Devil May Cry: Revelations
A Fanfic by MJTR
Devil May Cry and all related properties belong to Capcom
Author's Note: I've been a big fan of Devil May Cry since I got the third game a few years ago. My fanism however mostly lies in the first three games, as four just irritated me and the reboot… Well, let's not discuss my feelings on that. I've always wanted to write a Devil May Cry fic, but was never really sure I had a really good idea for one… Until now. This'll at least start as a character piece I must warn you, and has taken a lot of notes from Frank Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns". That said, I hope you enjoy my interpretation of the characters, my take on continuity, and eventually, my journey into a new Devil May Cry story. Let's rock baby!
The dirty, dilapidated streets of the inner city slums sat quiet for yet another night. Though chaos was regular to spring in the city of Venna, it had sat quiet, undisturbed, for nearly a year. The little shop, sitting just down from a long closed bar and strip club, had seen little in the way of visitors over the course of the last year. The old neon sign hanging overhead had lights going out, now simply reading, "DEV MY Y", its own surely sitting within, sitting as if waiting for company, but seemingly hoping none would come.
It was on a night like this that the roar of a motorcycle could be heard nearby, pulling into the tiny parking lot of the worn out old place. Its driver slid off her helmet and made for the door, knocking gently only to force the rotting wood to open. The inside of the place was dark, but even then one could make out that it was a mess. Old cardboard boxes sat in one corner, some broken instruments and an old, worn down pool table in the other. A number of old weapons were embedded into the walls, some having a true supernatural aura to them, others appears as if they would crumble if you held them.
The shop's owner lazily opened his eyes and looked at her. His long, silvery hair sat mussed on his head, the outline of a scraggly five o'clock shadow upon his face. He was thin, though he had once been bigger, more muscular. He wore a black vest, unzipped most of the way down his front. He did not give the driver any real change in expression.
"Can's in the back," he said, seemingly forcing himself to do so. "But I wouldn't advise it. I think the manager shut off my water last night."
"Dante," the woman asserted with a chuckle. "Is that any way to greet a lady?"
She sat down in the chair opposite his desk, allowing her a look at her dark, chocolate colored body as she swept back the red hairs falling into her face.
"Sorry Luce," he said, sitting up a little only to lean back some more. "What are you doing all the way out here?"
"It's just… We've barely spoken in these last few months… What can I say? I'm worried about you."
Dante said little as he looked her over. Her dressings were conservative, consistent of a petticoat and blouse. Skirt was a little short, but she was wearing hose underneath. This was a trend for her, he thought to himself. Always more covered after she moved out of his place.
The two had spent the better part of a year together in the little shop. Maybe if he felt the way he used to, it would have been much longer. Perhaps if they had met when he had still felt a lust for his work, still partook in funny banter with his enemies, still had a taste for the world around him, maybe they could have been happy.
For a while she made him feel that way again, or at least closer to it. When she stayed with him in the shop he felt like he could laugh sometimes, found himself constantly ordering pizza and strumming on his guitars in the corner again. It was a change to her, who only knew him as damper as he was before her then, but it had taken up much of his life. Perhaps if he still loved life, he could have loved her.
"How is your business doing?" Dante asked. Lucia operated a line of work similar to his own, she too one of the nation's few investigators and exterminators of paranormal activity. When they decided they could no longer remain together, Dante had given her a large supply of money to allow her to start her own business. Why he had so much Lucia was left to question, as it seemed nonsensical that a man with so much cash hidden away would still be working out of the dingy little place, but she never asked him why.
"Very smoothly actually," Lucia replied. "There's plenty of cleaning out to do all around the city and plenty of rich people willing to surrender about everything to feel safe again… Do I dare ask how things are here?"
"You can dare," Dante muttered, "But I think you can tell just by looking around," he said, still emotionless.
The two carried on like this for around thirty minutes, raising little questions of one another about life and work and the sort. Lucia was largely expressive throughout, but Dante showed only the smallest emotions. Eventually Lucia sighed and gave a look at her watch.
"I should probably get going, I have some more business to attend to tonight," she lied, now just trying to escape the deathly quiet shop. "I have a room down at the Bishop's Hotel, you know the place, right?"
"Yeah," Dante said with a little nod.
"Well, let me leave you my room number," she said, grabbing a little piece of paper off his desk and quickly jotting it down. "Oh, and here's this." Thereafter she set down a small stack of bills, slightly catching Dante's attention.
"I'm not taking those," he said.
"Yes you are," Lucia asserted. "You got my business going, you get a cut. I don't care what you do with it. Gamble it, buy some pizza, fix that light outside, I don't care. Just do something Dante."
"Luce, take the money, I really don't need it."
"Then give it away to someone else," Lucia said, frustration from the poor conversation seeming to grow in her. "It is yours Dante… I hope I see you later."
She stormed out the door before he could argue any longer. Dante sighed and looked over the bills, sliding them into his desk and leaning back in his chair to fall asleep again.