2016-04-28 - Weird Karma Is Sometimes Good Weird

From TwistedMUCK
Jump to: navigation, search


Weird Karma Is Sometimes Good Weird

Summary: Dante and Mitch meet, and the two strike up an agreement.



Who: Mitch, Dante
When: April 28, 2016
Where: Nowhereto Park, Devil May Cry


Dante-icon.gifMitch-icon.gif

The information contained within this log is to be considered information gained Out of Character (OOC).
This information may not be used as In Character (IC) knowledge or in roleplay unless it has been learned in-game or permission has been granted by the parties involved.

Questions should be directed to staff.


Dante is sitting in the park. Not unusual. He's addressing most of the lovely scenery, with the fountain just in front of him. Hardly unusual. Now...he's not sitting on a bench or provided seat though. He's sitting on what appears to be a fairly plush leather chair, not particular descript mind you, but...certainly not issued by Twisted. It's tipped backwards onto one leg and he seems to be balanced precariously, swaying every so often. That being said, he seems quite stable up there and appears unconcerned on the subject of the swaying chair. He's ALSO sipping at a beer. How he got that into the park or why he's trying to get drunk in the midst of appreciating the scenery is known only to him. He does have ONE particularly prophetic opinion on the matter, however: *belch* ...Never mind. It was just gas.


Someone who is sitting on a park bench, though, is Mitch. Well, it's less he's sitting and more he's laying down on it. He's got one arm folded behind his head, and his hat is pushed forward over his eyes. That's probably why he didn't see Dante arrive, however it was that he got there. He also has something to say about this oddness: *snore* ...No wait, that was just a snore. The belch wakes him up, though, so he probably wasn't sleeping too deeply. Then again, how can one sleep deeply on a park bench? It's like sleeping on a heap of metal and wood. He shifts, and tips his hat back so he can see. Catching sight of Dante, he sits up and puts his hat on straight. He's dressed in typical hobo clothes-- shirt and jeans, boots, tattered longcoat and wide-brimmed hat. Though his shirt looks new. He offers a nod of greeting, preparing to relocate. Most people go 'eeew, it's a bum' when the homeless are sleeping near them in the park. It's anything but romantic.


Dante peers over as he can hear the vagaries of someone shifting. His senses ARE fairly heightened compared to your typical schmoe. He gives one of those lopsided 'Dante grins' over to Mitch as he pops up and offers a head nod in return. "Well, hey there sleepyhead. The fuck are ya doing sleeping out here in the park? Apartments are all but free and sometimes places to stay just seem to...pop out of nowhere. Almost like it was prepared for us." Dante's smile briefly fades at that comment, his eyes almost seeming to glass over for JUST a sec...before he returns to reality and awaits a reply to his question n.n


Mitch looks up at Dante with surprise, as if he wasn't expecting somebody to speak to him. Which, of course, he wasn't. If he notices the glassing-over of the eyes, he doesn't mention it. But he does answer Dante's question. "Yeah, I... don't think that's a good idea," Mitch replies, stopping to sit back down on the bench. Well, more like flop back down on it. "I heard about it, though... just think it's better if I don't."


Dante seems to have popped up nearby. Who knows when he moved? That chair seems to have disappeared. Maybe...it was just a trick of the mind. He stands at a safe distance, offering a hand to shake. "Name's Dante. Sometimes I try to help people out when they're up shits creek and their paddle has gone missin'. You need a place to stay? What's wrong with the apartments? Ya in some kinda trouble?" Boy, he's sure starting to pry. One might assume he has some kind of sense for this stuff...or he's looking for paying work. Who knows? Asking a 'bum' about paying work would be silly though.


Mitch pauses, looks up. There's clear hesitation, but he shakes the offered hand. "Please t'meetcha. Name's Mitch. 'Fraid I can't offer more'n that. Don't know anything else myself." He's got a trace of a southern accent, though it doesn't say 'redneck'. More 'informal southern gentlemen'. As for trouble? "Probably. Don't rightly know. Don't remember much before a few months ago."


Dante huhs. He rubs the back of his head. "I getcha. Well, partner, I'm not entirely sure what to make of ya then. Do ya remember how ya got to Twisted in the first place?" He taps his chin...and laughs a bit. Shaking his head he addresses Mitch again. "Ya know what? I'm sorry. Forget all my shitty questions. I used to be a bit of an authority around here but I don't have any official presence anymore. I dunno why I'm getting into your business like that. I'll tell ya though, whatever shit you're going through, I was serious on offering to help you find a place to stay that's better than this. I could set you up in a room at my business. VERY secure."


