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danchekker) wrote2011-09-17 05:54 pm
I posted a new story!
Title: I believe the children are our future
Fandom: Devil May Cry (games)
Wordcount: 3500 (I know, how did that happen? So awesome)
Summary: He hadn’t expected to find the kid in a bar. True, he couldn’t quite picture Nero living the good life in suburbia, but busting into Devil May Cry bleeding and needing help - or cocky and wanting a job - had seemed more likely.
I wrote this story about three years ago, when I first started writing outside FF7 and Kingdom Hearts, then let it molder on my computer for a while. I would pull it out every once in a while and fiddle with the end, which I still don't quite like, and then set it away again. This summer, when lowkey was writing so much, I felt like pulling out some stuff to send him, and this was one thing I found.
He hadn’t expected to find the kid in a bar. True, he couldn’t quite picture Nero living the good life in suburbia, but busting into Devil May Cry bleeding and needing help - or cocky and wanting a job - had seemed more likely. But here it turned out it was Dante needing him, and he was holed up in the darkest corner of one of the seedier bars Dante had been in. Life will never be as you expect it.
“Your time has come, and so have I,” he announced with a flourish, half-quoting a line he’d heard blasting out of those stupid headphones in the Opera House. He held the pose for a moment, but dropped it when he realized he wasn’t getting a response. No angry glare, no smartass retort, not even any sign of recognition of the innuendo - not that he’d been expecting that.
“…hello, Dante,” came the eventual response from the huddle of misery formerly known as Nero. “Go away, please.”
This was quite wrong. No insults? Please? Dante stood aghast for a moment, then sighed and took a seat. Life is as you expect it, if you only expect to never be easy.
“What happened kid?” he asked.
“She’s gone…” the lump moaned.
“She?” asked Dante.
“Kyrie.”
“Oh yeah…” Opera singer. Red hair. Too much clothing. “Kidnapped again? Why are you wasting time? Let’s get her back and then you can help me with this really very minor – ”
“She left…”
“Ah,” said Dante. Drunk kid, seedy bar, lack of fighting spirit, all accounted for. Some problems, thought Dante, are really none of your business. These problems included pretty much everything that couldn’t be solved with a pair of pistols or a really big sword. “Look, Nero, I need to borrow Yamato. There’s a Hell Gate I can’t destroy without it. I understand you’ve got issues and won’t be coming, but I swear I’ll bring it back, blah blah blah…why are you shaking your head?”
I pretty much always start writing at the beginning of a story and go from there, even the if the scenes that made me want to write the story are much further in. That's what I did this time, and it was about here that I realized it was really really fun to write Dante's voice.
“I swore…never again…while…” The declaration wavered in and out of hearing, both from the noise of the bar and from the drooping of the speaker’s head towards the table.
Dante made one of those split second decisions he usually ended up regretting. He stood up, grabbed the kid’s arm (left arm, he wasn’t totally reckless). “Come with me, get sober, get over it, give me the sword, go back to lamenting your life,” he ordered, and dragged the kid out the door, a task made harder by Nero’s inability to focus and near inability to walk. Trish is gonna kill me for this, he thought as they made it safely past the doorway.
===============================================================
Dante watched Nero sleep in an ungraceful sprawl and wondered why he hadn’t just beat him up and forced him to cough up the sword. Or why he’d let him keep it in the first place – he knew the day would come when he’d find a Hell Gate he couldn’t easily destroy without it. Maybe it was pity. The kid had been so pissed about being rejected from all society he’d ever known, Dante just wanted to take him aside and say “Look kid, I know demon blood seems bad now, but if you work real hard and stay alive long enough you may just be able to make it running a near-bankrupt demon hunting agency with two women who only stick around because they, too, have no place in what most people call happiness.” This wasn’t actually a very encouraging speech, so maybe he’d just given him a sword instead. It was kinder. But who would dare call Dante kind?
Okay, so this speech was one of the reasons I wanted to write this story
“Someone broke the kid,” Dante complained when Trish walked in to see the red-blue-black lump on the couch.
“Who?” she asked, a lack of inflection betraying her disinterest.
“Guess,” he said, with all the sarcasm he’d realized such a stupid question deserved.
“Opera girl.”
“Bingo! Your prize waits beyond door number one! A gourmet breakfast of cold pizza for one.”
