy as hell at being ordered to investigate the high number of strong beings in Desai. Especially since he hasn't seen a single Hollow. He hates Desai, he hates stupid people, and right now he's dealing with both.

heavymachinae: Gippal is post-FFX-2, and still leader of the Machine Faction. He's in Desai to get new contracts so the Machine Faction can grow. And, okay, so he kind of heard Baralai was around and it's been a while since he's seen his old friend. Otherwise, he's lounging around doing a whole lot of nothing.

TEMPORARY:
devilboy: The original ToF Dante has gotten pulled into Desai once more, thirty years after the battle that had helped the city reach its current modernization. A battle that took place between demons that an older version of his brother had unwittingly let loose, and he, his brother, and a slew of others. He's there to 'fuck shit up and take some fucking names' for being back there, since he hates the place and wishes it nothing but the worst. He also intends on leaving his mark there in a big way.

AND IN BETWEEN:

devillock: This is Dante. He's straight from around Mission 14 or 15 (possibly 16) of Devil May Cry 3, and canon as a bitch. He got dropped off in the 'real world' in New York, and is now dealing with stalker fangirls, keeping his brother out of trouble, and the government, so they don't all get locked up as test bunnies. He's a cute kid.

ceruleanice: Hitsugaya, once again, is dropped from the end of the Soul Society invasion, and is doing his best to simply not get picked up by the police for skipping school. He's also confused as to why people can see him, since he's not in a gigai, and why people wish to see him do naughty things with Ukitake. He's just...A little grossed out by that, and missing Matsumoto's staunch help like one wouldn't believe. Wandering around New York, just trying to get a feel for the 'real world'.

gearhead: Gippal is from pre-FFX-2 canon, and still on the outs with Baralai, Nooj, and Paine. He ran the Machine Faction back home, but now he's fending off fangirls and trying to survive in the 'real world', which he's finding is much different from Spira. Still a cocky little thing, but a nice guy under it all, and willing to help out, if it's needed. He'll even do customization to weapons and vehicles really cheap, if it means a place to stay.

innocentcross: Allen Walker, from D.Gray-Man. Allen comes from the period right after the whole 'doll' fiasco, and is a newbie exorcist with a cursed eye and an anti-Akuma weapon in his left hand. He's kind of dumb, stuck in the real world, and can't find anyone willing to feed him, which is no real surprise.

FRACTURA:

divinespiral: My very first Dante, and he's been around...Oh...A year and a half, now. And has literally been through Hell twice. Once, he watched his brother get dragged over a ledge, and he thought he'd lost him. His girlfriend was killed several months ago, and the killer's still at large (HINT HINT KARA). And now? Now he's technically post Devil May Cry, after his sealing away of Mundus for who knows how long. He's about 185 years old, grumpy as hell, and really needs to rattle loose from the binds he's put himself in, and so he DESPERATELY needs some attention.

clearasheaven: The matching Sparda, from Squenix/Fractura. Sparda's been around almost as long as Dante, and is...Well, he's charming, well-spoken, with an inexplicable fear of rabbits and other small, furry creatures. Rodents, actually. As can be seen with his fear of his wife's rabbit, Pengy. Otherwise, he's the most stable of the post-Eva Spardas, and a GOOD DADDY. Or, he tries to be. He will CUT YOU if you fuck with his kids.