blah blah blah I'm lex luthor

Fri, 29 Aug 2008 13:26:10 GMT

	SUMMONER OF SPIRA ∴ YUNA
	Yuna, Lady High Summoner of Spira. Final Fantasy X-2. Member of the Gullwings. In perpetual denial of her own feelings whether she admits it or not. played; Tides of Fate 1 & 2, and in pre-FFX, AU form at FFAU @ GJ.com

CLAIRE REDFIELD ∴ ANGEL OF HELLVIEW
Sister of Chris Redfield, heroine of Resident Evil 2 and Resident Evil Code: Veronica X. Umbrella Resistence. Tomboy and smartass with the worst good luck ever. played; Tides of Fate 1 & 2, various GJ games

	DEVIL HUNTRESS ∴ EVA 1.0
	Lady Eva Spencer; devil huntress extraordinaire via the Catholic Church. Contradictory push-over tough girl from the Victorian Age. Beta version at large. played; Tides of Fate 1 & 2.

ALBERT WESKER ∴ DOMINATUS
Albert Wesker, badass extreme. Resident Evil series all over and your mom. Owns me, you, and your dad too. Super tyrant. played; Tides of Fate 1; passed the torch of this journal later on to someone far more suiting of this character.

	MALUS ANIMUS ∴ VERGIL 1
	Vergil, son of Sparda. Devil May Cry 3. Catfighter of Dante. Hippy hater. Manager of casinos, hotels and most likely a hair salon. played; Tides of Fate 1 & 2, Polychromatic 2006, Ashita University 2007.

LAGUNA LOIRE ∴ PRESIDENT LOIRE
Laguna Loire, President of Esthar. Final Fantasy VIII. Father and husband. Teddy bear and golf maniac. Dean, and ultimately mourned. played; Tides of Fate 1 & 2; Desai University.

	EXULTING SADIST ∴ DONA
	Dona, summoner of Spira. Final Fantasy X/X-2. Bitch royale. Former competitor to the title of High Summoner with Yuna. Devout to New Yevon. Again, total and utter bitch. BFF in denial with Berrik. played; Tides of Fate 2. Debuted on GJ.com at Jejune Life.

LADY/MARY ∴ EVERLASTING BANE
Lady/Mary, daughter of Arkham and deceased Kalina Ann. Devil May Cry 3. Devil hunter, mercenary, profane bitch. BFF to Dante. Wants her fucking weapons. Formerly a Leon Kennedy journal. played; Debuted at Canon Wars, almost played at Wednesburgh and Book of Xanadu.

	SNIPER CODE ∴ CHRIS REDFIELD
	Chris Redfield, former member of S.T.A.R.S., Umbrella Resistence. Resident Evil series. Worst good luck in the world, passed on to his baby sister, Claire. played; Would have debuted at Wednesburgh. Played on a couple of GJ.com games.

POLYCHROME∴ SOUL PREDATOR
Polychrome, former jackal/wraith of Hell. The Nocturnals. "Quit that gig", though this incarnation, not so much. A true hippy, calm and collected. Deader than a doornail. played; Would have debuted at Wednesburgh.

	HEART OF LIGHT ∴ SORA
	Sora, Master of the Keyblade. Kingdom Hearts. The sweetest kid you'll ever meet. Holy kid. Will hold your hand and help you go into scary places like Wal-Mart. BFF with the craziest Vergil you'll ever meet. played; Tides of Fate; City of Desai; Original Sin.

PAINE ∴ SPIRAL OUT
Paine, Gullwing, former member of the Crimson Squad. Final Fantasy X-2. Sphere recorder. Sentinel. Goth chick. BFF with Yuna, Rikku, Nooj, Baralai and Gippal whether she says it or not. played; Tides of Fate 1; Original Sin; prior incarnation at journal sphererecorder was at Squenix University.

	ANARCHAL DEVIL ∴ DANTE
	Dante, devil hunter. Devil May Cry. Just starting out in the world. Cable thief. Professional alleyway masturbator. Unaffected (except not really) by his brother's insults. BFF to Tifa. All-around cutie. played; Fall of Jupiter.

HADES ∴ COOL CONNIPTION
Hades, Lord of the Underworld! Disney's Hercules. Smartass and loves it. Loves the living to be the dead. Loves the dead to be dead. All around pleasant deity to be around if you're him and no one else. played; Debuted on GJ.com, Original Sin.

	TWILIGHT GENESIS ∴ RIKU
	Riku, traveler between the dark and the light. Kingdom Hearts. BFF to Sora and Kairi, and in their place Dante and Ichigo. Good guy, if not easily misguided at times. played; Desai University, Original Sin, The Dressing Room.

EVA 3.0 ∴ ANNWN
Eva, the slightly better version. Devil May Cry. Mother of three. Paranormal Studies professor. Constantly pissing her husband and younger son off with reckless behavior that only a mother could provide. Resurrected from the Victorian Era. played; Debuted at Squenix Uni under another journal name. Moved to Fractura Uni on GJ.com, came back for Original Sin.

	TOTEN TANZ ∴ VERGIL
	Vergil, of many faces. From Fractura and back, post-Nero Angelo, to running hotels, to visiting tropical islands. The name has a stigma. Beware of this one. played; Debuted at Squenix University, went to GJ.com to Fractura Uni, and came back to Original Sin. Revamped for City of Desai, and again for Special Land.

HALLOWEEN GIRL∴ EVENING HORROR
Eve Horror, daughter of Doc Horror. The Nocturnals. Pretty much a vampire. Declared 'heliophobe'. Friends with Dante and Ichigo. Crushes on Dante. Has a gunslinging zombie as a babysitter. played; Desai University

	EL BEARDO ∴ KUROSAKI ISSHIN
	Kurosaki Isshin, father of Ichigo, Karin and Yuzu. BLEACH. A good daddy for girls. Doctor. Friends 4eva with Urahara Kisuke and Sparda. Shinigami in secret. Roller disco king of Karakura. played; Debuted at Desai University.

J. ARKHAM ∴ CONTRIVANCE
Judas Arkham, father of Lady; Jester. Devil May Cry. Murderer. Brainwasher. False part-demon. Asshole. Professor. Loves is Mary so much he could kill her in the middle of a large tower that makes women shudder. Two personalities. played; Desai University

	PINK TRANSIENCE ∴ MATSUMOTO RANGIKU
	Matusmoto Rangiku, Vice-Captain of the 10th Division. BLEACH. Loves her Wee-chan Captain-chan. Devout myspace lulzer. Pretends to be stupid for sport. Nicknamed "Pillows" by drinking buddy, Dante. played; Debuted at Desai University.

ISAAC∴ SHADOW DIVINE
Isaac, devout servant of Dracula. Castlevania: Curse of Darkness. Gayer than Graham Norton. Molester. Insane. Wants his fucking Hector, but any male with white hair will do. Devil Forgemaster and fucking proud of it. Three Dante molestations under his belt. played; Debuted at Magna Mater Uni. Tides of Fate. Desai Uni.

	RECONDITE NIGHT ∴ EVA LA SPADA ~ CURRENT VERSION
	Eva La Spada, wife of Sparda; mother of Dante and Vergil. Much more awesome than her past editions. That's all that needs be said. Oh. In a gigai made by Urahara Kisuke. played; Debuted at Desai University; City of Desai.

PRAETOR BARALAI ∴ PEACEFUL LIGHT
Baralai, Praetor of New Yevon. Final Fantasy X-2. Kind man. Devout to his beliefs. Actually a really shifty bastard. Can probably kick your ass, and apologize after he's done. Means it all out of love. played; Debuted at Jejune Life on GJ.com, incarnations going to Magna Mater, Fractura Uni, and even Polychromatic.

	RICE SCOOPER 69 ∴ HISAGI SHUHEI
	Hisagi Shuhei, acting Captain of the 9th Division. BLEACH. Victim of circumstance. Enemy of Dante. Cannibal by accident. Actually very sweet but being pushed to his last nerve by Dante and his entire fucking family. Most likely to talk to drag queens for three hours before realizing they're dudes. Will back out slowly. played; Debuted at Desai University.

CHRONICA ∴ THROTTLE
Chronica, helmsman of the Earth fleet. Trigun Maximum. Independent plant. Sister to Vash the Stampede. Stern. Official. Wary. Will beat your ass and sacrifice herself to protect humans, or the majority thereof. played; Debuted at Polychromatic.

