08-06-2017, 10:41 PM
A sharp knocking jostled Dante from his brief nap. He snorted with momentary confusion as he stumbled awake, lifting his head to observe the disturbance. Someone was at the door.
"Just a moment," Dante groaned out, still needing to shake off his drowsiness. The devil hunter pulled himself up, spilling small heaps of warm bathwater over the sides of the ingrained tub. In his mind, a cozy little soak seemed like something that could take his mind off the concerns at hand. Unfortunately, the treat only left him stewing in the thoughts of the half-blood's shortcomings so far, and how he seemed no further to a proper solution.
The Son of Sparda happened to need a few important things, ultimately. Power, integrity, peace of mind. A way home. At the moment, what he most importantly needed was a pair of pants.
After a half-hearted effort to dry himself, Dante reached back and pulled the plug on the tub, draining away the water. Replacing the towel on the rail, the mercenary swiped a set of dark cargo pants in exchange. With practiced motions, he took his briefs and pants by the hem, and shoved his legs through the holes all at once.
The knocking came again. Dante did not respond, sharing the impatience of his apparent client. His dressing pace doubled regardless, pulling socks and boots on in record time. With at least his lower half dressed, the devil hunter settled for that and shoved his way out of the steaming bathroom.
The platoon commander was about to knock a third time when their objective finally threw open the door to the back rooms. Whatever the Stormtroopers were expecting, they were at least grateful that the mercenary wore pants. That still left his upper half undressed, however, exposing a handsome map of battle scars and his mop of clean pearl hair-
"Well, folks," the half-devil spoke, perching his hands on his hips, "I hope you're not looking for business, because we're not open."
The two soldiers standing behind their leader exchanged glances, their expressions hidden under the visages of their smoothed helmets. With the forthcoming that the underlings lacked, the Stormtrooper commander stood up straight, looking Dante in the eyes. "We respect your downtime, Mr. Redgrave" came the neutral voice from beyond a digital voice box, "But as it happens, the Empire has matters that demand the attention of an experienced Prime such as yourself."
Those blue eyes of the devil hunter narrowed ever so slightly, failing to figure out whatever guise lay below the plastic armor. "Turning to mercenaries for help? That's kind of a low point, don't you think?" The question came out as dismissive and condescending, but Dante had no intentions to apologize for it. To his surprise, the troopers seemed to take no offense.
"Indeed. We're at our wit's end trying to contain this outbreak of destruction," the commander conceded, to the silent agreement of her company. "I'm commissioning you because you have fought this enemy before. An organization by the name of Nebula."
That tidbit of information certainly got a raise of the eyebrow from Tony. He crossed his arms under his ribcage, exhaling a concern breath and breaking eye contact.
If only he even read the news, then perhaps he would've been painfully aware that Nebula was everywhere, and indeed was beginning to spiral out of the control of local authorities. Like everyone else, the summer Syntech event had willfully blinded Dante to the destructive matter until the forces of Nebula were too large to bear. The Stormtrooper commander saw reason not to blame the devil hunter for it, and thought that the best penance would just be finishing what he started.
Maybe something else along the lines, too, to prove loyalty to the Empire. In due time, of course.
"Think of this as unfinished business, Redgrave," The leader's voice came out more tame, definitely trying to convince through tone. "We already have a team of Primes working on attacking the source. But squadrons are still seeping through the cracks, and it will be all for nothing if we can't protect-"
That sentence came to an abrupt end as Dante turned and yanked his longcoat from its hook on the wall. With a whip of the coat-tails, the Son of Sparda swung the article over his head and slipped his arms through all at once. Still shirtless, but sporting his signature gear nonetheless, the devil hunter shook the last drops of bathwater from his head and looked to the Stormtroopers.
"You had me at Nebula."
"Just a moment," Dante groaned out, still needing to shake off his drowsiness. The devil hunter pulled himself up, spilling small heaps of warm bathwater over the sides of the ingrained tub. In his mind, a cozy little soak seemed like something that could take his mind off the concerns at hand. Unfortunately, the treat only left him stewing in the thoughts of the half-blood's shortcomings so far, and how he seemed no further to a proper solution.
The Son of Sparda happened to need a few important things, ultimately. Power, integrity, peace of mind. A way home. At the moment, what he most importantly needed was a pair of pants.
After a half-hearted effort to dry himself, Dante reached back and pulled the plug on the tub, draining away the water. Replacing the towel on the rail, the mercenary swiped a set of dark cargo pants in exchange. With practiced motions, he took his briefs and pants by the hem, and shoved his legs through the holes all at once.
The knocking came again. Dante did not respond, sharing the impatience of his apparent client. His dressing pace doubled regardless, pulling socks and boots on in record time. With at least his lower half dressed, the devil hunter settled for that and shoved his way out of the steaming bathroom.
The platoon commander was about to knock a third time when their objective finally threw open the door to the back rooms. Whatever the Stormtroopers were expecting, they were at least grateful that the mercenary wore pants. That still left his upper half undressed, however, exposing a handsome map of battle scars and his mop of clean pearl hair-
"Well, folks," the half-devil spoke, perching his hands on his hips, "I hope you're not looking for business, because we're not open."
The two soldiers standing behind their leader exchanged glances, their expressions hidden under the visages of their smoothed helmets. With the forthcoming that the underlings lacked, the Stormtrooper commander stood up straight, looking Dante in the eyes. "We respect your downtime, Mr. Redgrave" came the neutral voice from beyond a digital voice box, "But as it happens, the Empire has matters that demand the attention of an experienced Prime such as yourself."
Those blue eyes of the devil hunter narrowed ever so slightly, failing to figure out whatever guise lay below the plastic armor. "Turning to mercenaries for help? That's kind of a low point, don't you think?" The question came out as dismissive and condescending, but Dante had no intentions to apologize for it. To his surprise, the troopers seemed to take no offense.
"Indeed. We're at our wit's end trying to contain this outbreak of destruction," the commander conceded, to the silent agreement of her company. "I'm commissioning you because you have fought this enemy before. An organization by the name of Nebula."
That tidbit of information certainly got a raise of the eyebrow from Tony. He crossed his arms under his ribcage, exhaling a concern breath and breaking eye contact.
If only he even read the news, then perhaps he would've been painfully aware that Nebula was everywhere, and indeed was beginning to spiral out of the control of local authorities. Like everyone else, the summer Syntech event had willfully blinded Dante to the destructive matter until the forces of Nebula were too large to bear. The Stormtrooper commander saw reason not to blame the devil hunter for it, and thought that the best penance would just be finishing what he started.
Maybe something else along the lines, too, to prove loyalty to the Empire. In due time, of course.
"Think of this as unfinished business, Redgrave," The leader's voice came out more tame, definitely trying to convince through tone. "We already have a team of Primes working on attacking the source. But squadrons are still seeping through the cracks, and it will be all for nothing if we can't protect-"
That sentence came to an abrupt end as Dante turned and yanked his longcoat from its hook on the wall. With a whip of the coat-tails, the Son of Sparda swung the article over his head and slipped his arms through all at once. Still shirtless, but sporting his signature gear nonetheless, the devil hunter shook the last drops of bathwater from his head and looked to the Stormtroopers.
"You had me at Nebula."
Quote:To reflect what Gildarts has already mentioned: this won't be affiliated with the official Dark Data event threads going on. It's just a threat for plot reasons.