A Bar in Limbo City, Sunday Afternoon

Sep. 24th, 2017 09:46 am
rebelseekspizza: (dante pb: symmetrical glare)
[personal profile] rebelseekspizza
"You seen Enzo around here?" Dante asked, slamming the door shut behind him. Paused, tilted his head-- "Oh, nice tunes."

The guy behind the bar - older, kinda rugged, Dante thought his name was Mark - rolled his eyes. "I can't pay my bills with questions and compliments," he said. "Drink?"

Conversations in bars. )

[[ nfb, nfi, taken from the acid trip that is the DMC 3 prequel manga. heavily adapted. the original contains roughly 300% more bizarre bartender flirting about tomatoes ]]
rebelseekspizza: (manga: dante. vergil.)
[personal profile] rebelseekspizza
"Can't say I'm feeling the wonder around here."

'Wonderland' was a dump. The fence gates creaked as Dante shoved them over and left Enzo standing on the sidewalk yelling some bullshit. The mansion itself looked centuries old, barely any upkeep; the yard was overgrown and the door was boarded up.

Dante sighed, looking from the door up to the house itself and back. Something about this place felt off. He could probably kick his way in through the front door, but that'd be the most likely place for traps. So as long as he had the choice...

He leaped up, finding a portruding brick to put his foot on. Then, a windowsill. Another windowsill, then a completely useless decorative... whatever. It was dark behind the windows--

Most windows. )

[[ some graphic violence and general weirdness under the cut. Based on the acid trip that is the Devil May Cry 3 prequel manga. establishy. ]]

A Bar in Limbo City, Saturday Morning

Sep. 17th, 2017 08:30 am
rebelseekspizza: (dante: going for the sword)
[personal profile] rebelseekspizza
Blood on somebody's door was never a good sign.

Especially not if that door belonged to a bar.

Dante pushed open the door... )

[[ some vague violence under the cut, based on the Devil May Cry 3 manga. TBC. ]]
rebelseekspizza: (dante pb - black and white)
[personal profile] rebelseekspizza
Dante'd been out, driving. Keeping the speed up on his bike, pushing it as fast as he could go. The wind in his hair and the road between his wheels: perfect.

But it was over now, and he was heading home, a sixpack he'd picked up on the way dangling from his finge--


Dante brought the phone up to his ear, coming to a stop right in front of the building. "Y'lo?"

"Dante! Thank god!"


"Man, do I have a job for you!"

Dante sighed. Of all the times for him to call... he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned against the wall. "So what is it?"

"This one's gonna need some time to explain. Meet you at the bar?"

... Dante blinked. "Right now?"

"Yeah! Well, I guess it can be tomorrow morning, like 9 AM, too--"

"At the bar?"

"Yeah, yeah, at the bar."

Blink. Blink. "... kay," he said. "9 AM at the bar. Sure. Why not?"

"Fantastic! This is gonna be great!"

Before he could ask Enzo what the hell kind of drugs he was on right now, the idiot hung up.

"Fantastic," Dante muttered.

[[ open! setting up some manga plottiness, whee. ]]

Office Hours [all day]

Sep. 15th, 2017 03:27 pm
sith_happened: (Default)
[personal profile] sith_happened
Anakin came into his office to find everything in order, except for a small, innoculous looking box over in the corner with an "ARM/DISARM" switch.

He snorted, then pulled his comlink from his robes and checked to see what weird Earth holidays were celebrated on September 15. "National Linguine Day!" he said triumphantly, glaring at the box. "If you think I'm pressing 'fire', you're crazy."

Of course, he was talking to an inanimate object, so...

Anakin's door was open! Mind the box.
rebelseekspizza: (dante pb: wistful)
[personal profile] rebelseekspizza
It'd been a couple of weeks, and Dante'd gotten settled in his new life - one foot in the dorms, one foot in this place. ... Usually foot in this place, at least at night.

He felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. That... wasn't necessarily a good thing. As always, being busy meant not having to think much. Not having to linger. Finding some noise to plug up his brain with so he didn't have to deal with that one thing, shittier even than everything that had happened with Kathy - the one thing he didn't really have words for.

But now he was quiet. His brain was quiet.

... and so he pulled up a chair, draping himself liberally across it, and took his guitar with him. Just strumming and plucking in some nameless tune that wasn't sad but also, somehow, never managed to be very happy.

A tune that, very occasionally, every once in a while, hit on something still full of rage.

... he was gonna call Nine Inch Nails cover if anyone called him on it.

[[ open! ]]
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