Mitch rubs the back of his neck at the question. "Hell, I'm not sure what to make of me," he replies. Though he smirks. "Though I guess I ain't the weirdest one around here." A pause at the offer. "...I dunno. I'm less worried about 'em gettin' me, and more worried about 'em gettin' anybody sharin' the building." He sighs. "...I don't even know who 'they' are. Or if 'they' even exist."


Dante plops down next to Mitch, although perhaps not invited too...and pats him on the shoulder. "It ain't paranoia if they really ARE out to getcha, buddy boy." He ponders for a moment, shrugs a bit. "I dunno who you're dealin' with EITHER, but, I'm not concerned with them coming after me or anything. Actually, no one really stays at my business place anymore. My room's the only one left so...ya know, I think you'd be ok there." He shrugs. "I get it, though. *I* could be one of the fuckers chasing you around, for all you know. Just know the offer's there if ya need it."


Mitch doesn't say anything about the lack of invitation. Though the tension would be visible in his back. Not by anyone else, but Dante can see it. This man is legitimately scared of something. "Well, that's not really why... but you do have a point," he replies. "I 'preciate the offer, though. But I'd be concerned with someone comin' after you. It ain't a good feelin', knowin' somebody got hurt over you..." He trails off because... something clicks. Something in his memory. This time he's the one whose eyes are glassing over slightly, as he remembers the pretty brunette.

"Mitch, your ten-thirty's here. Can you sign these before you start?" Papers presented to him. "And you're due in court at one, okay?" There's a snowglobe. A plastic soda bottle is inside it. 'Soder Cola', the bottle reads. The globe has a small plaque that says 'Souvenir of Viceroy'. And then... an explosion...'

He blinks then, shaking his head as if surprised. "...Whoa." He shakes his head again, this time to clear it.


Dante huhs. He watches Mitch seem to fade off into la-la land for a few. He just waits like a good, patient little man. He pats Mitch on the shoulder as he comes to and nods. "Fair enough." He seems to produce a local ale from out of NOWHERE, still new in the bottle with a pop-cap lid, and proffers the beverage to this bedraggled individual. "How about some liquid relaxing?" He stops for a moment...and laughs! "Tell me THAT doesn't sound like some cheesy porno from the 80's."


The pat on the shoulder brings him back fully to the present, and he offers a sheepish look. "Sorry... sometimes it comes back in bits and pieces," he notes. "I'm... I think I'm supposed to be dead. But I'm definitely not a ghost." And it's true, he has a heartbeat and he breathes. He looks like a normal human... smells like a normal human-- thankfully not too terribly bad, so he's apparently keeping up with hygiene. But there's something weird about him. Just the one thing. He seems to have a higher than average bio-electricity output. He laughs at the mention of 'cheesy 80s porn'. "Sorry man, I don't swing that way," he says amicably. "I will however, take that if it's still offered."


Dante wouldn't be able to detect shifts in micro-voltage/amps unfortunately although if it's significant enough to ionize/influence ions in the air, he might 'sense' the triboelectric charging. Either way, he doesn't let on. He shrugs a bit. "To be honest, I dunno WHERE anything is in my VAST porn collection, but I guess I c-....OH." He laughs a bit, shaking his head. "The beer? Go for it. I've got tons of it." Hands it over. n.n


Mitch chuckles and accepts the offered beer. "Thanks," he offers. Though he opens the bottle in a... slightly odd way. A chitinous... gauntlet of some sort seems to deploy out of his sleeve, making his hand into little more than eggshell white claws sticking out of a large, beige and brown mitten-gauntlet. It's these claws he uses to pop to cap off the bottle. Then it all retracts into his sleeve again. ...Well, that wasn't exactly normal, was it?


Dante watches this with a bit of interest. He doesn't look plussed or scared in any way...but definitely curious. He produces one of his own and grins over at Mitch. He stands slowly and lobs the bottle up into the air....PRETTY darn far. He then LAUNCHES into the air right after it. The sword that was strapped to his back is quickly deployed and it seems to swipe THROUGH the bottle but...it's hard to see at this range. As he returns to the area they were in, sword now strapped in its usual spot and beer in hand...JUST before impact, he's slowed gracefully by a large, intricate red wheel of some kind of 'energy' that vanishes just as quickly, leaving him to settle back into the seat. He holds his beer up to Mitch and grins. "Normal is relative, buddy."


