DISCLAIMERS: Capcom owns them, but doesn't tell us about them. So we invent. And we write. Because we love the characters they created and which belong to them. No copyright infringement intended. I don't even own this disclaimer. Nyxmidnight does.

SUMMARY: Paperwork springs eternal. Dante and co. get back from Mallet. Randomness ensues. After all, someone had to cover that up.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't know why I'm writing this, I have so much other stuff I should be writing, but see my ffnet bio on that. This is to celebrate Dante coming in 2nd in IGN's Battle of the Badasses, the opening of the lj DMC fanfic community, and because I had a plotbunny that was small and cute and should be gotten rid of while it was still small and cute.


"Welcome back, Sir." Trish stared as the redhead in the black business suit bowed. A demon?

Dante vaulted out of the antique biplane and walked toward her. "Gimme the bad news first."

"The Spanish government and UNESCO have both sent formal complaints regarding the destruction of the oldest remaining piece of Catalan architecture. They're hinting they're going to attempt to deduct it from your payment, at the least, and possibly avoid payment altogether. They're both attempting to get the other to have to pay." The demon said, sighing.

"Hit them both up." Dante said firmly. "Terrorists?" He asked, then turned back to Trish. "You coming?" He turned back to the woman. "Nevan, Trish." He said, pointing back over his shoulder to Trish. "Trish," He said, turning back to her, "Nevan. Speaking of which," he looked back at Nevan. "The bill?"

Trish echoed Dante by jumping out of the plane as Nevan replied. "Yes, terrorists. The Spanish government is theorizing fascists attempting to continue Franco's suppression of Catalan culture, but the popular media is saying that's an attempt to avoid offending the Muslim population by blaming Al Qaeda."

"Clever." Dante said as Trish walked around the plane, trying not to look around. The small airstrip (she had ceased to wonder how she knew all this) seemed deserted, but she could feel eyes watching from the building and the forest's edge. "Double blind." He said in an aside to Trish. "Give the conspiracy buffs a lead, they follow it. Like the Kennedy thing." He turned back to Nevan. "The bill?"

"Well… the wards prevented fire damage, but we're going to have to order more of the special motorcycles: we're down to 3. That's going to run around 3 million." She said, turning and following Dante as he strode toward the gate of the runway. "Beowulf has already replaced the doors, desk, and other furniture from supplies, so things should be in shipshape."

Dante stopped, and turned back. "It's usually just shipshape, Nevan, not 'in shipshape.' Trish? You'd better get a move on. 'Inquiring minds want to know.'" He turned around and continued on.

Trish blinked, and followed him. She didn't understand any of this.

"Sorry, Sir." She sighed.

"It's okay." He shrugged. "The Irish cover works pretty well, for the ones with no need to know."

"It's been ten years, Sir. I should have the idioms down by now." Annoyed.

"Forget it. I still can't roll my rrs without growling a little. And you're learning how many languages?" He gestured expansively, then turned. "Trish? Stay close, and keep quiet unless I ask you something. Remember, you don't habla español." He said, pointing to her.

Trish blinked. "…I don't what?"

Dante smirked. "All the better." He cracked his knuckles. "Vamanos."

"Sí, Señor." Nevan said, walking quickly after him towards the gates.

Trish followed, still confused. A 'reception committee' appeared as the gates swung open when they were 20 feet or so away. Men in suits, and uniforms… no guns.

Right, the snipers in the trees would have rifles…

Dante stopped just before he went through the gate, and saluted mockingly. "Buenas mañanas, señores."

"And a good morning to you too, Sir von Schwärzung. Rather overcast, isn't it?" One of the ones in uniform, an odd uniform, smiled, bowing, then walked a few steps forward. British, from the accent… a… monocle?

"The sky was clear out over the sea,'Colonel Dover.' My, what a surprise. Red eye?" Dante said, grinning.

"3am." Slight smile. "You had a rough flight yourself; it seems from the satellite photos."

Dante shrugged expansively. "What can I say? Practice makes perfect."

"I wasn't aware you had practice." He said, voice still perfectly deadpan, but eyes twinkling.

'Hunter rep.' Trish thought. 'Stiff-shirts don't last long dealing with hunters; get run off a flagpole or something…'

The people behind him were shifting, clearly fighting between fear and arrogance, or caution and impatience… 'REMFs, Suits…' She thought, and folded her arms.

"Well, think about it. People-Can," Dante gestured, hands shaping a cylinder, "Demonic Assassin Horde," he bent his fingers, suggesting claws, "not a good combination." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of defeat, voice still joking. "My first time flying. Well, flying involving technology, anyway."