	TWILIGHT YEARS ∴ ZELDA/SHEIK
	Zelda, lost princess of Hyrule; Sheik. Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Not a dude. Never a dude. Sweet. Tough. Still not a dude. Filed a lawsuit against Wal-Mart with Sparda. played; Debuted at Fractura Uni at GJ.com; Tides of Fate V.2.

EVA BLYTHE - OH FUCK ∴ PATH TO CLOSURE
Eva Blythe, oh shit. RUN THE FUCK AWAY. Needs to be clinically medicated but refuses to do so. Former government agent. Mostly due to aforementioned mental afflictions. Out to kill Sparda. In denial that her sons are sick fucks. played; Debuted in independent RP and honestly needs to stay there. Tides of Fate V.3.

MITNAL ∴ VERGIL NESMITH

Vergil, loves his brother a little too much. Icky. Went bonkers after a demon screwed his and Dante's minds up. Has tried to skin himself. Again, loves his brother a little too much. They were not like this in high school, fuckdammit. But loves him some Yuna, ironically.

played; Debuted on GJ.com at Bacchus High, went independent, should have stayed there. Became gross in Tides of Fate V.3.

BALTHIER ∴ VENI VICI
Balthier, the most awesome pirate ever. Final Fantasy XII. Sky pirate. Professional mooch. Loves him some bunny girls. Massive clutz when drinking. Again, loves him some assfloss bunnychicks. played; Polychomatic.

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 05:09:47 GMT

DAY ONE :: SUICIDE BOMBER :: TRAVEL AGENCY, CENTER-CITY

[[ LIVIO, TSENG, DENNICK ]]

A man, armed with explosives, storms the Travel Agency. After an hour of obtaining and scaring hostages (it seems like he's having help, since the electronic doors built to withstand explosions and gunfire have sealed), he learns that there's news media reporting about his tirade. He drags a pregnant woman out to the main lobby where most his hostages are. Cameras outside the doors barely catch him screaming, "This is for Nava!" before he detonates. Casualities from the explosion and aftershock causing severe building damage rank at 152. Fatalities, 13.

[[ ALL CHARACTERS ]]

Later in the day, programming begins to run, impromptu, telling of a country residing to the Southeast called NAVA. However, these programs are interrupted about ten to twenty minutes in for "emergency signal broadcasting tests" that last in durations up to the hour. Inquiring minds who catch the beginning of these programs, however, can find underground information on websties and in small bookshops that this is the country from which the Aitai (Donna; Lucio) descended. Books speak of this country like it's some sort of Atlantis, really, but nothing at all concrete.

[[ ALL CHARACTERS; DR. CONRAD, VASH ]]

The day ends with reports on the evening news of JULIANA GREER-DECLERCQ'S honorary induction to MDEA. She's a legendary surgeon mentioned in-game before; and, ironically, she's also an expert on the occult. This is something the reporters make mention of several times.

[[ ALL CHARACTERS ]]

The Travel Agency has been shut down until further notice.

DAY TWO :: AND ONE MORE TIME :: LEVUE SQUARE, CENTER-CITY

[[ CENTER-CITY CHARACTERS ]]

Another bombing, with less dramatics. It happens a few blocks away from the Starscape, in Center-City's... center, Levue Square. It causes an entire street block to cave in. Reports denote that witnesses saw several hunched creatures running through the dust and disappearing into shadows.

[[ ALL CHARACTERS ]]

As though the above was heralding it in, an hour later, people all over Desai start encountering the typical signs of hauntings in far more frequent and obvious manners: objects moving, writing in foggy windows and glass, sounds, distorted pictures, etc etc. Nothing news-worthy, apparently, and yet on the street? Everyone's talking about it.

This goes on for three days,

DAY FIVE :: SACRIFICE :: AUGUSTA CONSTRUCTION SITE

[[ VOLUNTEERS? ]]

A murder victim is discovered in Augusta by -----volunteered characters here----- early in the morning. The Coroner report is somehow released into the hands of the media, who report about it immediately. The victim was five-year-old Jake Tenzan, who appears to have been ritualistically tortured and sacrificed. DNA reports say that he is Aitai, and it's believed to have been a hate crime due to the bombing at the Travel Agency, with immediate disregard that the death looks ritualistic.

DAY SIX :: ***** STARS :: STARSCAPE CASINO AND HOTEL RESPORT, CENTER-CITY

[[ STARSCAPE RESIDENTS; VASH THE STAMPEDE, KAIRI, SORA ]]

Executive residents and head staff are extremely tense at the break of morning. Whispers and mutters denote this is because of the murdered child. MDEA agents begin frequenting the complex, and hotel security and front level staff begin to receive reports about a teenage girl seen roaming around, covered in injury and who runs away at the first attempt at contact, not being able to be found after that. Later on in the night, the reports begin to focus on the floors between 71-79, along with accounts of interaction and even injury.

Our dear Starscape director, Vergil, remains unimpressed by the reports and will not personally entertain any "fanaticism" that comes his way. He'll most likely dispatch his personal security to deal with the claims.

DAY NINE :: SPLICING PROJECT :: MONUMENT PRISON, RITUANA

[[ TSENG, DR. CONRAD, VASH, CHRONICA ]]

Ahmea Greer calls for Tseng and Conrad to come to Monument Prison, where the ordered Splicing Project is underway. This time it's not for her, but to assign them under Juliana to assist with the splicing projects. Full personality dossier will be in Juliana's hands about Conrad.

The thing to know about the Greer sisters: Both come from a very wealthy family that has assured them the best educations out there. Juliana is the smarter of the two. Ahmea's knowledge on genetics places her often in places with MDEA that involve genetic exploration, such as with the Plants in Monument Prison. Her tests are brutal and cruel, and performed with no remorse. This isn't a "they aren't human" thing; this is a "they're not me" thing.

Juliana, the older sister, is the more intelligent, but also the more dangerous. Everything that Ahmea is to Plants, Juliana is... typically to demonic and paranormal entities.

This is going to cause an extreme spike in Plant resonation, but it's also going to cause a lot of trouble for the prison's electrical system since the Plants power these, since Day Nine is the beginning of more severe tests, and the first day of Juliana's order for Conrad to turn over Chronica.

DAY ELEVEN ::

jgd';kdhgsjdkfhjs I HAVE NO IDEA I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH THIS PLOT OH MY GOD SAPGJSDHGPLSDJHGS H:FDKHGS:ARJASMNTLGD:KGDS FSDAISFKS DF:ESOPTGISDKJG DDDDDDDDDDDDDDXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I HAVE NO DIRECTION
I DON'T GET WHAT I'M DOING

SEVEN HELLS SEVEN HELLS IS THIS A MOTHER FUCKING DMC PLOT OR WHAT WHAT SDPGKJSDFGH:FDKGSD PIFSAKGP:

WHERE THE HELL IS
KISA
AND
KAT
WHERE I NEED THEM LDSKGJHDS;GKDFJGMK DFJDFLKHJD
FDGLDKFKJH
DLGKKJFD
KJKJ
KKKH
FD
F
FD
GF
H

KENDALL NEEDS TO HELP TOO I THINK BECAUSE
I
SUCK
AT
GROUP
PLOTS WTF WTF WWWTTTFFF

I COULD USE EVERYONE'S HELLLLP

DAY ELEVEN :: SEVEN HELLS :: DESAI

[[ ANY CHARACTERS ]]

First appearance of creatures representing the hunched creatures at the second bombing are seen across the city. These are quickly identified as demonic entities originating from the world of Devil May Cry, known as the Seven Hells_[link]. They're coming out of nowhere in seemingly random places (ICly), and are seemingly cannon fodder. Seriously, characters can feel free to kick their asses if it's realistic for the characters.

~*~HOWEVER~*~ We're doing something a little different for the interest of the players. As you can see, the Seven Hells (pictures pending) represent the Seven Deadly Sins. Before an attack appears from one of the Hells, characters will inadvertantly experience an overwhelming sense of the sin the Hells in their vacinity represent. This can be for only a matter of seconds, or a matter of days (since this will go on for a week) if players choose to have their characters stalked.

This means that a character will experience inexplicable greed for riches, envy for those they on a normal day perceive as luckier/more fortunate than they, or powerful lust towards a person they have strong feelings for to begin with. This is only an ENHANCEMENT of existing feelings; feelings that may be really perceived as normal on an average day (who doesn't view someone as an object to admire, example?).

These run-ins can happen with any chosen frequency mandated by you guys, if at all, and the effects of the Hells on each of your characters can be as strong or as minute as you choose. That's why this is allowed to span a week [five days] to give players the chance to play with the sins the Hells create for them before other things start to happen.