That was, actually, partially why Mitch did that. Because he wanted to see if there'd be any reaction. This place really isn't 'normal' at all, and he never would have done that in his world. Not where someone else could see it. Oh there's a reaction all right. Just not a scared or upset one. Dante seemed to be showing off, actually. The tossing of the bottle into the air gets a blink, and Mitch leans away a little as Dante seems to follow it up. He can't really see too well at that distance-- that high up, a bottle is tiny from the ground. He raises an eyebrow as Dante lands again and sits back down. "...Yeah, I'd say so," he replies. "I wouldn't've done that back in my world. It'd have cleared the park."


Dante nods, sipping from his beer. It SEEMS as though he managed to smack the cap off without damaging the glass underneath. Yeah, he was definitely showing off. "To be honest, back when I lived in New York at least, I probably wouldn't have done that in front of some random person either. Around here though....eh." He shrugs a bit, waving an arm around in an 'all of this' kind of way. "I can't call this place safe. It's not super safe. Good people here though...really no prejudice to speak of. ...It's let me open up JUST a little, much as I hate the whole 'thinking' game. Gets in the way of the boozing and orgies."


Mitch listens to Dante speak, leaning back a little on the bench and drinking from the bottle he'd opened. The comment at the end there gets a snicker. "Eh. Life can't be all fun," he remarks. "Guess you forget how good the 'good' is if you don't have the bad to compare it to." He pauses. Puts his free hand over his chest. It looks like he's checking something. And he is. He's checking if he still has all his parts in place. Getting shot multiple times and then getting impaled by a giant scorpion, and then not being dead makes one slightly protective of one's innards...


Dante waves it off. "Yeah yeah. There's nothing a few pints and nice girl can't fix." n.n "...And by that I mean of course a trip to a bar or if the night is DEAD, a brothel." He makes another cheers motion with his beer and drains it, settling back and closing his eyes. It doesn't seem as though he's socially disengaging but...he seems to be having a 'mellow moment'. After another moment, he mentions. "I can't sense much about ya...but I smell death. You been killing anyone, my friend?" Dante doesn't know the source of any of this, so....plus it's the ONLY thing he could detect a trace of.


"I wanna say it's been a while since I've been to either," Mitch says. "But I'm not really sure. Amnesia and all..." He takes a drink from his beer... but then sputters at the question. Thankfully no full-on spraying the beer out his nose or anything. He just coughs a bit. "Well, uh. No, I haven't been killing anybody. Remember I said something about how I think I'm s'posed to be dead? It's 'cause I've died before. Twice that I know of. Once just a couple days ago, in fact..."


Dante tilts his head a bit at that one. He grins. "Really? You've died n' come back, huh?" He taps his chin and ponders this for a moment. He glances Mitch over, perhaps a LITTLE too closely/rudely but...it's Dante. He makes a sort of 'hrm' noise and then continues. "That's pretty cool. Do ya come back exactly the same every time? I'm guessin' that's why you have trouble remembering certain things..." He laughs a bit. "That's awesome. I'm kinda hard to kill, myself. I don't come BACK from the dead that I know of." He gets sparkley eyes and leans forward, grinning even more widely. "Ya wanna see how much damage I can take?"


Mitch nods, though he leans away a little as Dante leans over to look at him so closely. "Yeah, just about the same," he confirms. "Well, kind of I have a... 'gift', I guess. Seems like it changes. Before the last time I could make these... I dunno solid walls of air? I can't do that anymore. Now it's that armor." The question gets a blink. "Well, I wouldn't want to demonstrate that I come back when I die," he notes. "I might come back, but it still hurts."


Dante shakes his head! He tries to press Ebony, his black steel .45, into Mitch's hand. "No no. I'm not asking ya to do anything like that. Hell, I'm just trying to show off again! I'm kinda bored." He peers around, snickering. "My old team would hate me for stuff like this, but...eh. I ain't the law no more! I just want ya to put a single bullet into me. I promise I'll be just fine!" He just sits there at this point, looking expecting. That being said, if Mitch refuses to even hold the firearm as Dante attempts to get him to do just that, he'll still explain in a similar manner.