"Impressive." The man nodded judiciously. "A barrel roll in an antique biplane, and escaping an explosion on your first time in the cockpit. Should you ever wish to join Her Majesty's…"

"Ahem!" One of the Suits fake-coughed rather loudly and obviously. Dante and the Colonel each gave each other a look of agreeing disgust, and then Colonel Dover went deadpan again and held up the suitcase he was carrying.

"Sir von Schwärzung, on behalf of humanity, the United Nations, and England I thank you for continuing your family's tradition of heroism. I have been request…"

"Save it." Dante waved, interrupting him. "I don't flocking care."

Dover and Trish blinked at the use of flocking.

"This," Dante said, pointing over his shoulder, "is Trish. She's a demon. I'm adopting her as my sister. Shut it." He glared at the ones who had seemed about to object. They shut it.

"I didn't blow up the damned, and I use the term literally, castle. Mundus did. If you want someone to pay for it, go to hell and bill him. Any questions?"

A hand rose in the back. "Yes?" Dante said, eyebrows rising.

"¿Cuantos nuevos tipos de demonios?" A man in black satin said, pushing through the crowd.

"No eran muchos. Eran marionetas y," Dante waved his hands. "una gota negra grande."

The man and Dover blinked. "Marionetas?" "Puppets?"

"Sí, marionetas. Y ésos con la tijera." Dante said the hunter, shrugging. Turning to Dover, he added. "What can I say? I think they're running out of ideas for new types as fast as we're running out of good names."

"Scissors?" A man said, surprised. He was ignored.

"¿Mundus tiene ésos" The man frowned. "Bueno." He said, obviously sarcastically, and left... rudely?

Trish frowned. 'Racist bastard…'

Dante rolled his eyes. "Any other questions?" He looked at them. "Great. Now, my secretary," He waved at Nevan. "Will be contacting you about the bill."

Mouths were opened.

Dante glared.

Mouths were shut.

"Good night, gentlemen." Dante grinned. They left.

Trish grinned at the way they were very ostentatiously not running. So did Dover, slightly.

When they were out of earshot, he asked. "Your sister?"

"You're not going to believe this, but she's a demonic copy of my mom." Dante grinned.

Dover blinked. "Oh. My."

Dante threw an arm over Trish's shoulders and grinned wider. "I'm amazed she didn't kick him in the nuts."

"Huh?' Trish said.

"I am too. Mundus copied the Cherrybomb?" Dover blinked, amazed.

"Yeah." Dante nodded, grinning.

"Sorry, miss, but your…" Dover looked at Dante.

"Mother." Dante said firmly.

"Mother," Dover said, not missing a beat, "is rather famous in Britain, due to her taking captive two of the top agents of Her Majesty's Secret Service in 1966. I was privileged to meet her several times, and she did not have what one would call a submissive temperament. Rather like my current commander." He smiled.

"Yeah, I've heard." Dante smiled. "I'd like to meet the chick."

Dover blinked. "Well, although her viewpoint certainly has grown more liberal on the issue of non-humans…"

"You don't want the property damage."

"Yes, we already went rather over-budget on the rebuilding."

"Incidentally, tell the wanna-be to keep the new look I've heard about." Dante said, meaningfully. "There's only one inhuman gunslinger in red, if you know what I mean."

"…you'll have to talk to him about that." Dover said.

Dante cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, I intend to, except for the talking bit."

Trish was now completely at sea.

"Oh, yeah." Dante said, then gestured, summoning the Alastor. …which promptly took human form, staring, overjoyed.

Nevan stared back. "Brother?"

"Sister!" Alastor said, lunging to hug her. Until she blasted him.

"Now, that's what I call a heart-warming family reunion." Dante said judiciously, watching Nevan, now crackling with purple lightening and throttling Alastor, as her suit changed to bats and she yelled incomprehensibly in demonic.

Trish and Dover stared. Trish stared more as she started to pick out the words.

"It's not my fault-urk!" Alastor managed to pull her hands away long enough to say, before she regained her grip.

"Apparently their parents died and someone went to go seek their fortune and left someone else with several thousand younger siblings to support."

"You're! The! Eldest! Do! You! Know! What! I! Went! Through!" Nevan shouted each word in time with a shake.

"Don't ask." Dante said, serious for once.

Trish could guess.

Dover backed out of range of the lightening.

"Hey, Walt," Dante said, acting serious. "Tell me there's a good bar around here. I need something to eat and a lot of the good stuff to drink."

"Well, the hotel restaurant is highly spoken of, but I don't drink Spanish wine." 'Walt' shrugged, smiling ironically.

"Lead on, Jeeves." Dante gestured. "Trish!"

"Uh… yeah?" She turned.

"Come on, already!"

She followed her brother.