DISCLAIMER: All "Devil May Cry" elements belong to Capcom. Work of fanfiction just because we enjoy the game and like the characters. No money made. Some quotes belong to "Ghostbusters", copyrighted by Columbia Pictures. Any other references to any other elements copyrighted by anyone else belong to those copyright holders. Clear enough?
Author's Notes: Rating given for sexual banter, language content, and violence. Any events or storyline that might appear in "DMC2" are null and void, as very few, or even none of us even know at this point what it's all about. This is set roughly twenty years after the events in "DMC"; Dante and Trish's physical aging is considered by the authors to be nearly insignificant, due to their demonic blood. Feedback welcome. Flames will be given the MSTreatment.
(J. Chaos and Zanne Chaos; a writing team)
Ah, Michigan. Land of a thousand lakes...or was that Minnesota? Dante never could keep those two straight. Both bordered Canada, both began with M, and both got colder in the winter than he could really appreciate. Either way, he knew he was in Michigan. Lake Huron glittered on his right in the sunset, and he reached down onto his motorcycle, tapping a button which activated a HUD, looking at a map.
It was late August, still a few months away before the seasons started in on the color-changing business, and the demon activity kicked up for various things, like the solstice. He usually looked forward to Halloween. It was almost always, pun fully intended, as quiet as a tomb that day. Great day for catching up on paperwork, unless it was a weekend. Weekends were for fun.
Well, most weekends, anyway.
"We almost there?" a female voice crackled in the headset of his helmet.
"Yeah, babe, I think the next turn off up here's the one that goes to the lodge." Dante smirked a bit, glancing over his shoulder to the other bike that kept pace with his, just a little behind. "Why? You getting tired of having that much power between your legs?"
Silence for a moment, then Trish turned her head. He couldn't see her eyes through the black visor, and wondered what would come next. "Well, yeah, after all, it's more than I get with you."
"Ow! That was cold, woman!" he retorted, and she laughed delightedly. "I'm gonna get you back for that."
"Love ya too." He heard Trish lips smack together lightly in an imitation of a kiss.
"Yeah, well, after we finish up here, you can show me how much." He glanced over his shoulder again to grin at her, even though he knew she couldn't see him through the visor on his own helmet. No matter. He knew his wife of seventeen years well enough to know there was a similar expression on her own face. "You done looking over the files?"
"Yeah." Trish's voice sounded confused, though.
"What is it?"
"It was hard to read the notes through the HUD," Trish replied, "but from what I got, the lodge is over a hundred years old, closed down in '85, and two weeks ago, it became a spiritual hothouse?"
"Yep. Up until then, it was as quiet as a grave." Trish groaned at the pun, and Dante chuckled. "Seriously, though, something's going nuts there. Our employee's already brought in a few exorcists, and said they didn't make a dent."
"Not the most glamorous of jobs."
"Nah, but the pay's more than worth it. I figure it'll be just a quickie." He gestured to a road up ahead, glancing to Trish to make sure she saw, and then turned on his signal light, pulling off the highway onto the quiet country road leading to the lodge.
"All right. So we've got a brand spanking new spookhouse to deal with. Does this make you Ray, and me Venkman?"
"When we get the weaponry for that, then we can get into this discussion," he replied, grinning at her.
"Unlicenced nuclear accelerator packs, mmm... are you trying to seduce me?" Trish said.
"I could mention linoleum to seduce you, babe," Dante said. She laughed quietly, and followed him onto the driveway leading up to the lodge, which was a massive log building, lights pouring from every window into the dusk. He brought the bike to a stop, shutting it off and dismounting. "You suppose they got their design tips outta the Necronomicon?" he asked, looking at the lovely paintjob of flowing blood.
Trish pulled up beside him, killing her engine before pulling off her helmet, shaking her long, blonde hair free. "Either that, or they've seen that Shining miniseries way too many times."
Dante removed his helmet, running a gloved hand through his sweat-matted hair. "We'll know who's right if the walls start vomiting blood." He hung it on the handlebars as Trish stood, swinging her leg over her own bike. "I hope they left the beds intact, or at least a few tables and chairs."
Trish laughed as she hung her helmet in the same fashion, and he shot her a leer when their eyes met, which she returned in kind as she unzipped the black leather jacket she wore. His eyes roamed appreciatively down her body, over the little white baby doll tee she wore, down to the ample show of tanned, toned belly above the black vinyl microshorts. Dante watched her walk up to the lodge as he drew Alastor from its sheath on his back, admiring the way the vinyl hugged her rear, and the way her hips wiggled a bit as she stepped over the grass.
Twenty years since she chucked a motorcycle at his head. At the time, there were moments he was sorely tempted to wring that luscious neck. Dante was glad he listened to whatever little voice inside said not to.
Yeah, so maybe she bore a striking resemblance to somebody else. Point being, she wasn't that certain somebody else, and he damn well knew it. Besides, he hadn't even seen his mother in forty years now.
Dante glanced to Alastor, noting that the blade was barely crackling. So, no demonic influences, at least not on the property. "Might be human," Dante said, catching up with his wife. "At least we might have a bit of a fight."
