Disclaimer: Don't own DMC. Would have done 2 differently.
"This is going to be a pain in the ass," Dante said grimly.
"Oh, suck it up." Nevan rolled her eyes, adjusting the robe. "They're friends, and there's going to be gifts. Save us thousands, and we're in the red again."
"I'm always in the red," Dante pointed out.
"I know, I'm your accountant. Hold your arms out, sugar." Dante complied, sighing.
Nevan secured the sleeves with red-gold cuff-links.
"Not gifts, Nevan. Offerings," Dante continued to complain. "I'm not a goddamn god."
"Not the way they see it, sugar. You're the son of the Sword god who defeated Mundus after he killed most of their gods and drove off Despaia when he was going to sink the island because one sorcerer too many tried to steal his power. You're also the handsome young man who repeated both those stunning feats of arms."
"I'm just following in my father's famous footsteps." Dante rolled his eyes.
Nevan sighed. "Don't be so modest. You didn't get where you are without a lot of hard work, and people should respect that. You're a hero, as much as you hate to admit it, Dante."
She never called him by his name unless she was serious about something. Dante sighed. "You sound just like my mom."
Nevan frowned. "How so, sugar?"
"It always pissed her off when people bad-mouthed Dad. She once shot somebody over it."
"Like I said before, your mom must have been one impressive woman, to hook your father when I couldn't, sugar. Maybe I should try to be more like her, hmm?" Nevan grinned, showing off fangs that Eva definitely didn't have.
"Trish has that covered. Really come a long way from Mundus' slave." You have too was the unspoken part of that. "She's maybe not got that fire, but she's got spark."
"And you ain't got nothing…"
"If you ain't got style." Dante grinned, finishing off the old saying. "But," he continued, "this isn't style. This," he pointed at the kingly robes, "is what my old man used to wear. To paraphrase, he was 'still preoccupied with 1785' in the freakin' 70s. People must have thought he was nuts."
"You look good in it." Nevan settled a thin red-gold band on his head.
"I feel like I'm wearing a costume." Dante laughed. "Well, 'tis the season."
"Harvest season? And the season of ghosts, goblins, and things that go bump in the night." Nevan grinned again. One time she'd taken Ebony and Ivory out trick-or-treating in her old 'clothes' from Temen ni Gru, plus a black tank top. She'd gotten tons of compliments on the 'costume' and tons of guys' phone numbers.
And Dante tried to tell himself that hadn't made him jealous.
"And Thanksgiving too, sugar. They're just trying to thank you for all you've done for them. Somebody should." She took a step back from him and frowned. "Rebellion! Get over here!" The sword flew to Dante's back. Nevan walked around behind him and adjusted the sheath.
Dante could feel the warmth of her hands through the thick fabric. Should this be taking so long? But then, it had always taken mom ages to get him and Vergil in suits for photos and formal dinners. "Can't you go fuss over Trish?"
"She can dress herself. You fought your way through Temen ni Gru half naked. Not that I didn't appreciate the view, sugar, but I'm not letting your worshippers get that much of a view."
Oh, hell. He was going to have Vie du Mariian woman throwing themselves at him. Dad had avoided it by being a god and a die-hard bachelor (and Dad, even in photos, had this air of utter respectability that it would take a lot of gall to hit on), but he'd set a precedent for his son by marrying a human. Dante had been mobbed at the party to celebrate Arius' defeat.
Not that they weren't hot. Due to how they had been settled, refugees from religious persecution, invasion, and slavery, the islanders were a strange hybrid of Norse, Mediterranean, Indian and African. Lucia's red hair and dusky skin didn't make her stand out in the crowd the way they would in any other part of the world.
Nevan had been jealous as hell when she picked him up from the island. She'd actually hissed at people when she thought he wasn't looking. He'd tried to act like he hadn't seen that.
Lucia had bowed and addressed her as a "Servant of the God."
Dante hoped they hadn't got the impression they were a couple. They weren't, even if they both knew each was attracted to the other, and even though they had the same sense of humor, and even though she did things like this.
A millennia-young, drop-dead (literally) gorgeous succubus adjusting his clothing.
"I'm going to have to sit on a throne for hours and acknowledge people. It'll be boring as hell. And I'm not a goddamn god."
"Well, a lot of people disagree with you. People with magical items they will be bringing as gifts, sugar." Nevan's eyes softened. "People with faith in you, that you will help them, protect them, look after them. People whose faith you have justified. You're not taking advantage of them, Dante, you're letting them say thank you."
She looked away, up the stairs, like she was just checking to see if Trish was ready yet. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You're always thinking about the ones you haven't saved, when you're surrounded by the ones you have saved."
As if on clue, Trish opened the door and walked down, dressed in a barely-there dress in a style like Nevan's skirt. Dante sighed. He'd managed to convince Nevan to wear something less revealing, and was now regretting it.
Nevan was wearing armor. Elaborate midnight armor that clung to every curve, which only accentuated her… best features. Second best features, really… She looked like a female assassin on the cover of a clichéd fantasy novel.
She looked damn hot. No wonder so many had thought her worth being damned.
Trish turned around when she got to the bottom of the stairs. "Like it? I ordered it off E-bay; it's somebody's Vampire Queen Costume."
Alastor followed in the priestly robes he never wore if he could avoid it, probably coerced into it by Beowulf, who came in silently wearing his armor from when he'd served Mundus. Ditto Agni and Rudra. Cerberus silently padded in. Dante checked his holsters and Ebony and Ivory were there.
Ifrit coiled sinuously around Trish's legs. His 'little sister' had Luce and Ombra, the Nightmare-gamma and most importantly the Sparda and the Amulet. Matier had said a place of honor would be given them.
One of the reasons Dante had agreed to this. He didn't deserve the royal treatment.
But his father and mother did.
"All right, the gang's all here." Dante cracked his knuckles. "Let's go trick-or-treating."