By Blood Connected
folder
+A through F › Devil May Cry
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,429
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+A through F › Devil May Cry
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
14
Views:
2,429
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Devil May Cry game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Get Over It
By Blood Connected
A Fanfiction by Vir M.
Chapter 9
“Get Over It”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the evening passed by quickly, like I was floating through a dream. When, almost two hours later, I found myself standing in an abandoned gym, crepe paper strewn over the floor in hasty swirls, it was as if someone had shaken me violently awake.
It was over.
I gathered my wits, wits that had been haphazardly slung on the winds of innocent euphoria, and stumbled out of the gym towards the theater building.
The cold whipped around me bare shoulders, a tempest. The numbing fingers of the wind touched me like I imagined a lover would, caressing and cool, though a lover that cold was no lover at all.
When I had reached the safety of the building and its cold-dampening walls, I unclasped my frozen arms from around myself and breathed a weary sigh. I rubbed my shoulders to warm myself and strode towards the dressing rooms.
Once inside, I quickly stripped out of the dress; hanging on the hangar carefully. I pulled on my uniform, then glanced at myself in the mirror.
My hair was hanging wind-tossed in my face, and my green-gold eyes seemed to gleam slightly through the mask I hadn’t yet taken off.
The red really does clash with my eyes... I thought. I began to contemplate what my colours were... I looked good in browns, blues, and greens... but my favorite was red, and, damn it all, it was one of the worst colours on me.
Wearily, I tugged on the ribbon securing the mask, letting it fall into my waiting hands. I slipped it into its vinyl case with care, making sure not to knock any of the ornamental pearls from their original positions. I had spent many long afternoons glueing them painstakingly into place, and wasn’t about to go and ruin it now.
I adjusted my hair in the mirror one last time, then left the room, the bagged dress hanging over my shoulder like a cape. I pulled on my jacket as I left, then made my way towards Aeneid’s office, where I hoped I’d find him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn’t have to look very far. He was sitting right outside the theater building, leaning against the sleek black car, legs and arms crossed. He looked up, blue eyes misted by his fogging breath, then walked over to me. He reached out and took my bag, then turned and stowed it in the back seat. He closed the door behind the dress, then, wordlessly, walked around to the driver’s side. I took shotgun, settling myself into my familiar seat. I turned to him as he coaxed the engine into life.
“How was your evening?”
He looked at me, taking his eyes off of the road for a moment before turning back.
“Fine. How was the masque?” I giggled at his use of arcane language, but quickly stifled it. Be nice. I reminded myself. “Dance with anyone?”
“No one in particular. I found Ami and Karen right away, though, and...” I proceeded to tell him about my evening, but left out the strange, armored figure, guessing that his reaction would either be one of incredulousness or one of admonishment for not getting the guy’s name.
When I lapsed off into silence, his cobalt eyes flicked once again towards me. He spoke:
“Jira, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I regarded him for a long moment, then:
“And?” I said. He drew in a breath.
“Your parents. Tell me about them.”
I sat and stared at him for a long moment. Then, realizing I had been mute for almost two minutes, I spoke:
“Why do you need to know about them?” I chose my words carefully. His gaze flickered my way.
“I know a lot about you, Jira.” He said. “And I’ve figured out more about your life than you would think.” I sat up, a bit outraged, at this.
“Who–?” I began. He cut me off.
“Ms. Saxen and I are friendly.” He explained. “She was happy to speak of her favorite student when I asked.” I laughed for a moment at that.
“Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask.” I said, quoting one of my favorite bands.
“Hn...” He said.
“What did she tell you?” I asked cautiously.
“This and that.”
“...I’d like to know, Aeneid. Really.”
He looked me square in the eye then.
“From what you yourself said that first day, and with the combined information I gleaned from Ms. Saxen and Principal Clark, quite a lot.” He turned back to the dark, wet pavement. “I’d like to hear it all from you though.”
I sat for a moment, in a quandary. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to talk about it at all. Period. But he was sitting there, waiting for me to answer, waiting for me to tell him my biggest... well, secret isn’t the right word.
Against my better judgement, I told him anyway.
“A long time ago...” I began. “My parents got religion.”
Aeneid snorted, and I glared.
“That’s always how Grandma always started this!” I said indignantly. “When they got married, they converted. They decided to be missionaries.”
“They settled in a small African village, total prehistoric place, I have no idea where. Then they had me.” I stopped. The next parts were hard to say. Aeneid seemed to sense my distress though.