"Heh. If it's human, I flash, you shoot him while he's distracted?"
Dante put Alastor back across his back, glancing at his wife's chest, where "I (heart) NY" was stretched tight across her otherwise unrestrained breasts, and smirked. "Let's rock, babe," he said, twirling Ebony and Ivory on his fingers as they mounted the stairs to the porch. "You want to do the honors?"
Trish studied the closed door, considering. "Kick it in, or open it like a civilized person?"
"Collateral damage's allowed."
"Ah, what the hell. I'm a demon, not a civilized person." She shot him a grin, then slammed the base of her black leather knee-high boots into the door just above the handle, sending it slamming open.
Immediately, Dante moved into the doorway, holding his guns at the ready as he checked the foyer. "Entry's clear. Keep some holy water ready." He walked deeper into the house, hearing his own faint footsteps, echoed in perfect time behind him by Trish. When he saw the staircase leading to the second floor, and a few other doorways going elsewhere, he stopped. "What do you think, babe? Second floor or cellar?"
"Should we split up?" she asked.
"What, and deprive me of a great view of your butt on any stairs?" he replied, glancing over his shoulder to smirk at her. "Let's not." Well, all right, so that was part of the reason, but not the main one. Whenever possible, he never let Trish walk a job by herself. He knew damn good and well she could hold her own just fine. He just didn't want to be elsewhere if things ever went from bad to worse, and unable to defend her.
Trish grinned, then frowned, considering. "I call second floor. Cellars are just so cliché." Even as she said that, a ghost darted through a far doorway, shrieking as it charged them. "Or maybe we should start with this one."
Dante calmly aimed Ebony and Ivory at the ghost, watching as it bore down upon Trish. At the last second, she flicked her wrist, casting the watery contents of a small plastic bottle at the form and stepped aside with superhuman speed. The ghost came to a halt, screeching horribly as the holy water hit it, and started smoking.
Tsk. "You could'a stopped, your fault now," Dante chided, firing one shot from each gun into the ghost, watching it dissipate completely on the second. He holstered Ivory to rake a hand through his hair in annoyance. "An exorcist couldn't handle that?!" he demanded, waving his hand at where the ghost was.
Trish shrugged. "He must'a hired frauds. More money for us."
Dante nodded in agreement, moving toward the door from where the ghost had emerged. "Still, this seems like a waste of our time." He nudged the swinging door open with the toe of his boot, looking inside, and blinked. "Next room's fun..."
"Why? Are there padded stocks and mink tail whips?" Trish quipped, trying to see over his shoulder.
Dante stepped aside, moving his foot to open the door wider. "Check it out."
"Unreal," Trish whispered, blinking, walking into a lounge that was completely devoid of color, like a scene from an old Black-and-White. The condition of the room was that of heavy decay, and the curtains and furniture were shredded. Dante looked back to Trish, and his eyes widened in surprise.
She turned around, looking at him. Yup, even the red heart on her shirt was a dark, almost-black gray. He just stared at her and walked into the room slowly, and watched her eyes growing wide. He looked down at his formerly-red coat.
Yup, they were both as monochromatic as the room.
"This is new."
"Did we step into a Hitchcock film?" Trish asked, alternating between looking around, and looking at her now-gray hands.
"Hell if I know," Dante replied. "I'm beginning to think this may be worth our fee after all."
"No, wait, I got it. Wizard of Oz in reverse."
"So, where's the tornado-level suckage?" Dante asked, grinning a bit as he looked through the room, trying to find a cause for the absence of color. The damnedest thing was, he could clearly see the colors in the foyer from the doorway they entered through.
"That comes later, babe. Heads up, I'm gonna try something." There was a soft thud as the plastic cap came off another bottle of holy water, and Trish threw it at the wall.
Dante turned to look at the wall, watching intently for any reaction. There was none. Ordinary water dripped down an ordinary wall...aside from the fact they apparently stepped into something that didn't know what Technicolor was.
"That rules out the room itself."
"I'd almost say it's paint, but that doesn't explain us," Dante said, and drew Alastor. "Maybe it's a stronger presence than we thought." Trish did the same with Sparda, and they both looked at their blades. Blue energy crackled faintly down Alastor's gleaming surface, with sedate black flames flickering over Sparda. All was calm and well.
"Can't be that strong," Trish said.
"For a demon, anyway." Dante considered the situation, and nodded to himself. "Probably human work, then."
Trish closed her eyes in a look of annoyance. "Great," she drawled. "For all we know, it could've been some idiot kids playing around with an Ouija board."
"If that's the case, we find the board, smash it into toothpicks, collect our fee, then sue the shit outta whatever company makes those."
"Works for me. Let's keep going. This room's creeping me out, and I'm not liking the level of decay I see in here."
"You and me both," Dante said, taking point to the next door."
"Although," Trish mused, "it's a good look for you. Kinda early Gregory Peck."
He grinned at her, then looked at the doorknob. "I ain't touching the doorknob in here. That's just begging for trouble." He raised Ebony, blowing the knob off, and kicked it open.
to be continued...