Alastor drummed his fingers along the desk and waited, waited like he'd been doing for the past hour or so. He hadn't moved from the spot in Dante's chair ever since he'd taken a seat in it; it was the only familiar thing in this office that he'd recognized.
It seemed that fate or some other force was either playing tricks on his mind or attempting to make his goals easier. If anything, he wished he knew just when these things would happen so that he'd prepared himself, because really-- every time he turned around and got back to this office it'd be as if Dante (he suspected it was Dante; no one else would be this horrible) were seized with a sudden need to change things around. And this, this, was the most disgusting iteration of the office yet.
Everything smelled. Bad. There were beer bottles and papers everywhere, plus an empty box of pizza from who knew how long ago. That was the least of his worries. Everything else felt so wrong about the place he was waiting for Dante to come back from wherever he was at in order to shake him down and ask more questions.
Questions like, why was the bathroom completely opposite from where it was the last time? Why did he furnish the place with a potted plant stuck near the sofa when there was already one next to the desk and there was too much clutter anyway? Why was the fridge right next to the jukebox? Were barrels really necessary to have around? What the hell was with the switch from floorboards to tiles near the entrance? And finally, most importantly, most offensively, why were there not one, but two shitty rugs in the same space? They looked painted on. Did Dante paint them? Did he suddenly decide he'd take some time off demon hunting to gain skills in the arts by being able to produce perfect facsimiles of boring, bland, incredibly shitty patterned rugs using oils? What a terrible man. Alastor desperately hoped that the red-clad devil hunter wasn't thinking of quitting his current job, because he wouldn't wish the guy's 'painting expertise' on anyone, not even his own twin!
"Ughhhh..." Alastor groaned, sank further into the chair, and buried his head in his hands. He didn't know how much longer he could take this. He wished that there were someone else in the place to talk to but not even the Devil Arms were the same anymore. There were newer acquisitions, one such Arm named Gilgamesh that reminded him of Ifrit except improbably flashy and most likely younger than the fire devil. Lucifer was... well... he wasn't going to talk to Lucifer. They'd both taken a mutual vow of silence around each other because 'reasons'. Pandora either barely had a consciousness or was practicing the same silence he and Lucifer adopted, so that option was out. Point was, no one he knew was there anymore and he wondered why that was. What had happened to them? Did Dante sell them off to some chump, or had they gotten human forms like he did? He didn't know. He wanted to know. He couldn't not know, he was tired of that!
The door creaked open and his head snapped up to regard the new entrant into the Devil May Cry office, and the sinking feeling in his chest right then was that of his expectations for the night taking a serious nosedive.
"Look who's come back from the dead," he said venomously.