“It’s okay.” He said. “Please continue.” His voice was soothing, and I soon relaxed.
“They gave me a tribal name, to show how they wanted to become a family to the natives.” I said slowly. “But they were stupid. They named me ‘blood related.’”
“This tribe... was superstitious. VERY superstitious. They believed that words, names in particular, were raw power. When I was named as a tribe-member, and as a relative, it was monumental. A new vessel for an old name: think of the possibilities!” I laughed then, though there was no humor in it.
“Mom and Dad... though they wanted to witness and all, they didn’t want their child growing up like a ‘savage,’ as Grandma so quaintly put it.” I leaned my forehead against the car window, then closed my eyes. “So they sent me back to America to live with Mom’s mom.” I opened my eyes then.
“Go on.” Aeneid encouraged.
“These people, they valued names, remember? When mom and Dad sent me away, it was like stealing a brother or sister from the tribes-people, or rather, stealing a child from their gods.” I sighed shakily. “With my leaving, I had taken a word of power.”
“So they killed you parents.”
My eyes snapped to Aeneid as colour rose in my pale cheeks.
“Thank you for so BLUNTLY putting it.” I snarled. “Do you have any finesse at ALL?” It was his turn to flash his brightly-hued eyes.
“You wouldn’t have said it. You would have dodged around it.” He glared at the road. “Learn to admit it, Jira. You’re going to have to tell this story your whole life!”
While I couldn’t deny the truth in that statement (or in any of his assumptions, for that matter) I still bristled.
“It’s a sensitive subject, okay?!”
“Get over it, Jira.”
“I thought you said we were going to act civilly!”
“In this case, being blunt will do you more good than being civil!” he snapped. “Learn to cope with your past. Feeling guilty towards incidents beyond your control will do nothing but weigh you down with useless emotion.”
“What do you know about any of that?” I asked angrily.
I instantly wished I hadn’t.
He veered the car violently off the road to idle the thing on the side of it. He leaned over towards me, slamming a hand down onto the head-rest of my seat, while smacking the other on onto the dash right in front of me, his face only inches from mine. His blue eyes bored into me, dancing with cold, raging fire.
I cowered. He had never seemed this huge, this menacing, this dangerous--
or this beautiful.
Those pale cheeks and lips were set into a marble mask of anger so intense I would most likely have nightmares. His lips curled slightly.
“I know–“ he said, voice perfectly even and controlled, though his emotions obviously were not. “– better than anyone alive what guilt feels like.” He leaned even closer, mouth next to my ear, breath brushing over me and causing goose bumps to rise on my arms and back.
“So. Get. Over. It.”
He then violently pushed himself away from me, running fingers through his slicked back hair. Despite his attitude of supremacy, I noticed one thing:
His hands were shaking.
Badly, in fact. The car jerked awkwardly as we pulled back into gear, though it smoothed out in seconds.
//Looks like SOMEBODY isn’t quite as ‘over it’ as they’d like to believe...\ I thought, still in shock at his outburst, fear still coursing though my veins.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We sat in silence the rest of the way home. I felt anger radiating off of him the entire way: it was in the way he worked the steering wheel, adjusted the mirror, shifted gears.
More than that though, I could feel the guilt.
It waved out away from him sharply, the tang of it permeating his fury.
//I wonder what he went through...\ I thought as the fear dissapated.
When we reached my house, he spoke:
“Sessions resume today after tomorrow.”
“Sunday.” I confirmed.
“The door is unlocked.” He said, eyes fixed on the car’s hood. “Get your things.”
I scrambled out of the car gratefully, then pulled open the back door. I leaned inside, nearly doubled over, then felt around in the dim interior for the hanging bag.
Once I found it, I unhooked it from it rack on the ceiling, then proceeded to drag it out of the car carefully. When it was about halfway out the door, I saw it.
The thing was sitting on the floorboards behind the driver’s seat, innocently lying atop a stack of books. It’s deep blue colour was even darker than the car’s shadows; its horns created the illusion of a demon climbing out from under the seat.
On the floorboards lay the helmet of my masked knight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR TIME
HA HA HA aren’t I evil? No? Thought so...
The armor I described is supposed to be similar to Nelo Angelo’s, but blueish, rather than green. This chapter and #8 used to be one, but I decided to split them. 2 short-ish chapters rather than one LONG-ASS-CHAPTER is more appealing to me, anyhow...