;lkdsgh;ikgh'dsklgjdslkgjsdksg
sd'g sjd gd ;l gsd
gdsjlghjds
;hgdkh;jhgdflghj

How the fuck am I supposed to introduce the Scala Caeli versus Una Voce fiiiiiiight ;;

PLOT POINT PLOT POINT DSDLGJDSMGLDSJHGLDSKGHDS GDS
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP

Scala Caeli - cult that Juliana and Ahmea were born into. They feel the path to Heaven is to dominate Hell. In charge of the Starscape (thusly, Vergil). Lucio Brae is a former member.
Una Voce - rival cult who have foresaken the path to Heaven by worshipping and empowering demons. They're the ones responsible for the bombings and demonic spike, while attempting to frame the Aitai and expose the reason MDEA, a unit heavily reliant on Scala Caeli, has sealed off Desai's borders.

NO MA'AM

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 17:03:48 GMT

I do not believe I feel very fonz with receiving incoherent voicemails on my phone FROM THE ONE AND ONLY TISCH.

WTF.

Also, I have to try to remember my password to claire_redfield. And I am STILL contemplating a move back to purgatory. I'd make it painless for you guys and just rename, but I would lose a lot of stuff on each journal (including comments) that I just don't want to lose, and haven't the gumption to back-up. I can handle it if LJ like dies one day, or the world ends, but not because I was a dumbass.

I refer you to this post if you don't believe me.

purgatory is just a more comfortable name, to me. And no, I will not have one of those "comment if you don't want me to readd you" posts, or "comment if you want to come with" posts. I ♥ all of you, and if you're not still on purgatory, you're going to be. If you don't readd, OH WELL. I'll get the hint at SOME POINT.

I'm just too lazy to make one of those types of posts, and one either forces you out to be malicious, or forces you out to beg, and that's not cool.

:(

Edit: Also, I think I'll be working on completion and weekly_event, too.

Wed, 22 Aug 2007 18:38:49 GMT

MY CAT TRIED TO EAT MY MOUSE

SHE BROKE INTO MY OFFICE AND KNOCKED HIS CAGE DOWN

Fortunately, my mouse is a ninja and got away unscathed, but oh my God I was freaking out. There was no blood, so I figured she didn't ACTUALLY eat him, but I couldn't FIND him.

It was only when the kitten, the child of the perpetrator of this crime, started gently pawing a black towel that slipped off my desk that I found him. He was okay, and he doesn't seem to be shaken because the minute I put him in his cage and pieced it back together (it's kind of BROKEN), he started running on his wheel.

I am so happy he's okay, but now he's been relocated to the top of the refrigerator with barricades so the mother cat can't reach him.

fdsg;lkjsdlk

Hurr hurr

Wed, 22 Aug 2007 07:45:00 GMT

exorcism

I mades a real userinfo, mommy :o

I almost spouted 4chan memes at work.

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 19:49:21 GMT

This guy called, and I was like, ":D Thank you for calling T-Mobile, my name is Kara, how may I help you tonight?" And he was like, "I think it's really hot when girls shit." o.O Needless to say, during the course of the conversation, I almost told him that he wouldn't be closing the pool that day, and to go lurk moar and go home to Bel-Air. I had a feeling he'd know FULL AND WELL.

However, my luck, that'd be a call to get a quality score, and one of the judges would have had some horrible grudge against 4chan, so I kept it out of the conversation.

I think it's funny.

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 17:59:35 GMT

Title: Hair Cuts and Dr. Phil
Characters: Dante, Eva, Rem Saverem, allusions to Vash, allusions to Kuchiki Byakuya, Sparda, Souichiro Nagi and Bob Makihara
Year: Fifteen
Location(s): Rem's salon at first, and then the Sparda household for a moment.
Summary: Dante getting his hair cut and bitching a lot while trying to be a mama's boy, followed by Eva deciding to wash his mouth out with soap. Sparda deciding to put teenagers to work as cheap labor.

Notes: Obviously this is extreme AU. Reference here

Dante looked so disgruntled, as he sat there and moped under a curtain of shaggy hair. He didn’t want to be there, in that flower-filled salon with the rest of the chairs occupied by giddy women talking about things like dinner parties and new wash machines (and he wish that wasn’t true, because as sexist as Dante could pretend to be, he liked to be remotely positive). Alas, he was stuck, however. The reason was simple.

No one fucked with Eva Sparda. She sat nearby with her blonde locks in loose curls that fell over a dark, simple top that blended into camouflaged tactical pants that were a complicated patchwork of pouches and pockets that were filled with any number of trinkets and items that were, Dante had no doubt, most likely illegal in most civilized countries. Of course, while that made her a scary woman? That also made her an awesome mom. Dante could take pride in the fact that his mom could beat up anyone else’s dad if she wanted to. She had before.

“Why do I have to do this?” Dante asked, still moping as he fingered a hole in his shirt. He should have stalked Vergil to Estersand Elementary. He would’ve gotten grounded worse, but it would have beaten this.

“Because,” his mother responded. Her eyes were fixed on a hunting magazine splayed in her lap, sunglasses latched over her forehead rather stylishly. (Dante wasn’t into that, but he could admit his parents knew how to dress.)

She turned a page, and Dante closed his eyes. “These flowers make me itch.” They were everywhere.

“Then scratch where it itches.” Dante shifted his hand at his shirt downwards, reaching between his legs until Eva intercepted with a, “In places that are rated PG or under, Dante.” Dante pouted, his hand moving to scratch at his knee before slumping in the seat. “I realize that you don’t want to do this, but if I don’t have Rem do maintenance on that hair of yours, it’s going to need to be shaved off entirely.”

He slumped more, not daring to speak back to her (that was reserved for his father and brother), only to be ‘tsk’ed straight by the cheerful salon manager: Rem Saverem. She was a good friend to his mother, and the adoptive mother to a set of twins as different as Dante was to Vergil. Dante first encountered the twins when he was in fourth grade, and found the younger twin, Vash, crying by himself at the edge of the playground during recess because a blond hothead named Nagi-somethingorother crushed flowers he’d been putting together for Rem. Dante normally hated sissies with a fiery passion… but Vash really was okay. Mama’s boy he may have been (as though Dante had room to talk), but he beat the shit out of his own brother, Knives, once and ended up pantsing then-twelfth grader Kuchiki Byakuya. So, yes, his awesome was sealed in Dante’s book due to originality.

“I was thinking about this for you, Dante!” the dark complexioned Rem said with a bright smile. She dropped a magazine image, clipped free from its home, in front of him while being mindful of his shaggy hair. He had to see, after all!

The image was of a male model in a suit of armor, seated regally atop a solid black horse that looked a bit out of proportion to the ‘knight’. His hair, dark and shaggy, was much like Dante’s, only shorter and more layered. It was a sissy boy’s cut, but all Dante could reply with was, “That’s inaccurate.”

“Huh?” Rem pulled the paper back to look over it, puzzled as to what he meant.

“He has to be on a Clydesdale,” Dante replied, eyeing her with the one eye that managed to get sight through his messy hair. “I don’t know what that ad is selling, Miss Saverem, but it has left me completely unconvinced.” He had some choice words he would have loved to use there, but his mother was present. Besides, he didn’t want to hear Vash if he found out Dante had been profane around his Rem.

“Now,” Eva said as she glanced up and towards him, “if only you would use that brain of yours for something more than blowing up sewage systems.” Her eyes returned to the article she was reading about how to gut animals several days aged. “I love the style, Rem. You have wonderful taste.”

Permission was given in that small blurb to let Rem do as she pleased. Dante’s eyes widened, and he started to pull off of the seat. “You didn’t even look at it!” he whined.

However, his whining was lost behind Rem’s gleeful laugh and clapping. “Excellent!” she cheered. She clasped her hands around each of Dante’s shoulders from behind and forced him back into his seat. “You’ll look so handsome!”

“I’ll look like my furfag of a brother,” Dante blurted as he flailed once.

Eva popped her lips together, and clapped the magazine shut. Dante already knew what was happening, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. “Rem,” Eva said, “where’s the soap?”

Rem knew it too, and only giggled and replied, “In the back bathroom, of course!”

Dante hated when mothers got together. Didn’t matter if they were biological or adoptive--they were evil.

The house. It was quiet.

At first, Sparda was convinced that his ears were deceiving him. No wife. No sons? Unheard of. Usually there was someone roaming around, and the sounds of their hearts or the thumps of their footsteps rang loudly in his optionally sensitive ears.

