his entry inside of the agency is quiet, ‘least as best as he could be; the creaking door is out of his control. after pressing it shut by the pads of his fingers, V’s form remains against its large frame. he glances across the way at a snoozing Dante, precisely the one he’s been looking for. he’d caught a habit of spending the night here in hopes of the phone ringing, an ache to be commissioned for the steady work and cleanup of a demon problem. the summoner has reminded him time and time again of free hospitality in his own quarters, though his offers are never fulfilled.. he’s stubborn.
“ lousing around in wait of a cry for help isn’t your style. ” he speaks, only assuming the hunter is conscious underneath the open page of that magazine on his face.
the creak of the door is a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the legendary hunter. that wretched noise — he files it away in his mind for later, if only to spare his ears the torment. it is, after all, ingrained in his nature to remain hyper-aware of every flicker and whisper in his vicinity, even without conscious effort. the soft padding of footsteps against the wooden floor has already alerted him of someone’s approach. still, he remains as he is, draped across the couch, a familiar raunchy magazine obscuring his face as he pretends to be lost in sleep. he gives no sign of acknowledging the intruder, clinging to the hope that whoever was disrupting his daydream-laden rest might get the hint & leave. but the moment he hears V’s voice, he lowers the magazine just enough to catch a glimpse of him.
“And what, pray tell, is my style?” he mutters from behind the glossy pages.
now that he considers it, V has a point. but he has to pass the time somehow, and where better to await a call infused with hope than here? two weeks have stretched interminably, business creeping at a snail’s pace. the office phone has remained ominously silent for the past week & the demon hunting jobs on Dante’s roster are scarcely worth mentioning. just a few insignificant demons, hardly deserving of the title nuisance. the mere thought of reverting to a mundane, human-like job draws a shadow across his expression, a reminder of what lies ahead should this inertia persist.
he lowers the magazine from his face completely, the pages crinkling softly as he sets it aside. “Don’t you have better things to do?” the cushions give way under him as he finally pushes himself upright. he rolls his shoulders back, the tendons in his muscles flexing & releasing from their prolonged stillness. “Got any work lined up?” he adds in an equally low tone. surely, he didn’t come all this way for nothing. not that he is not willing to help, but ponders the reason for fate bringing the summoner to his office.
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