JIRA and CO. belong to VIR M.
VERGIL belongs to CAPCOM
A Fanfiction by Vir M.
Chapter 9
“Get Over It”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the evening passed by quickly, like I was floating through a dream. When, almost two hours later, I found myself standing in an abandoned gym, crepe paper strewn over the floor in hasty swirls, it was as if someone had shaken me violently awake.
It was over.
I gathered my wits, wits that had been haphazardly slung on the winds of innocent euphoria, and stumbled out of the gym towards the theater building.
The cold whipped around me bare shoulders, a tempest. The numbing fingers of the wind touched me like I imagined a lover would, caressing and cool, though a lover that cold was no lover at all.
When I had reached the safety of the building and its cold-dampening walls, I unclasped my frozen arms from around myself and breathed a weary sigh. I rubbed my shoulders to warm myself and strode towards the dressing rooms.
Once inside, I quickly stripped out of the dress; hanging on the hangar carefully. I pulled on my uniform, then glanced at myself in the mirror.
My hair was hanging wind-tossed in my face, and my green-gold eyes seemed to gleam slightly through the mask I hadn’t yet taken off.
The red really does clash with my eyes... I thought. I began to contemplate what my colours were... I looked good in browns, blues, and greens... but my favorite was red, and, damn it all, it was one of the worst colours on me.
Wearily, I tugged on the ribbon securing the mask, letting it fall into my waiting hands. I slipped it into its vinyl case with care, making sure not to knock any of the ornamental pearls from their original positions. I had spent many long afternoons glueing them painstakingly into place, and wasn’t about to go and ruin it now.
I adjusted my hair in the mirror one last time, then left the room, the bagged dress hanging over my shoulder like a cape. I pulled on my jacket as I left, then made my way towards Aeneid’s office, where I hoped I’d find him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn’t have to look very far. He was sitting right outside the theater building, leaning against the sleek black car, legs and arms crossed. He looked up, blue eyes misted by his fogging breath, then walked over to me. He reached out and took my bag, then turned and stowed it in the back seat. He closed the door behind the dress, then, wordlessly, walked around to the driver’s side. I took shotgun, settling myself into my familiar seat. I turned to him as he coaxed the engine into life.
“How was your evening?”
He looked at me, taking his eyes off of the road for a moment before turning back.
“Fine. How was the masque?” I giggled at his use of arcane language, but quickly stifled it. Be nice. I reminded myself. “Dance with anyone?”
“No one in particular. I found Ami and Karen right away, though, and...” I proceeded to tell him about my evening, but left out the strange, armored figure, guessing that his reaction would either be one of incredulousness or one of admonishment for not getting the guy’s name.
When I lapsed off into silence, his cobalt eyes flicked once again towards me. He spoke:
“Jira, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I regarded him for a long moment, then:
“And?” I said. He drew in a breath.
“Your parents. Tell me about them.”
I sat and stared at him for a long moment. Then, realizing I had been mute for almost two minutes, I spoke:
“Why do you need to know about them?” I chose my words carefully. His gaze flickered my way.
“I know a lot about you, Jira.” He said. “And I’ve figured out more about your life than you would think.” I sat up, a bit outraged, at this.
“Who–?” I began. He cut me off.
“Ms. Saxen and I are friendly.” He explained. “She was happy to speak of her favorite student when I asked.” I laughed for a moment at that.
“Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask.” I said, quoting one of my favorite bands.
“Hn...” He said.
“What did she tell you?” I asked cautiously.
“This and that.”
“...I’d like to know, Aeneid. Really.”
He looked me square in the eye then.
“From what you yourself said that first day, and with the combined information I gleaned from Ms. Saxen and Principal Clark, quite a lot.” He turned back to the dark, wet pavement. “I’d like to hear it all from you though.”
I sat for a moment, in a quandary. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to talk about it at all. Period. But he was sitting there, waiting for me to answer, waiting for me to tell him my biggest... well, secret isn’t the right word.
Against my better judgement, I told him anyway.
“A long time ago...” I began. “My parents got religion.”
Aeneid snorted, and I glared.
“That’s always how Grandma always started this!” I said indignantly. “When they got married, they converted. They decided to be missionaries.”
“They settled in a small African village, total prehistoric place, I have no idea where. Then they had me.” I stopped. The next parts were hard to say. Aeneid seemed to sense my distress though.
“It’s okay.” He said. “Please continue.” His voice was soothing, and I soon relaxed.