If there was one thing that Sparda disliked about summer, it was the fact that it brought about bugs and children. While Vergil and Dante were growing older, and thusly were growing more independent in the summertime, Dante tended to sleep late into the morning after staying up and out all night, and Vergil tended to sleep very little, if at all, spending most his time studying to a point even Sparda’s head began to hurt.

But he was alone! Legitimately all alone, with not a child to harass him or a wife to order him around, and it made Sparda feel a certain sense of peace and calm that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. After so long of trying to get Eva to take up a safe job somewhere tucked in a dark corner far away from him, as opposed to her wanting to take up her more illustrious hunting activities from once upon a time, they both fought into a standstill where she simply stayed as a stay-at-home mother.

Peace! Calm. Sparda decided to make the most of it by sweeping into the entertainment room and taking up the remote control. It was two in the afternoon! Surely, surely Dr. Phil was on by that point. His frankness made Sparda happy, in an entirely sadistic way.

However, when he was just about to plop himself into his armchair, there was a rapid knock on the front doors. They were thick and reinforced, as Eva and Sparda both agreed upon. They took to warding those doors, as well, to keep out anything paranormal that would mean their boys harm. So, the fact that someone was able to knock and cause the sound to echo through the main hall of the considerably large house (by modern standards), all the way to the second floor entertainment room, Sparda figured they were either very strong, or they were dropkicking the door.

He guessed the latter, honestly.

And how right Sparda was, as he made his way down and swung the door open without much care. There, in front of him, were two boys he knew all too well from one of the less refined areas of the city. They’d been busy beating someone’s head into his car when he was out shopping one night for birthday gifts for his sons. They were both displayed with sacks, as though it were Halloween, with bright smiles on their faces.

“Souichiro and Bob,” Sparda said with a cluck of his tongue.

His voice seemed to serve as a wake-up call, that caused both boys to jerk and double take at who they were presenting their sacks-o-begging at. They were young, around Dante and Vergil’s age, and while annoying with how hotheaded they were (particularly Souichiro Nagi), Sparda couldn’t help but feel a passing amusement at them. “What are you doing? I expected to see the both of you in summer school.”

The response was hardly matching, but spoken simultaneously with a, “We’re too smart for that,” from the blond Souichiro, and a, “Souichiro decided he didn’t need it and I have to put up with him,” from his best friend. It prompted a dirty look and a sneer from his significantly shorter friend.

Sparda still looked amused as he watched them begin to bicker back and forth about why it was or wasn’t a good thing to keep their mouths shut in regards to Sparda. While Bob seemed to be miles more intelligent than his cocky friend, Sparda still concluded he was a moron. Why did they have those bags? What were they even trying to bum off of people? They hardly appeared the sort, if Sparda was to be honest, but teenagers were retarded little creatures to begin with.

He reached up over their heads and snapped his fingers a couple of times to grab their attention from their increasingly loud argument. Attention gained, he grinned slightly. After all, if they had that much energy, he could find something for them to spend it on and for productive ends. He’d even pay them for what he had in mind.

TICKET TO DENVER GET

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 08:32:18 GMT

It was painful, and there will be stops along the way (wtf from Boise to Denver?), but.

September 14th, I leave at the chokingly early 6:25 AM (hohoho, my ride is going to love~ that), and arrive in Denver after a stop in Salt Lake at 12:05 PM. Earliest I could get.

September 17th, 8:45 AM is depart time ahoy, and after a stop in Vegas from 9:35ish to 12:05ish (two and a half hours, oh my), I am slotted to get back to Boise at 2:50 PM.

Ergo, I wonder if there's anyone in either place to harass in the airport before I return. AHOY.

I should really sleep. Hoowah, have a happy Light icon with a blatant MST3K reference.

And another edition to the Suburban Sparda Family saga.

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 19:03:14 GMT

Title: First Day of Summer School
Characters: Vergil, Dante, Irvine Kinneas, Selphie Tilmitt, Knives, Balthier, and Fran's silhouette, reference to L/Ryuzaki
Year: Fifteen
Location(s): Family neighborhood, then Estersand Elementary (yes, I went there)
Summary: Vergil is a studious young boy, and taking summer school classes to advance through school far more quickly. Dante mocks, frames, gets them both grounded, Vergil makes a new potential BFF when he finally gets to the school.

Notes: Obviously this is extreme AU. Reference here

“S’not supposed to work like that, Verg.”

It was pointed out matter-of-factly. Enough so that the well-dressed young man with thin framed glasses found himself stopping and shifting around to look pointedly at his perfect contrast that tailed behind him as a shambling mess of a black band t-shirt and messy jeans. Where the teenager in the lead had finely pressed clothes with his hair styled softly with just a few small strands fluttering across his forehead, his brother was such a complete mess, from his clothes down to the mop of white that flopped over his face like a curtain. “Do you intend to heckle me all day, Dante, or are you going to go home so mom can take you to the salon?”

“Salons are for girls,” Dante replied. His hands busily unwrapped a red tootsie-roll pop that had just been tugged free from his right pocket. “Besides, someone’s gotta be a voice’a reason to tell you you’re doin’ it wrong.”

“Doing what wrong, precisely?” Vergil snapped as he folded his arms over his chest. He was so unamused, though that slowly wiping from his face as Dante chomped down on his lollipop.

“It’s summer,” Dante replied, oblivious to his twin’s visibly growing amusement. “Y’don’t go to school in the summer, Verg.”

“You know who you look like?”

It figured that Vergil would completely deviate from the point like the batshit little… “Who?” Dante asked as both his hands were pushed into his pockets. His shoulders sank a little more in posture, and he shook his hair free from his face just enough to watch Vergil.

Vergil, who looked very, very pleased with himself. “You look like that creepy Ryuzaki guy that was playing teacher’s pet at the end of my term in English several weeks ago.”

Having heard of and personally seen the individual Vergil was referring to had Dante letting out a sound of shock and disgust as he spit the lollipop out and lifted his hands up into the air. His posture straightened, reminiscent of training from their mother and father in times long passed, training that Dante consequently forgot the moment he entered Kindergarten. “I do not, you fuck,” he said with eyes broad.

“You do, you do,” Vergil said with wag of his finger. “You should stop that, or next thing you’ll know, you’ll be going to school on a regular basis, and maybe even end up doing your homework nightly.”

“Tch.” The sound escaped Dante’s mouth in a small burst, before he tilted his head away and closed his eyes. His shoulders straightened a bit more with his intake of air, cocky and obviously leading to something. Vergil had been alive as long as Dante, and had to put up with the brat for just as long, and he knew, he knew-- “Well,” Dante said. His lips popped against one another; he didn’t bother to look in Vergil’s direction. “I guess I’ll just have to go blow some of your shit up today while you’re at summer school economics class.”

A huge smile broke out on Dante’s face, as he turned around on his heel. Vergil’s eyes were the ones to widen that time, since no threat of Dante’s was idle. “You better not--Dante!”

It was too late. Dante was already taking off down the street for their house, from where he’d been following Vergil the moment he left the front door. They were at the end of the block, so it wasn’t too far away, but at the same time… Dante was a skinny shit, more aerodynamic, Vergil insisted. With an exasperated clacking of his teeth, Vergil shoved his bookbag to the ground to take off after his brother. He heard several things snapping and cracking within the bag, but as long as it wasn’t his TI calculator, Vergil figured he could survive. “Get back here! Goddamn it, Dante!”

Dante soon disappeared behind the wall of hedges that their parents had nursed up well above the housing society’s preferences (there was a strict four-feet rule, but the Sparda family’s hedge-fence had to have been nearly double that), and soon so did Vergil.

And just as both boys disappeared, another emerged. A little younger than Dante, the brown haired boy watched to make sure both were completely out of sight. After assuring they were, he skittered towards the bag on the ground in his oversized jacket and cowboy hat. Irvine Kinneas: only thirteen years old, and he had already been hauled home to his parents on a number of occasions for being caught with pornographic magazines. How he came to obtain them, he never bothered to say.

His lookout was the younger-yet Selphie Tilmitt. They were virtually an inseparable duo since they met in preschool, and she was just as mischievous as he. While she had no material violations under her belt, it was rumored that she was his supplier via her live-in cousins. “Hurry up, Irvy!” she whispered. “We get caught, Dante won’t pay us!”

“I’m hurryin’, I’m hurryin’ Sephie!” he insisted. His hands throttled open the bag’s zipper quickly, before disappearing underneath the large jacket that dragged on the ground but Irvine wore anyway, even in the summer heat. “Just keep watching!”

