10-11-2015, 02:40 PM
The green-skinned man returned Dante's sidelong glance with about as similar of a reaction Dante himself would've given in the same situation. So, that put his face somewhere between confusion and disgust. Though the nephilim fought to keep his attention diverted, he felt the stranger's eyes train upon Ebony, viewing it carefully. Or, possibly, he was viewing it scornfully. It was hard to tell without an eye out, but the red-coat needed to watch for the young ones in front of him.
Young-looking ones, rather, which was capable of deceiving the mind. Take the shape of a little girl and look mostly innocent, but actually hold the secrets to great power. Only one of the trio there actually seemed to be the secretive one, and it was the shabby-looking girl with a futuristic visor that cycled through expressions like a photo roll. The other similar girl behind her lacked that shiftiness and was just idly holding a child's armful of food, while the honest-to-god demonic child took no hesitation in being forefront with her emotions. At least the latter wasn't too violent, as could be expected of her form.
"Uh-huh," Dante passively registered the gunsmith's comments, while behind Dante's ears he was actually somewhat offended. It sounded like that just by looking at him, this green-skinned man boldly assumed Dante to be some kind of funny guy, or else someone who couldn't possibly be serious about this sort of confrontation being a 'party'.
The Sons of Sparda tended to have shewed ideas of what could be considered a 'party'. It was almost like an inside joke, except they both went the routines with each other in such deadpan as they both hated the others' decisions. Truly, a devil's sense of humor.
When the gunsmith flaunted his professional skills with weapons, jabbing a thumb at Dante in reference to his questionable firearm knowledge, the nephilim simply rolled his eyes. Pursing his lips to exhale an exasperated breath, the red-coat hesitated to remove himself from the man's shoulder and instead began to idly spin his black handgun. Mostly a timekiller, seeing as how this potentially-violent situation was already slowing to a stop, but it could absently double as his own flourish of experienced gun play.
The grass-colored fellow finally returned his revolver to the holster, apparently gotten out all his steam and actually willing to have some reconciliation for his actions. Not much, though. To Dante's mild surprise only, the shabby girl accepted the apology with a bow that compromised the equipment on her face. From the previous three looks on her face, she had been about two steps away from destroying everything this stranger lived for. But maybe that was just a phase. Or maybe she had something deeper in mind...
Whatever the case, the green gunsmith shot a look at Dante and finally asked him to put the handgun away. Apparently, he was just now worried about the firearms scaring the 'kids'. "Of course," the Son of Sparda answered with a strange amount of pep for his voice, and finally hoisted himself off of the man's shoulder. Twirling the gun into its holster at his side, Dante continued vaguely to the whole group, "I wouldn't want to make the likes of you have a tantrum."
"...But I guess you want to save all that gusto for the tournament," the nephilim curtly made an explanation, after having made a brief pause to let the insult sink in. The tiniest hint of a smile cracked at his pale lips, and in the next instant, the devil hunter turned aside on a dime, the tails of his longcoat swishing up at the gunsmith like a noble's disdain. "Fair enough, I say. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
He began to pace away, diagonally from the two-sided confrontation, and turned his head back to hail the whole of them, "Have fun with- whatever you're doing. I'll see you at the tournament." And with that, Dante pushed himself back into the throng of commoners and outsiders alike, disappearing in moments.
That felt good. That felt right. That... felt like him. So sinful, and yet so him. Some sort of guttural chuckling noise escaped from his throat, garnering Dante a couple of strange glances as he passed through.
Maybe this would actually be fun, after all.
Young-looking ones, rather, which was capable of deceiving the mind. Take the shape of a little girl and look mostly innocent, but actually hold the secrets to great power. Only one of the trio there actually seemed to be the secretive one, and it was the shabby-looking girl with a futuristic visor that cycled through expressions like a photo roll. The other similar girl behind her lacked that shiftiness and was just idly holding a child's armful of food, while the honest-to-god demonic child took no hesitation in being forefront with her emotions. At least the latter wasn't too violent, as could be expected of her form.
"Uh-huh," Dante passively registered the gunsmith's comments, while behind Dante's ears he was actually somewhat offended. It sounded like that just by looking at him, this green-skinned man boldly assumed Dante to be some kind of funny guy, or else someone who couldn't possibly be serious about this sort of confrontation being a 'party'.
The Sons of Sparda tended to have shewed ideas of what could be considered a 'party'. It was almost like an inside joke, except they both went the routines with each other in such deadpan as they both hated the others' decisions. Truly, a devil's sense of humor.
When the gunsmith flaunted his professional skills with weapons, jabbing a thumb at Dante in reference to his questionable firearm knowledge, the nephilim simply rolled his eyes. Pursing his lips to exhale an exasperated breath, the red-coat hesitated to remove himself from the man's shoulder and instead began to idly spin his black handgun. Mostly a timekiller, seeing as how this potentially-violent situation was already slowing to a stop, but it could absently double as his own flourish of experienced gun play.
The grass-colored fellow finally returned his revolver to the holster, apparently gotten out all his steam and actually willing to have some reconciliation for his actions. Not much, though. To Dante's mild surprise only, the shabby girl accepted the apology with a bow that compromised the equipment on her face. From the previous three looks on her face, she had been about two steps away from destroying everything this stranger lived for. But maybe that was just a phase. Or maybe she had something deeper in mind...
Whatever the case, the green gunsmith shot a look at Dante and finally asked him to put the handgun away. Apparently, he was just now worried about the firearms scaring the 'kids'. "Of course," the Son of Sparda answered with a strange amount of pep for his voice, and finally hoisted himself off of the man's shoulder. Twirling the gun into its holster at his side, Dante continued vaguely to the whole group, "I wouldn't want to make the likes of you have a tantrum."
"...But I guess you want to save all that gusto for the tournament," the nephilim curtly made an explanation, after having made a brief pause to let the insult sink in. The tiniest hint of a smile cracked at his pale lips, and in the next instant, the devil hunter turned aside on a dime, the tails of his longcoat swishing up at the gunsmith like a noble's disdain. "Fair enough, I say. I have a feeling you're going to need it."
He began to pace away, diagonally from the two-sided confrontation, and turned his head back to hail the whole of them, "Have fun with- whatever you're doing. I'll see you at the tournament." And with that, Dante pushed himself back into the throng of commoners and outsiders alike, disappearing in moments.
That felt good. That felt right. That... felt like him. So sinful, and yet so him. Some sort of guttural chuckling noise escaped from his throat, garnering Dante a couple of strange glances as he passed through.
Maybe this would actually be fun, after all.