She glared at him, but followed his pointing finger into the kitchen. His eyes, in turn, followed her fine ass into the kitchen. When he returned to contemplating the couchfull of kid, it was contemplating back. Then it rolled over and threw up on the floor.
I am... pretty innocent, fanfic wise. I've never written anything beyond a fade-to-black, and it's likely I never will. And I think I'm also a pretty nice/non-sexist person. So I deleted the "fine ass" line and put it back in about a dozen times. Fanfic dilemmas.
“You’re lucky I don’t have carpet,” said Dante.
Half an hour, three cups of coffee, a roll of paper towels and three-quarters of a pizza later, Dante began to interrogate the kid.
“You still have Yamato,” he said.
“Technically yes.”
“What ‘technically’? There is no technically. There is ‘yes, I will give it to you Dante’ or ‘no, I pawned it for booze, thank you for the quick death.’”
“It’s in here,” said Nero, raising his gloved right arm.
“So manifest it.”
Nero shook his head, steel in his eyes. Dante hated it when an enemy had steel in his eyes. He slouched in his cheap chair. “Explain,” he demanded.
I tend to read stuff into games that isn't really there. We don't really get to see "people" moment in video games most often, instead seeing "badass" and "plot advancing" moments. So I spend a lot of time imagining what people are thinking and feeling while they are, say, fighting the gigantic possessed statue. And I have this headcanon, which you may call official, that Dante's life and business are actually on the edge of collapse (see: Lady refusing to pay him) and he's not actually all that happy (see: end of DMC1, all of DMC2), smartass comments aside. So there were lots of places that I put in descriptors trying to show that, like cheap chairs.
“We were fine – for a year,” said Nero, fiddling with the leather at the fingertip of his glove. “But the demons just kept coming. We started to run, but at each town the people would notice two strangers arriving, followed by hordes of demons. I wore the glove, but when I fought people would see –“ he waved his arm vaguely, “and the fifth town tried to stone us, and we fought and Kyrie said – she said it would be safer if she – and I swore to her I’d never use it again, but she left anyway, while I was gone.”
Dante stared at the ceiling fan and pretended the kid wasn’t nearly crying at his kitchen table. “So really, you just promised not to use it to fight, and as long as you just produce it and then I go and use it –“
“I gave my word,” said Nero, flashing more of that steel. Dante sighed.
“So if we bring ladylove here and have her release you from your oath...”
“She won’t come,” predicted Nero morosely. Dante smiled, and neglected to mention that he wouldn’t be giving her a choice.
===============================================================
“Where are we going?” whined Nero. Dante sighed and tried to think of 10 good reasons he really shouldn’t just kill the kid. Number one: you’d lose Yamato, and it wouldn’t solve the problem. Although it would make him feel better. And who knew if Yamato might just pop out of his arm when he died…no. Just answer the question.
“A village called Gartan,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because,” Dante gritted out, “Gartan has a demon infestation, and if I don’t kill them all today, they will kill all the villagers tonight, and I won’t get any money.”
A moment of blessed silence, and then:
“That’s why you’re here. Why am I here?”
Dante was done. He whirled around and glared and the red jacketed figure following. “Because,” he snarled, “it’s Bring Your Annoying Look-alike to Work Day. Trish the shapeshifter always wins but I knew this would be my year!” He spun again and continued walking. He was almost sorry when he heard the footsteps start following him again.
This just sort of came out my keyboard. It is perhaps my favorite example of organic, "let the character talk" writing. But then I worry a lot about my characters being OOC, and all of them sounding like me. I'm not sure it's something I can really judge for myself.
The fighting started out easy, on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t until they’d reached the far side, nearest the Hellgate, that Dante judged the fighting was thick enough and jumped up to a nearby roof, leaving Nero alone in a rapidly thickening horde of demons.
Crap! I had the wrong Hellgate originally, and here's an example I missed correcting.
“What are you doing!” Nero yelled up at him, deflecting a few dangerous attacks.
“What does it look like?” he shouted back. “I’m trying to make you break your oath!”
“Bastard!” the kid spat, the next time his life wasn’t in mortal danger. Dante laughed.
“Uncalled for! Your people worship my father!” he shouted. “Do you even know who yours is?” Although, mused Dante as Nero killed a few more demons, silver hair, demon blood, affinity for Yamato… maybe they were related. Maybe that’s why he’d given the kid the sword. Family ties. Because Virgil had gotten busy…when he was 12…damn. There went another theory.