The sound of glass breaking in the remote direction of the Sparda household caused Selphie to cringe. “I don’t think we need to worry about his brother,” she said as she bounced nervously.

“Jeez, they’re so noisy.” It was said offhand as Irvine stuffed several magazines in between Vergil’s many books obtained for the summer classes he intended to attend. The magazines were as crude in nature as Selphie could find, just as Dante requested of them. They were going to get ten bucks each out of it all, so neither complained. They heard Dante was good on his word!

After assuring the magazines were in just right, the bag was sealed, tossed to the side, and Irvine hopped to his feet and sprinted towards Selphie. “Come on!” he said, grabbing her hand and tugging her quickly. She responded with a yelp as she was tugged, only casting one glance back before they rounded the corner to see Vergil coming into view once more.

And did Vergil ever look disheveled. He broke a window trying to kill his brother, and just as he got his hands on the bastard, their father had come in and separated them, and promptly grounded them each. It was a bit a half-hearted grounding, as though the elder demon was more than certain that neither boy would listen to him. Vergil knew, however, that if either disobeyed his order and was caught, he’d invoke the wrath of their mother. She didn’t play around. Of course, Dante wasn’t blessed with the gift of foresight as Vergil was, and lacked the ability to recognize that before he screwed up and ended up getting her on his ass.

Vergil would behave. He possessed the ability to behave where Dante did not. He did, and when he did decide to misbehave, he was usually better at concealing it. Many’a time had he beaten his brother bloody and never gotten caught. That was another charm of having the ability to heal as quickly as they did from their father.

The school used for the summer school courses was actually the nearby elementary school, which made no sense to Vergil whatsoever. He doubted there was going to be any accommodations for the high school students, and while Vergil and Dante had hardly hit their growing spurts since when they first left middle school, Vergil knew very well they were significantly larger than most sixth graders. However, Vergil wouldn’t fault the failing public school system. Not at all. He faulted Dante, who was the reason they couldn’t use the high school. Him and his entourage, who held the Al Bhed club hostage so that they could blow the sanitation system underneath the seven massive buildings that made up the monster high school. It was a biohazard zone, and there were even jokes about the waste having caused zombies (there were a few individuals that found none of that very funny).

Estersand Elementary was so tiny compared to how Vergil remembered it, and while he knew in the back of his mind that it was because he was fifteen years old, and not a child any longer, it still was amazing how it felt. The classrooms, the lockers (there were actual lockers afforded to the students in more advanced classes)… everything was so tiny. It was going to be a very, very uncomfortable two and a half weeks.

Entering the classroom that was assigned to the summer economics course, Vergil was quick to observe the individuals in the class. There weren’t many, but most of them were older than he. Most of them, as well, were friends with his brother. Vergil’s face recognition was superb, and allowed him to remember everyone he met in some way, shape or form. About the only one that looked remotely like he did was a blond teenaged boy that sat towards the edge of the room with a disgruntled look on his face. Vergil wondered if it was at being there, at first, but when the teen glanced in disgust at the cheerleader (who looked to be about sixteen) and one of the filthy eighteen-year-old runts that Dante often was found with, pawing over one another, Vergil easily deduced it was the others.

That was promising, he figured, as he started over in that direction. Vergil wasn’t a particularly social boy on an average basis, but if he saw someone who could be potentially easy to get along with, he tried to make good use of it. At least in class.

The teen seemed to acknowledge Vergil’s equal potential as Vergil strode over and he straightened himself in the tiny seat. He was smaller than Vergil, but Vergil, as he got closer, realized he had seen him passing into classes of Vergil’s level during the school year, so he had to be around Vergil’s age.

Vergil nodded to him as he sat down in the seat beside the blond boy in the next row. The teen’s response was, over fingers laced together, “Vergil Sparda.” Vergil looked at him, a bit stunned at his name being known. The boy simply chuckled and released his fingers from one another to turn in his seat to Vergil. “Don’t be so surprised, Vergil, everyone knows who you are, Mr. Number One.”

“And who might you be?” Vergil asked. He knew that tone. Tone of competition, and it made his eyes narrow in amusement, equal to the other beside him.

“Knives Saverem. You know, the guy who’s going to take your place.”

Knives Saverem. “I see,” Vergil replied, grinning just slightly. “Mr. Number Two. So, you’re the one always a point behind me.”

“Just wait,” Knives replied, his smile growing all the more impish. “That private boys’ school across town just shut down, so guess where they’re sending them.”

Sadly, that was good news to the ever-studious elder twin. Challenges were appreciated, and while he didn’t realize that boy was Knives Saverem, the second in their class that had successfully stolen first on several occasions in their freshmen year, Knives had proven to give him a run for his money on more than one occasion.

Vergil went to respond, when another individual entered the classroom: a tall man, probably in his mid to late twenties with short brown hair, and a rather elaborate outfit on. He had a cocky swagger to his walk as he strode from the door to the front of the classroom, and he reminded Vergil of one of those weird sky pirates they often learned about from across the world in history class. “I’ll be home later. Man the helm without me,” he said with a passive wave to someone outside the door.

Vergil’s eyes hit the door just as whomever the teacher was speaking to crossed by to leave, and Vergil jerked slightly at the silhouette of what looked like a woman… with rabbit ears? No, that couldn’t be right, and he was facepalming in a literal sense when Knives looked over with a furrowed brow. “Are you alright, Vergil?”

“I think I just had a Donnie Darko moment,” Vergil muttered.

“Alright, children,” the man said. He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, ringed with multiple colored bands, in the direction of the cesspool of unintelligence hovering in the middle and back of the classroom. “Let us focus. I don’t wish to be here any more than the lot of you, and yet here I am.” He quirked an eyebrow at Vergil and Knives, and added as an aside, “Except for you two.”

He clucked his tongue and waved the rest of the attendants of the class forward. They obliged begrudgingly, but did so nonetheless. The teacher seemed both unimpressed and as though he could care less about whether or not they wanted to be there. Misery loves company, Vergil assumed. At least he looked mildly intelligent.

“The name is Balthier,” the teacher continued. “Not Mr. Balthier, not anything in that sort. If you must call me by some official title, I respond well to Your Highness.”

“Why is it that you’re here if you don’t wish to be, Balthier?” Knives asked as he folded his hands together atop the desk.

It was nice to learn that Balthier was frank, as he waved a passive hand in the air once more. “Oh, they believe me to have some associations with what occurred at the high school and the sewage system, that led to the theft of several artifacts in the school’s trophy building.” A finger waved in the air. “Do I look the sort? Like a meager thief that would use such crude antics to obtain treasure?”

“No, but you’re kind of cute,” the cheerleader giggled out as she leaned over her desk, with her rear sticking up in the face of her appreciative flirting partner from prior.

Balthier eyed her for a moment, before responding, “I know, child, but I don’t reciprocate. So, if you’ll be so kind as to lower your underaged self into your seat appropriately, I believe we can get this started.”

The crude cesspool of ignorance groaned and moaned as they went to obey, to which Balthier was rolling his eyes. “Yes, complain all you wish, but if you’re good little children, I just may award you all with a trek out to the playground. Just please, I beg of you.” And with that, his eyes fell open an overweight young man. “Try not to get stuck in anything.”

Suburban Sparda Family Archive

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 09:09:15 GMT

[Year Five]
       {07/2005}   Chapter 1: Tongs
       {07/2005}   Chapter 2: Flaming Microwaves
       {07/2005}   Chapter 3: Fuzzballs of Doom
       {07/2005}   Chapter 4: Home Depot

[Year Twelve]
there is a story that goes here by warhorse, but I can't find it.

[Year Fifteen] ...uh, I think...
       {12/2006}   Chapter 1: First Day of Summer
       {08/2007}   Chapter 2: First Day of Summer School
       {08/2007}   Chapter 3: Hair Cuts and Dr. Phil

{12/2006}The reason for re-archiving this is because after about a two hour conversation on the phone with gamera (read: me talking and not giving her a word in edgewise), I was made to feel lonely and abandoned without this series being continued on. My knowledge of fandoms has vastly expanded since ye ol' days of July 2005, so can it hurt to continue this?

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 17:59:21 GMT

CALL SCHEDULE OMG: Since I didn't realize who would respond. >.>

Tonight, it shall be Megan who falls victim.

JENN. SINCE YOU HAVE FAMILY TO CONTEND TO, I SCHEDULE YOU FRIDAY NIGHT UNLESS ANOTHER NIGHT WILL WORK. I don't want to suck and call you late at night on your house phone. :(

Tisch, since she's a wuss and is on some sort of "DAY" schedule, she gets a call Sunday. :o Tisch, though, needs to comment to that screened myspace entry with the number to call, because I was a dumbass and have BOTH numbers she's contact me with on the phone and made no difference in logging them to denote which is her cell. OOPS. DX

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 08:31:15 GMT

So.