“They gave me a tribal name, to show how they wanted to become a family to the natives.” I said slowly. “But they were stupid. They named me ‘blood related.’”
“This tribe... was superstitious. VERY superstitious. They believed that words, names in particular, were raw power. When I was named as a tribe-member, and as a relative, it was monumental. A new vessel for an old name: think of the possibilities!” I laughed then, though there was no humor in it.
“Mom and Dad... though they wanted to witness and all, they didn’t want their child growing up like a ‘savage,’ as Grandma so quaintly put it.” I leaned my forehead against the car window, then closed my eyes. “So they sent me back to America to live with Mom’s mom.” I opened my eyes then.
“Go on.” Aeneid encouraged.
“These people, they valued names, remember? When mom and Dad sent me away, it was like stealing a brother or sister from the tribes-people, or rather, stealing a child from their gods.” I sighed shakily. “With my leaving, I had taken a word of power.”
“So they killed you parents.”
My eyes snapped to Aeneid as colour rose in my pale cheeks.
“Thank you for so BLUNTLY putting it.” I snarled. “Do you have any finesse at ALL?” It was his turn to flash his brightly-hued eyes.
“You wouldn’t have said it. You would have dodged around it.” He glared at the road. “Learn to admit it, Jira. You’re going to have to tell this story your whole life!”
While I couldn’t deny the truth in that statement (or in any of his assumptions, for that matter) I still bristled.
“It’s a sensitive subject, okay?!”
“Get over it, Jira.”
“I thought you said we were going to act civilly!”
“In this case, being blunt will do you more good than being civil!” he snapped. “Learn to cope with your past. Feeling guilty towards incidents beyond your control will do nothing but weigh you down with useless emotion.”
“What do you know about any of that?” I asked angrily.
I instantly wished I hadn’t.
He veered the car violently off the road to idle the thing on the side of it. He leaned over towards me, slamming a hand down onto the head-rest of my seat, while smacking the other on onto the dash right in front of me, his face only inches from mine. His blue eyes bored into me, dancing with cold, raging fire.
I cowered. He had never seemed this huge, this menacing, this dangerous--
or this beautiful.
Those pale cheeks and lips were set into a marble mask of anger so intense I would most likely have nightmares. His lips curled slightly.
“I know–“ he said, voice perfectly even and controlled, though his emotions obviously were not. “– better than anyone alive what guilt feels like.” He leaned even closer, mouth next to my ear, breath brushing over me and causing goose bumps to rise on my arms and back.
“So. Get. Over. It.”
He then violently pushed himself away from me, running fingers through his slicked back hair. Despite his attitude of supremacy, I noticed one thing:
His hands were shaking.
Badly, in fact. The car jerked awkwardly as we pulled back into gear, though it smoothed out in seconds.
//Looks like SOMEBODY isn’t quite as ‘over it’ as they’d like to believe...\ I thought, still in shock at his outburst, fear still coursing though my veins.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We sat in silence the rest of the way home. I felt anger radiating off of him the entire way: it was in the way he worked the steering wheel, adjusted the mirror, shifted gears.
More than that though, I could feel the guilt.
It waved out away from him sharply, the tang of it permeating his fury.
//I wonder what he went through...\ I thought as the fear dissapated.
When we reached my house, he spoke:
“Sessions resume today after tomorrow.”
“Sunday.” I confirmed.
“The door is unlocked.” He said, eyes fixed on the car’s hood. “Get your things.”
I scrambled out of the car gratefully, then pulled open the back door. I leaned inside, nearly doubled over, then felt around in the dim interior for the hanging bag.
Once I found it, I unhooked it from it rack on the ceiling, then proceeded to drag it out of the car carefully. When it was about halfway out the door, I saw it.
The thing was sitting on the floorboards behind the driver’s seat, innocently lying atop a stack of books. It’s deep blue colour was even darker than the car’s shadows; its horns created the illusion of a demon climbing out from under the seat.
On the floorboards lay the helmet of my masked knight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR TIME
HA HA HA aren’t I evil? No? Thought so...
The armor I described is supposed to be similar to Nelo Angelo’s, but blueish, rather than green. This chapter and #8 used to be one, but I decided to split them. 2 short-ish chapters rather than one LONG-ASS-CHAPTER is more appealing to me, anyhow...
JIRA and CO. belong to VIR M.
VERGIL belongs to CAPCOM