I like to bring in the actual meaning of curse words and insults. It makes me happy inside.
He watched the kid fight for a bit longer. He wasn’t half bad, even fighting without his arm and only his ridiculous rev-up sword, but he’d be forced to go one step further or die soon. Dante really hoped this worked. Lady had been mysteriously unavailable for the past few months, and he didn’t want to send Trish out after ladylove opera girl and leave the agency unattended.
Look look it's foreshadowing! I can do foreshadowing!
His thoughts on future directions were interrupted by a cry from below, as Nero was impaled on the sharp spike of a demons claw. “Well, shit,” cursed Dante quietly, “Looks like you chose dead before forsworn. I s’pose that’s admirable, but damned inconvenient.” Standing, he felt the sun slowly setting and let the simmering anger – always present, low in his stomach - take over. It wouldn’t do to let his possible-nephew-if-Virgil-was-a-very-strange-12-year-old die, would it?
This is another bit of headcanon, that the demon form is basically just Really Angry Dante, actually letting it loose and not thinking about what's happening, so he's only half conscious. Because nothing in my life is complete without a reference to FF7, this is the same way I think of Red's Howling Moon limit break.
When he’d bled off most of his anger, he retreated back into just-Dante, finished off the last few wandering, confused demons and took stock of the nearby buildings. He hissed. With damages he wasn’t getting much out of this one. If he got anything at all. He grimaced as demon blood condensed from the air around him and was absorbed into his skin, bringing demons’ phantom memories of unending fighting, finding the gate, and finally being killed by his own demon form. Sometimes these memories taught him useful things, so he should probably go around the square later and collect the blood condensing on the surroundings, but still. That stuff is slimy. Instead he meandered over to the kid and fished out some demon spirit. Although left behind more rarely than blood, the spirit was more useful. It woke up some healing something in demon blood, and had saved his ass from near death more than once, so he generally kept it around. Also, it wasn’t so slimy.
Okay guys, here it is. This is the reason I wrote this story. Metaphysics ideas are actually the reason I write most things. I had this fun idea for why you find demon blood in all sorts of random places. Also, there was this bit where demon blood is so close to evaporation, that when a demon gets enough wounds it can't maintain it's internal temperature and the blood basically explodes out of them. This is why demon corpses disappear. Naturally, our protagonists are protected from this phenomenon by their (at least) half human blood. AND, that's why we have bigger health bars, and why the bosses are invariably huge - better termperature regulation. God, I have way too much fun with this crap.
“You ain’t looking too good,” he observed when Nero coughed and sat up. Nero only glared at him.
“Your fault,” he said, wincing.
“Yeah, yeah. Your stupid oath,” retorted Dante. “C’mon, back to the agency and we’ll see about finding ladylove.”
===============================================================
“What is that?” Dante asked, shying away from the … thing … on the table.
“I believe it’s called a casserole.” Trish was wearing a god-damn oven mitt, holding a spatula. Dante tried to erase the image from his mind.
Dante and domesticity do not mix. I wrote this for humor, but it's part of what I wrote above about living on the edge of collapse, if you can never settle.
“One of the Gartaners dropped it off this afternoon, while checking on our progress,” Trish added, with a pointed glance towards Dante.
“He tried to kill me, how’s that for progress,” muttered Nero resentfully, stepping in behind him.
“It didn’t work, then?” Trish asked, and Nero glanced at her, apparently hurt by her betrayal. Where’d he get off thinking Trish the demon was more sympathetic? Dante wondered.
“Let’s just eat,” he said.
They pulled out the rickety chairs and sat, Nero wincing. “How come the demons hurt so much more?” he asked. “I’ve taken more than that from some weapons and kept going, but this still hurts.”
Trish made a pouting sympathetic face and served up the gooey meal. “Poor baby,” she said.
“Poison,” said Dante shortly, tasting the casserole. It was almost like pizza, he decided, without the crust. “Not much to do in Hell but fight, and they can all heal, so they make poisons. All the best weapons have ‘em too, the material they’re made of. Cold iron, mithril, angelsteel – that’s Yamato.”
Aaaand... this was also part of why I wrote this story. To explain, as I wrote in my notes, "why our heroes can totally get impaled in cutscenes but have actual health bars that go down." Stilted dialogue to explain made-up magical physics? SO on board.
Lowkey points out - pizza is the bar against which all food is judged.