Who wants to talk after I get off shift tomorrow? LIKE ON THE PHONE.

Scratch that.

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 18:09:45 GMT

Going to NDK with blutengel and her entourage of awesome.

Impromptu decision.

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 07:15:46 GMT

I believe I'm going to Vegas on the 31st.

Most likely driving, but perhaps flying.

...:D

Sadly...

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 10:54:51 GMT

I kind of want to switch back to purgatory.

THAT'S MY COMFORT JOURNAL.

IT'S CLEARLY A SLIPPERY SLOPE OF SLOPENESS.

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 06:29:26 GMT

I have sunk to a level of actually working on my myspace. Much like my journals, it lacks any real customized personality, because, clearly, my TEXT IS ENOUGH AWESOME FOR THE WORLD.

Anyway, most importantly, I don't want to look like an absolute freak if I go around requesting friending from people if I have no one that I'm friended to prior. Which has me calling to you fine individuals.

As I asked on my GJ: How many LJers and GJers and IJers and... *Jers, period, even HAVE myspaces? Ah, well. If you do, lemme know, so that I may stalk you all. I mean, I AM friended to you people here, firstly. Secondly, I welcome open friending period, so come on. Come on. If you have one, tell me so I'm a little less losery.

I'll even screen comments.

Ahahahahahahklsdhglksjh

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 18:30:53 GMT

The first convention I go to ever, and I WIN A SWORD. WTF. I wasn't even going to go back today, and then I got a voicemail telling me I won it, hohoho.

:o

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 06:55:31 GMT

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 00:51:23 GMT

I.

Do not.

Need.

A.

New.

Muse.

I really, really...

Wed, 11 Jul 2007 05:58:38 GMT

...need a place to play Light that will actually START/is already ACTIVE.

Cross-posted from my GJ.

Mon, 02 Jul 2007 00:55:58 GMT

So, I am someone's Yachiru. My mother has a friend who works in Japan on various things for video games and anime like Bleach, named Steve. Steve is a sweetheart, and is the reason I ever purchased photoshop. Anyway, I am his Yachiru as he is apparently now my KEN-CHAN.

I was out with my parents today (who, as an unexpected birthday present, BOUGHT ME A COUCH AND LOVESEAT--my birthday is in September), and we were at that Smoky Mountain pizza place, when all of a sudden my mother goes, "By the way, Ken-chan says hello." Knowing that Steve already has me on this Kusajishi Yachiru pedestal, it didn't take me much to figure out who was saying the hello. I gagged on my Mountain Dew with lolz. Apparently, he's now running around at work, dressed as Kenpachi, so everyone is calling him Ken-chan. I am amused.

So, I would have been home to respond to Amanda going:

[15:25] warhorse: :*
[15:25] *** Auto-response sent to warhorse: Sleeping.
[15:25] warhorse: *skitters away*
[15:25] *** "warhorse" signed off at Sun Jul 01 15:25:27 2007.
[17:11] *** "warhorse" signed on at Sun Jul 01 17:11:09 2007.
[17:11] warhorse: RU THURR VE?

Except that my parents had me locked at their house while I waited for a cart they bought to be put together. (Mind you, I tried to buy it, but they let the cashier run it through before I could grab it.) It's a collapsable cart that I can use to get my stuff from the garage to my apartment without lifting too much.

I feel bad, because I don't know when I'll be able to talk to her again. I mean, I have her current number in my phone, listed as, "DE's Mom" hurrhurr, but still. I don't want to make an impromptu call to her, since I don't want to piss off the natives where she's staying.

Memememememe

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 04:26:02 GMT

Stolen from people on GJ.

Name one of my characters you've RPed with, ever. Then say something you want to know about them, and I'll just write a damn essay paragraph or two about them including that thing you want to know. You can ask for multiple characters.

Either that, orrrrrr I will allow the character(s) to respond in IC.

In other news: I'm closing in on finishing the Death Note series. Ah, it's actually really cool. Yagami Light ftw. And Near, too. Though, I have to say, and this is sad, but Matsuda is A+++. *snickers*

I should be studying this book of mine, so I can hurry up and throw it away to be done with it, but that and work and personal writing projects keep me from doing so.

Anyway, I'd like for some love tonight in regards to this meme. You can even have characters ask.

Mon, 25 Jun 2007 01:57:46 GMT

So, you already know this face:

Ophelia, my kitten.

Well, today, I brought home her mom. Her mom who, for all intents and purposes, is absolutely gorgeous.

No name. Contemplating many names. Right now, I'm making sure momma doesn't KILL Ophelia, because they've seemingly forgotten one another. This makes me sad. They're calming down, however, so I'm waiting to see. Momma better get a grip, or else she's going back to Alex.

Wed, 20 Jun 2007 01:15:44 GMT

Physical therapy sucks. Like, I feel physically ill now.

Blah blah.

Fandom: Devil May Cry
Title: Ch. 2 - Piracy
Author: purgatory
Theme(s): 30. Piracy (you can see I’m real creative with titles right now, hurr hurr)
Pairing/Characters: Sparda, Eva
Rating: PG-13ish
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, though I wish I did.
Summary: Sparda-centric, this time. In which Sparda, oblivious and away for the night, does things he knows will have him sleeping on the couch, and missing phone calls. Kind of boring, but with an important continuation of the flashback in the first chapter.

{Chapter 01}

There was no quicker way to pissing Eva LaClaire off than for her husband to sit there, in the middle of the night, and help distribute films produced by her movie studio around on the internet. Torrents, mpgs, he did it all. Not to a horribly damaging level, of course—not that Eva would particularly suffer, considering she was as cheap as he. They were a couple greedy dragons, and while it looked like they lived rather gratuitously to the common person, the sad fact was: they could have lived so much better.

The sort of childish banter of action that they participated in was equal on both sides of the line. She would do things as equally childish, though not necessarily as extravagant, as his pirating her studio’s copyrighted material on a comparatively small scale. Granted, those sorts of things had ways of rippling, but that was expected. Respected, wealthy, intelligent, Eva had some of Hollywood’s finest modern royalty in her pocket those days. Ironic, considering the first time he met her, she was in their beds and appearing to be nothing more than a latching wanna-be that was hoping to make it big by slipping into their ranks. Honestly, that’s what she looked like. Little did he know, her purpose was the same as his.

It wouldn’t have been fair, to say that Eva remained wholly uncorrupted in her ventures in learning who was who, and who did what. She was hardly so, but for the better, he guessed. It toughened her up; made her more wise. Not that Eva was lacking strength to begin with, but she was less inclined to vomit on the scene of ritualistic homicide, or fall into tears when she failed to get enough information on a situation to get to someone in time. Essential steps to growing, unfortunate as it was. Important for her. Important for him.

…he never did like to see her cry.

~~~

“Who are you?” A strong French accent was dripped over her words. Figured, truly. A foreign girl, wandering the ranks of the American idle rich, sleeping with whomever she had to in the hopes that one would either whisk her away and marry her, or give her a chance to earn the riches of the rest of them. She would, no doubt, continue to do so for many years, as some sort of willing sex slave, until she became so used and worn that no one at all would pay the least bit attention to her.

“Abraham Williamson,” was his reply. That was his name for the year, after all: Abraham Williamson, new money socialite and as sadistic as any of them, as far as others attending were concerned. Which was entirely true… just… not in the way they were banking on.

And that was what brought him to the present: standing there, in that wine cellar, looking for the large gasoline gas tanks that the owner of the house had drunkenly babbled on and on about the other night. It had been a long time since Sparda’s attacks on those whom helped demons rise to power were forward; were known to those at the end of his attacks exactly who was rendering judgment upon them. It was tactical, really. Hell’s binds were loosening, at no fault of his own, and until he had a firm grip on the powers involved in a situation, his attacks were underhanded, done by surprise. Sparda was no weakling, but he wasn’t what he used to be, and two thousand years distanced, he wasn’t entirely sure what new tricks Hell held.

“Lovely!” the blonde cheered sardonically, with an exaggerated clap of hands. They were clapped together, and swung around towards the stairs, index fingers both jutting out insistently. “Now, get the fuck out.”

Sparda didn’t waiver, instead simply saying, “That’s incredibly cute when you say that in that accent.”

How offended and ruffled the young woman looked, when he swung up his own index finger to poke her in the forehead. Humans were so cute, sometimes. “Now,” he continued, despite how indignant she looked. “I doubt that you will want to play with Jean-Paul down here, hm? Run along elsewhere.”

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting the gun in his face next, pulled free from her inner thigh. Not expected at all, and Sparda was starting to reevaluate the situation, when he took into consideration the weapon itself. A small revolver, nothing more than a .22. Not that he expected much else from a young woman with a gun on her inner thigh, but it just…

A small chuckle heaved out of him, and he leant forwards a bit as he did so. “Well, that must be absolutely the most threatening weapon I have ever seen,” he said condescendingly. “Look at that long, powerful barrel. What do you intend to do with that? Take my eye out?”

The corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. As though he just said a secret word in order to trigger a sequence of events to start rolling. And when he saw her leaning to a side, to aim the gun past him, in the direction of some of the gas tanks down there, he realized that was exactly it, more or less. So yes, he did grab her hand to keep her from doing so, because although he would survive, she wouldn’t stand a chance. Even if he covered her body with his own. He was about to snap that at her, as well, when her finger accidentally snapped closed on the trigger and a bullet hit the ceiling loudly, a puff of wooden splinters raining over the stone steps.

That wouldn’t have been so bad, either, if not for the shouts from the security up above.

