The Angel Who Doesn't Save || Closed w/ dantetheangel
Arthur managed to stab a man, in the stomach, perhaps not a fatal wound but the action itself making him feel sick to his own stomach, the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t take the time to be sick, however, he just had to keep going, shoving men away, kicking them. He’d been quite the ruffian at one point of his life, living on the streets, and had gotten into a few fist fights (he could do much better when he was drunk) but nothing as intense as this.
Ketter always handled anything with more than one assailant, when any weapons were involved. He was a much better fighter, vicious, brutal, enjoying the pain and the blood that was caused with the swing of his blade or his fist.
Arthur had just been about to ask for help, not above doing that when his life was in danger as it was now, when Dante of his own accord came over to assist him. Or, rather, save him like the damsel in distress that he was. Shooting him a look, he replied “Oh and I wanted to stay for tea!” in his most sarcastic and biting voice possible.
Some of their attackers were starting to get the picture that Dante was not a man that they should fuck around with, even when they so outnumbered him. Cowards, a few broke and ran, leaving Dante and Arthur (but mostly Dante) to get through the rest on their way to Dante’s apartment. Arthur followed where this Angel of Death lead, too much adrenaline in his blood for him to feel the pain quite yet.
Dante kicked open the door to the apparently abandoned apartment building, making his way into the building with far less caution than he usually did. He wasn't in as bad of shape as the other man, but he hadn't gone through the night completely unharmed. Shutting and barring the door behind them, Dante set the alarms he had set up. They were nothing high-tech but in that place, they might as well have been. In any case it would be enough to warn Dante and probably scare some of the less determined away and that was all he needed.
Dante led Arthur up the two flights of stairs and down the hall to the one apartment he claimed as his own. Compared to the rest of the building it was nice, but by most standards, it was pretty shabby. It was small, but Dante wouldn't have used any more. There was a brown couch pushed into the corner, a scratched oak coffee table sitting in front of it with two black monitors and an old black box TV sitting on the other side of the room. The kitchen and the living room kind of blended together and the small was that was designated as the kitchen held a brushed steel sink and a fridge that was small even to someone who wasn't as tall as Dante. Not that there was ever much in it. A small table had been squished against the wall next the kitchen with two chairs and on the wall across from the kitchen were two doors; one leading to the bathroom and the other to the single bedroom; a beaten pine dresser standing between the two. The walls were a barren white color that had turned a little dingy even though Dante had painted them just after he had refinished the walls. There was nothing in the way of decor unless you counted the empty liquor bottles that littered the coffee table and spilled from the trash can that sat next to the table. The only rug in the place was an cheap black welcome mat that sat just inside the door rather than on the outside.
After he had ushered Arthur into the room, Dante closed and locked the three locks on the heavy metal door behind them. The walls themselves didn't look as sturdy as the door, but when fortifying the place Dante had spent precious time and money, into the thick steel that sat behind the drywall. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest architectural design, but that had never been what Dante had been concerned with.
Dante turned to the man with some caution, he didn't think he had anything to worry about, but he wasn't going to be stupid about the situation, not to mention that he doubted the man had much trust in him either. It didn't matter that they had just fought there way through a mass of thugs together, their meeting had hardly been one to admit trust, and Dante had pretty much just locked the man inside. He knew it was for both their safety, but it would't make him at ease if he were in Arthur's place.
"You want me to patch you up?" Dante asked the other man, running his hand over his head but leaving the other hand down, in easy reach of weapons he could use to defend himself.