Nero glanced at his arm “I thought you only needed Yamato to close The Hell Gate,” he said, stress on the article indicating ‘the Hell Gate of our recent mutual experience.’ He looked far more comfortable with the casserole than Trish, or than Dante felt. Dante imagined ladylove had made him lots of casseroles, before things went bad. Nero was able to live in that world. And maybe that’s why Dante had given him Yamato. The sword would be safer with someone who could actually live as a human.
Everything is better in threes! This scene wasn't in here originally, but I (A) really wanted to explain the health bar thing (B) had to explain the needing Yamato bit after I read online it's only supposed to be needed for one special Hell Gate, and (C) wanted to have a third possible reason Dante had given Nero Yamato. If the rule of three is good enough for fairy tales it's good enough for me.
The Hell Gate of our recent mutual experience - quite possibly my favorite descriptor in the story. I wanted to capitalize it.
“Oh, yeah, there’s plenty of ways I could close this one,” said Dante. “Take Trish, for example. A demon capable of love. If I spilled her lifeblood over the gate I could close it easy.” He pointed a finger at Trish in a mock gun and she obliged by sinking in her chair, red blood running sluggishly down her ample chest from a jagged hole at neck as she wheezed a final sigh.
“Or me,” said Dante, as Trish straightened, blood vanished, and returned to the casserole. “I could bleed out maybe…half my blood, at noon and midnight for a cycle of the moon. That’d do it. Your blood for two cycles, and three if I had to force you.”
Nero paled, a forkful of casserole forgotten halfway to his mouth.
“Or I could sacrifice a loving family with at least five members,” Dante listed, starting to count possibilities on his fingers. “Kill about half a dozen virgins, or one child each of one, two, and three months of age.” He glanced at Trish. “That’s about it, right? Yamato’s just the easiest.”
That was fun to write. I think I maybe have too much fun with morally dubious protagonists.
He smiled at Nero, and went back to his meal.
Also way too much fun with having people smile predatorily. I think this is like the fifth evil smile this story.
“I swore an oath,” Nero muttered to his food, several moments later.
“Oh, don’t let me keep you from fulfilling it,” said Dante.
===============================================================
Nero was sleeping on the couch again, and Dante was trying to work out the logistics of a three-person job done with only two people, when Lady showed back up, trailing some red-head. Dante looked up, noting absently that Trish had disappeared, as she often did when Lady came by. He opened his mouth to ask Lady where she’d been hiding when he finally had a real job for her, but he stopped, mouth still open, thoughts flowing easily out of his head, as he recognized Lady’s follower. Nero’s ladylove, version two point oh. Hair pulled back, same necklace clearly visible above the lower neckline of a shorter dress with a flared skirt in the same green as her church robes, and flashing a bit of that inconvenient steel in the eyes.
Did I say I'm not sexist? I am just.....fitting in with the canon. All ladies must look sexy in Devil May Cry. Looking sexier is equivalent to personal growth.
In a moment his composure was regained. One problem solved, one made meaningless, he thought. Bingo. He whistled, long and high to low. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, propping his feet up on the desk. Irritated as always, Lady brushed them aside.
“Dante,” she snapped, “be serious.” Dante had once convinced himself that Lady snapped at him to hide her attraction, or that it was some bizarre flirtation. She had broken his nose. They both knew it would heal, but - “This is Kyrie,” she interrupted his thoughts.
I really like the idea that Lady could break his nose to show him she is serious, with pretty much no consequences. I think this is another place where thinking about how what the game shows us actually influences their lives comes in.
“I know,” said Dante.
“Good,” said Lady. “You remember her. I want you to train her.”
“Excuse me?” said Dante, incredulous. “I don’t train anyone, and she’s not exactly demon hunter material, yaknow?”
“Kyrie” said Lady, and opera girl miraculously produced twin wickedly long knives from under the dress, and proceeded to attack Lady, who defended with the hilts of her guns. It was basic, but showed she’d had some training.
This is a cheap cop-out. I was tired and didn't feel like writing any actual combat. You'll notice I didn't earlier either. I have (not in anything published), and I think I can, pretty decently. It's just not fun. LIke many things in fanfic, I go ahead and sacrifice quality when it's too much effort to make it better. I tell myself that this is the point of fanfic, that i can do that, and don't have to worry like I would with actual writing.
After a moment, Lady called a halt. “Just self defense. Well?” she said to Dante. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with – was that pride? Oh no, thought Dante, looking to Kyrie.