~~~

One of Eva’s latest videos finished uploading to a remote server that he used for his minor escapades of media piracy, and just as the white haired man started to link it appropriately for exposure, his phone across the hotel room began to ring. Crimson eyes squinted, annoyed because he was sure it was someone under his current employ, and that his default ringtone was the same as his calling tone: the Chicken Dance. It was a simple amusement he had when out in public, but at eleven at night? Not so much.

It was most likely not Eva, since she was independent enough to not feel it necessary to bother him when he was away, or if she was away. Even in the days after she announced her pregnancy to him (astonishing, that, and he was still attempting to figure how in the world he was going to manage being a father), Eva remained as independent as always. A little more moody and emotional than normal, but nothing that she wasn’t aware of and wasn’t attempting to control. He did his best to help with that, as well.

Up to his feet, Sparda swept, swaying over for the ringing device. It was an expensive contraption. Far more expensive than he would have particularly chosen for himself, but Eva was particular on the sort of phone she wanted him to have. She felt the whistles and bells imperative to what they were up to most the time. Granted, Sparda couldn’t argue with that, but he was used to infiltration when the only contact had with companions was face-to-face, so any plans had to be well thought out in advance. However, the camera and video capture on the small computer-like device proved handy more than once when contacting the few authorities in his pocket, as opposed to the more corrupt.

The phone just stopped clinking along in its annoying sing-song as Sparda’s fingers wrapped around it. The stylus was pulled free from its hold, and he tapped the PDA screen to life.

One missed call.

A number he didn’t recognize.

A moment later, one new voicemail of fifteen not yet listened to.

Yes, Sparda was awful with checking his voicemails. Mostly on account of his knowing several of those were from a little demon, a puck, that liked to leave five minute long messages of childish giggles, jokes, or absolutely retarded questions when he should have been busily doing what Sparda was paying him to do. It bothered him, however, that last call. No one knew his number that shouldn’t, but he didn’t wish to call them back if it was a misdial.

Something told him to suck it up, sit down, and to listen to all the messages. A gut feeling, that had him grasping for his Bluetooth earpiece, and slipping it on as he dropped to a seat on the bed that was dressed with sheets he brought from home (hotel rooms were filthy, after all). Stylus to device, Sparda took a deep breath and went to listening to the slew of annoying messages, hoping to get to the final one.

So, I was thinking of a rename.

Tue, 19 Jun 2007 03:38:26 GMT

Fandom: Devil May Cry
Title: Ch. 1 - Abduction
Author: exorcism (snipercode@gj.com, purgatory@ij.com)
Theme(s): 01. Abduction (you can see I’m real creative with titles right now, hurr hurr)
Pairing/Characters: Eva, Sparda
Rating: PG-13ish for alluded violence and descriptions of injury.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, though I wish I did.
Summary: Eva-centric, goes along with the title, because I am a master of not being obvious. :o Also, this is set in present day, because I’m too lazy to research the 1970s, yo.

The woman could honestly say she was beginning to panic. It had been a long time coming, she figured. It had, but that didn’t stop her from striking up at the cover above her with a forearm in a desperate attempt to force it open. The metal was too much, however, and something sharp in the darkness ripped at the flesh on her arm viciously, and in a matter of seconds, burning warmth rolled over her flesh and dropped against the thin silk that wrapped her torso.

It made her panic, being dropped roughly into the cluttered trunk of the old Lincoln Town car. Not for the fact that she was in danger, but for the fact that she was with child, and keeping herself safe was pivotal to keeping the child in her belly safe. Granted, she was only a few weeks along, but that didn’t make it any easier. She’d already had to pivot around to avoid a blow to the stomach, instead receiving it to her flank, and costing her a couple of ribs, so she was honestly unsure how much more she could avoid before her child was put to ultimate risk.

Her captors were good. Really good. They’d waited until her husband was away, and they waited until she was fast asleep. The alarm was triggered, sure enough, but too late for her to make a successful escape to one of the house’s secret passages. She didn’t even have enough time to get a weapon, before she found the whip baton headed towards her, and she had to turn to take it to her side. It dropped her, and that was how she found herself being roughly stuffed painfully into the back of the car. Shitty ass car, too. It smelled awful. Like vomit and decay, frankly, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought there another body in the trunk with her. Now, the likelihood of there having been prior was high, but not at that time. She’d seen it before they dropped her in, since they didn’t bother to sack her head. What was the point? She knew who they were.

She had been promising herself she was going to stay alert the entire time in that trunk, as her hands desperately felt around for a security latch, or some wires to pull the backlights out of commission, anything to give some sort of chance for escape. It was futile, she knew, since they would have made sure to rectify all those possibilities, but it was better than just laying there.

Fingers nearly went raw as she grabbed and tugged everything in testing, but it didn’t seem to be in vain as she finally found her fingers hitting duct tape towards one end of the small confines. The tape bubbled slightly, in actual rows. Wires? It was in the right area for the backlight… had they duct taped the wires down? It’d figure that was one of the few things they could do, shy of ripping them out themselves and risking getting the eyes of police officers on them.

She felt a little victorious, honestly, as she started trying to pry the tape off from where it was firmly set. Get the wires pulled, and pray for a cop to catch the car rolling by with a light out. That’s what she hoped for. Something, anything, to give her a fighting chance…