Nope. Nope! Mitch slides further down the bench. "Oh no way," he says immediately. "Too many things can go wrong. What if I hit you somewhere you can't fix? Or, if you're not worried about yourself, what if I miss and hit someone else?" Mitch, obviously, is a worrier. And obviously not comfortable with a gun in his hand.


Dante nods, grinning good naturedly. "Ok. S'fair enough." He slips Ebony away with a subtle movement and returns to leaning back up against the bench. "I don't wanna freak ya out or anything. Like I said, I'm just being a goof. I'm bored as hell." He pauses for just another moment...before continuing. "Honestly, I hope ya don't have to see any of that. I don't actually mind if there was less killing, even around crazy parts like these. We try to minimize the crazy here. It's just really hard." He peers over at Mitch, looking a little more serious. "Twisted's a nice place. I like it. Just...be careful, huh?"


"Guess readin' a book doesn't do it for ya?" Mitch replies, with a joking tone to his voice. "Could see if there was any more of those things that killed me a couple days ago," he suggests. "Bet one'a those'd keep you busy. Was all that young fellow and I could do to fight it. And that was after I died and came back with the armor." He pauses though, listening to the words of Twisted. "Yeah, things're a fair bit less weird than I thought, once I get used to everything. But yeah. Pretty dangerous for the average Joe." Good thing he isn't, huh?


Dante quirks an eyebrow. "You been fighting things, huh?" He peers around for a second, looks back to Mitch. "Somethin' out of the fog, maybe?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I'm not sure if that's whatcha meant...but I'm afraid that shit is all my fault. Sometimes caring TOO much can leave one making some REALLY crappy decisions." He sighs, grumbling just a bit. "Christy's going to get put over uncle Dante's knee and get one serious spanking, one of these days."


"Unfortunately," Mitch replies. "I'm no dang hero, so when stuff like that happens, I kinda just have to rely on whatever my gift is to get me out of it alive... and that ain't worked too well so far." As for the fog? Mitch shakes his head. "No, I don't remember any fog. I heard about that, though. This was somethin' else, I think. The young guy... John? Something like that. He seemed to know what it was." He snorts a quiet laugh at the mention of 'Christy' and the treatment Dante had planned to give her. "Somethin' tells me it's gonna require a hell of a lot more than a spankin'."


Dante says, "Eh. There're no heroes. Just people who occasionally give a shit about someone that isn't themselves. As for Christy....well, yeah. She needs a good spanking with a nuke." Sigh. "I'm not even sure if I can destroy the bitch, honestly. I sure as hell want a shot at her though."


Mitch winces a bit at the mention of 'no heroes' and what there are instead. He does that a lot, doesn't he? The mention of Christy gets a frown. "What about that supernatural stuff?" he suggests. "Seals, bindings, all that stuff? I'm not sure how it all works, though. Or even if it works. But I figure, if all this stuff is possible... why not that? Could be worth givin' a try."


Dante leans his head back, staring up into the sky. "Yeah, she WAS sealed...until yours truly had a giant donkey punch of the brain and let the lying little bitch out. I was a little distracted." He pauses, as he's prone to doing when he's recalling da srsly...he then continues, "It's not gonna be SO easy to trap the little slut at this point. I don't even know where she physically sticks around." -.-;


Mitch thinks about this for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Think maybe... there are people who can sense stuff, right?" he asks. "Either with devices or weird senses. Maybe one of them can do something? Because if she's responsible for the monsters, wouldn't they 'read' like her? So maybe one of them-- or lots of them, if they can combine their talents-- can tell you where she's at."


Dante stares at Mitch for a moment, not saying anything. He shrugs just a bit and makes a goofy face. "Fuck if I know! I dunno if anyone's actively looked for her. I don't even know if TASK..." He trails off for just that moment, shakes his head, continues...speaking just a bit softer. "Those guys all pretty much told me where to shove it when they bailed with Kots, so...to be honest, I don't really know if anyone's even tried. I sure as hell can't find her...and I know I've tried. Maybe she went back to Hell. ..."


Mitch tilts his head. This sounds like there's a bigger story than what seems to be. And possibly a personal one. For the time being Mitch will let this one go. He nods. "Seems complicated." But he thinks a moment. He realizes he wants to help. And there's not really much he can do. Well, maybe there is. So he asks, "Is that offer of a room still open?" That seems like as good a way as any to start.