“You,” he said, pointing at Lady, “Quit sparkling. And you,” his finger trailed over to Kyrie carefully tucking the knives away, “quit…being inspiring. I will teach you everything you can learn in one month IF you go into the back room and convince laddybuck you won’t hate him for giving me my sword.” He stormed out of the room, not particularly caring that they wouldn’t understand his condition yet. He didn’t leave soon enough to miss the triumphant smile Lady shared with Kyrie. Lady never smiled sincerely anymore.
What he needed, he decided, was time away from fresh young people and with the old jaded company he generally kept. He’d find Trish and get drunk, was the general idea, until he walked in to find her tucking a blanket around the sleeping Nero on the couch, her motherly expression quickly shifting into guilt as she looked up upon his entrance. This simply wasn’t happening, Dante denied to himself. He threw up his hands and continued storming through to his bedroom. He had a stash of something that would make most people go blind, and he’d drink alone if he was the only one that couldn’t forget who they all were.
This is another example of lazy writing. Or at least that I don't feel I got my point across. The point, which I just go ahead and say later, is that they all care about Nero and Kyrie, and want to help them, with the idea that perhaps the next generation won't end up as screwed up as themselves. But because they are so screwed up, they have trouble recognizing and acknowledging this even to themselves- Dante most of all.
===============================================================
“Nero,” Kyrie whispered. “Psst, Nero, wake up!”
“Kyrie? What are you…” Nero’s voice was thick with sleep.
“I’m here to learn self-defense, like I said. Why do you have one of Dante’s swords, and what do I have to do with it? Also, there’s something you should know about –“
She was interrupted by the sound of Nero sitting up quickly. “Are you okay?” he asked urgently. “Did they kidnap you?” So perhaps Nero had figured out Dante would have brought her willing or no.
“No, Nero, I’m fine, Lady brought me here. She also found a curse on the necklace you gave me.” The chain shifted as she held it up. “Agnus put it there, when he –“ there was a ripple of disgust in her voice and she broke off. “So the demons were following me. But they shouldn’t be following us as much when we leave, because she broke it. But I’m still going to learn to fight.”
“Why?” asked Nero.
“You’re not going to get hurt protecting me anymore,” Kyrie said. “I tried to tell you, but you weren’t listening. That’s why I left you the note when I left, with our landlord-“ she broke off, and probably brushed Nero’s hair back – the sound wasn’t immediately identifiable. “He didn’t give it to you, did he?”
I hate this conversation. I hated it even more the first time I wrote it. I fee like my excuse for the misunderstanding is contrived (I didn't know what it could be when I started writing). And the conversation to get that fact out there is contrived. In my defense (from myself), we don't actually see Nero and Kyrie interact much in a non-crisis situation. So this was my opportunity to write a real relationship unfettered by canon, and I just fell back on schmoop.
Nero made a soft noise of understanding. “He already hated us because I broke his wall with that lesser demon.”
“But Nero, why are you here? What does Dante want from you?”
“Yamato,” said Nero. “But its part of my arm,” the glove rustled as he pulled it off, “and I swore to you not to use my demonic powers so people wouldn’t know”
Kyrie put her hand on his arm, the fingers running over the cloth of his jacket. “I told you so many times,” she said softly. “That was a stupid vow. You kept getting hurt because I couldn’t take care of myself. I left to fix that, and you tried to stop using the only thing that’s kept you alive for me...you give him what he wants, and when we leave we’re both going to fight the best we can, okay?”
“Together…?” said Nero uncertainly.
“Always together,” whispered Kyrie. The couch creaked as Nero leaned in to kiss her, and –
I didn't magically switch POV for this scene. It's supposed to be all things Dante is hearing. I did only use auditory clues for what was happening. My beta didn't get that at first, so I tried to make it more obvious by having one of the auditory clues be uncertain. I'm still not sure it comes across.
Originally the line that ended this was "Tomorrow will come, whether we wait for it or not." I really like the way that sounds for some reason. But it doesn't actually have anything to do with the story, and my beta pointed out it sounds pretty anvilicious.
So this, I guess, is a cautionary tale of what can happen if you have too much fun speculating on magical physics and want to share it. I suppose I should think of something conclusive and unifying to say here, but I'd rather just post this. I've gotten one review which says they can't wait for the next chapter. This seems like an ending to me, but (for obvious reasons) I am not the best judge.