Outside of the small space, the shrill spin of tires caught her attention, along with the unnatural sway of the entire vehicle. It was spinning out of control, and Eva’s first impulse was to pull together with her knees to her chest and her arms around her head. It was learned, quickly, that that was the smartest move for her to do, as the car began to tilt and shake violently. Her body was pummeled with the hard, loose items in the trunk, but at least her stomach and her head was safe, and she prayed that she would survive whatever was happening; to not die in the back of an old, dingy car like that.

~~~

Sifting out names from the basket that was passed to her was as aggravating as when it was a night she had to drop her name into it. It meant another night with a skeevy socialite that was convinced that he was everything, and that Eva LaClaire, the intelligent Frenchwoman that was fresh to America, would simply be unable to live without. She was a bit bright eyed and bushy tailed, which helped her not in the grand scheme of things. However, with every night that passed like this, with every event that seemed to slowly shatter what part of her remained innocent and pure, that began to slowly whither until she was suspicious of anyone and everyone at these Hollywood gatherings.

That night, it was Jean-Paul Bernard; a fellow Frenchman, albeit in America for far longer than she, that had long been attempting to get his hands on her. He was fawned over by the general public as a sex icon and action star respectively, but honestly, Eva was unsure what was so attractive about the man who was as blond as she, and who had hair about as long as she. Especially so, that night after she drew his name, and she found herself sitting across from him in one of the large home’s bedrooms. He was the epitome of the French stereotype, and it made her gag. Rather unwashed, crude as hell, and a proud ‘Christian’.

“It was only a matter of time before you and I would be brought together,” he said with words almost completely absent of the accent of his home tongue. “I’m sure many would agree.”

He swayed over to her. She had been sitting in a rather plush armchair with her legs crossed and her hands folded together. Rather uptight, he’d pointed out, the moment he walked in to find her sitting exactly like that. As she was opening her mouth to speak, he was dropping down to place his hands on the arms of the armchair to brace upon as he leant close to her face. While the urge was to stop speaking and draw back, she remained still and unaffected as she spoke. “Because the millions of individuals on the internet and standing in crowds outside the buildings of late night talk shows you’re being interviewed on really are prophetic and matter so much.” Her accent was far more obvious.

“They say you are one vicious kitty-kitty, LaClaire.” His breath stank of badly mixed alcohol. “Want to prove them right?”

His right hand lifted, fingers brushing past the right side of her jawbone. It was the seduction of a sixteen year old boy, really. His well-kept fingers were soft and lacked the calluses that a man his age should have had, proving he hadn’t seen a rough day of work in his life. Not exactly Eva’s cup of tea, but certainly expected. Most the men who roamed in the ranks of the ‘Hollywood Elite’ were as soft as any woman. It would have been boring enough for her to forgo these evening affairs all together, if not for the reason behind her participation.

Moving to stand, Eva gave little care to the fact that she was pushing the broad-shouldered, pathetic example of a Frenchman back from his leering position. It seemed to only further his impression of her being quite the vivacious lover in bed, as he chuckled and made a grab for her. How stunned he was, when he found one of her hands slapping each of his away with a loud pop each time.

As she slapped with the one hand, her other calmly wiped at the eyeliner slipped around the bottom of her right eye, and she said, “I say you prepare for me, as I leave for a moment to prepare myself.” She began to sashay away, waggling taunting fingers at him. “After all, they say you are quite selfish in bed, Bernard.”

The disgusting man said something in retort to her, but Eva tuned him out to her own thoughts. Absolutely disgusting. At least Eva’s plans for that night would, if all went well, lead her to not having to share a bed with him, as it was entirely true, her comment. Having been director to several rather large movie productions, Eva found herself discussing rather raw, explicit affairs with many actors and actresses. Her own presence at these weekly affairs was on account of the glib attitudes many seemed to have of the events that transpired there. There was only so much she could handle, on prime example, of an actress, as famous as Jean-Paul really, laughing about her father’s secret exploits with a fifteen-year-old girl before Eva simply stood up and left the makeup trailer.

She loathed Hollywood for all its beauty and splendor. Of its actors and actresses, displaying themselves as protestors of war, as advocates of free speech and freedom of love, who in reality were worse than most criminals. Sacrificing their souls to Hell for the sake of their fame and beauty and fortune. Of the murders left unsolved due to police in with hands in the pockets of them all.

The large mansion that many of the ritualistic sins were held in belonged to a socialite that Eva was unsure of, to be honest. She didn’t much care, either. Along the grapevine, she’d heard of demands from those they worshipped to make child sacrifices that night. Eva was unsure of the legitimacy of the claims that the order came from gods, as she had frankly never seen or heard from these gods herself, and being a woman of religion in her solitude (she admitted the hypocrisy of it), she didn’t exactly believe them gods anyway.

Children drew the line for her, for her own, personal reasons. There was something about that knowledge, proven when they were brought out into the main hall for ritualistic preparations, that drove her to do more than simply attend and gather names for a time of comeuppance she was uncertain would ever arrive. Police in the pockets and all.

Which was why, after a series of dodges and avoidances of roaming security and attendees, Eva was making quick steps down the stone steps of a wine cellar. One of her previous nights there had her stumbling upon it by accident, when pretending to enjoy a game of cat and mouse with a rather frisky elder gentleman (a term not used too loosely, as he ended up being exactly that: a widower, a gentleman, only wishing for a companion to joke and frolic with for a night). While down there, she’d noticed a line of gas tanks kept in a corner for safe keeping, full and flammable.

And she had a small pistol on her, ready to cause quite the stir with a well placed .22. Enough tanks were down there, as well, to cause quite the nasty hole. At least, the last time she was there, which was why she was thumping down the stairs on pantyhose wrapped feet, black heels in hand to keep her movements far more quiet.

In vain, however, in vain. The moment she rounded the steps to locate the dimly lit wall via emergency lights, with the containers lining it, she found herself nearly slamming into a man, taller, broader than even Jean-Paul. In the dark light, the huffing man who had to step back to avoid collision was hard to identify, though his hair appeared to be a shock of white in the dark. Perhaps it was deceptive in those shadows, but Eva could only assume he was a fairer blond than she, because he appeared too young to be so wholly gray.

He was well dressed, and intoxicating with the cologne he wore. Not a bit of alcohol coated his breath as he spoke, with a simple, “The evening fuck of the illustrious Jean-Paul Bernard, running for her life? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

It was condescending and insulting. Instead of alcohol, his words were laden with the same distasteful manner in which Eva would speak to others at those nightly affairs. She found herself getting her back up, and crossing her arms. “Who are you?”

~~~

There was no light to bite painfully at her eyes as Eva found herself slowly coming to. Honestly, she would have thought herself still in the trunk, if not for the fresh night air that wafted over her face.

Truth to have it, she was indeed still in the trunk; or, rather, the lid of it, which hung open from underneath the overturned Lincoln. Her head throbbed, the warmth of blood over her cheek cooling in the wind. Her body was covered in the rough objects that had been in the trunk before she was thrown in there, and her side was roughly hooked against that same sharp edge that had sliced her arm from before. The only saving grace she had was the fact that the trunk’s lip had kept her from rolling off from where she was hooked by nightgown and flesh. As it was, pulling herself up and off was ripping slightly at the same side that her bruised, if not broken, ribs were on. Had she rolled off, she fathomed the resulting tear in her flesh would have been akin to a large rip in fabric.

Her body ached, growing bruises and bleeding cuts riddling her flesh. The pain was a blessing in disguise, however, as the ground of the tree-covered area the car had crashed and rolled into was covered in rough vines and rocks. Slices in the bottoms of her bare feet were nothing compared to her ribs, and to the gash in her head that had her toppling about like a child’s wobbly toy as she clamored her way to the front of the car. Not after taking up a tire iron once tangled in her ankles, however. Just in case.

The men, her captors, were quite obviously in worse condition than she. Both men looked positively battered, with the back of one’s head ruptured as much as the side of the other. Small holes resided on the opposite sides of their skulls. They were flopped grotesquely about, with legs caught up in their seatbelts and shattered arms splayed about in ways absolutely impossible if they weren’t shattered into a bunch of pieces.

Eva had very little sympathy, and had it not been so obvious that they had been taken care of, that tire iron would have ended up in one of their heads. However, she did take to pillaging the driver of his boots and his shirt. Not like he much needed them, anyway, and although his feet were obviously much larger than hers, the boots did the job after being tied tight with trembling fingers. And once the shirt was pulled on, bloody as it was, and buttoned halfway down before being tied at the waist, Eva place a hand on her stomach and whispered, “You better be okay in there.”

The whole situation just sucked, but started to look up when her eyes landed on a little silver object near the roof console of the car. The console wasn’t standard to the Towncar, and looked it. Probably used for hiding weapons and the like, she assumed, as she slowly bent into the car to grab the cell phone laying there carelessly.

She opened up the device to find it state-of-the-art, and full charged. Which was an absolute blessing, and had her eyes turning upwards and passing a soft, “Thank you,” to the sky, just before her thumbs began to work at the buttons, to quickly dial her husband’s phone. Surely--surely he had his phone on him. Yes, he was bad about answering it, but she hoped that just once he would, because if she needed him ever so urgently to, then would be the time.

Her husband had a fascination with being absolutely inane at times. Absolutely inane, such as not being too fond of hearing phones ringing when he called them. A man with the worst habit of calling his own phone and leaving voicemail reminders of things for himself, he took particular care to program a song to play in place of actual ringing. Once a week, he changed it, and that week Eva was greeted with the painful strums of the Chicken Dance. While his simplicity in pleasure was admirable, it was on that basis alone that she just about hurled the phone out into the darkness.

The urge grew, when she heard his voice gruffly demand a message be left, and that he’d get back to it when he got back to it. Frustrated, because she was positive he wouldn’t bother to check his voicemail, she left a quiet, “Sparda, love. If you get this, look for this number in your phone. Call me. And if you don’t get this by the time I get back to you, I’m caving your skull in with this tire iron in my hand.”

The phone was clapped shut, and slipped into a breast pocket on the dirty, torn shirt. After assuring that both head and arm wounds had coagulated enough to not warrant her stripping the other body’s shirt for bandaging, Eva did a quick skim of the second body to look for weapons. The first she’d stripped the clothes of was robbed of his, and disparagingly enough, so was the other. But that was fine, she had her tire iron.

Taking a deep breath, Eva looked for the path of the car’s tumble in the moonlight, to find her way back up to the street.