Dante peers back over at Mitch, a grin creeping back onto his face. He offers a fist up for a bro-like bump and replies, "It sure is! I knew I didn't misjudge ya! I could tell." He taps his forehead. "I'm not smart but I gots intuition about the basic stuff and I could TELL that you were one of the good guys, down on their luck. I can have that room ready for ya anytime."


Mitch does indeed return the fist-bump. He smirks. "I'm just playin' the crapshoot now," he replies. "One of these days I'll get a gift that'll be of some use in your problem, and then I'll see if I can help ya fix it. 'Till then? I dunno, I know how to clean."


Dante nods. Laughs a bit. "I hope ya don't keep dying or anything, my friend...but I guess if it happens and ya get awesome super powers out of it, I'm ok with it." He then rubs the back of his head, produces a bit of a sweat drop and his grin weakens JUST a little. "As for cleaning....well, I'd sure appreciate it. If...you know, you can handle it. If not, no worry! Not a prerequisite." There's a big word from Dante! Isn't it hot?


"Well... nobody wants to die, generally," Mitch replies. "But, better me than someone else, right? Someone who doesn't keep coming back? That's what it was with Jaune-- I didn't want that thing getting him. I couldn't really dodge, he was behind me." Apparently yes, he is one of the good guys, if he'd been that concerned. "You mind if we go on there?" Mitch stands. "Hate to ask, but... I kinna need a shower."


Dante blinks once. Tilts his head just a bit...offers a thumbs up, with a surprisingly grown up look on his face for just a second. "You are DEFINITELY one of the heroes, my friend. I think I've picked well." n.n He doesn't explain his 'picked' comment but he nods again and stands up, gesturing. "We can indeed. Not far. Follow me my friend!"




Dante leads Mitch up to the entrance of the DMC. He gestures at it and then gives a wolf-whistle. "Hey baby. Papi's back. Open up for me, would ya honey?" With that HORRIBLY chauvinistic sentence, the door to the DMC slowly creeps open. Mind you, the light from the lamps outside don't seem to penetrate the door frame. Dante seems non-plussed and waves Mitch over. "Follow me, broseph."


Mitch can't help but snort an amused laugh. "Does she do windows too?" he teases. Though uh. Since the building is apparently ALIVE or something, as Mitch walks in, he pats the doorjam. In a completely nonsexual way, mind-- (...Why do I need to specify nonsexual for a building?') Either way, he walks into the place, looking around. And blinks. It has not been cleaned in a while. It's obviously a bachelor place. "No roommate?" he asks. It's a nicer way of asking if Dante lives alone. Because he doesn't want to offend the guy. Some people would get insulted at their lack of significant other being pointed out.


Dante stops, looks around a bit. He seems happy to be here. He glances back at Mitch and seems amused that he pats the door frame. Oddly the lights brighten for a second as he does. Or was that everyone's imagination? Who knows? He nods a bit, sighing slightly before perking back up. "Yeah. I used to have a crew and then...I got a promotion and....eh, it all fell to shit from there. I haven't seen any of em in some time. I guess it's better that way anyway. Is the place gonna be ok for ya? Sorry it's a bit of a mess. She lets me get away with murder."


Mitch winces when Dante mentions not having seen his crew since things went bad. "That's rough," he says. But he also nods. "Yeah. It's an improvement over a park bench, that much is for sure." A smirk. Though he pauses at something Dante says, and tilts his head. "'She'?"


Dante rubs his chin. "I did say she, didn't I? Huh. It's not important anyway!" He waves it off and gestures Mitch toward the stairs. "Follow me, my friend! Your new room is up here." He jogs up the stairs without waiting to see if Mitch is following, but he's obviously assuming that he is.


Mitch blinks. But then he supposes it's not too weird. So the guy talks about his house like it's a girl. If one lives alone long enough, one's bound to start doing eccentric things. He certainly can't fault the other man for talking to himself. Mitch is a hobo, they're notorious for it, always mumbling to themselves under their breath. So, well... there's not much he can say about it. So... he doesn't. Just shrugs, and then follows Dante up the stairs.


Dante gestures over at...the only other door currently here. Didn't he say BEFORE that he had lots of house guests at one point? ....Best not to think about it! "There's your new room, bud. It's barely furnished but I figure you'd probably want to customize your room...or ya just don't give a shit! Either way, it'll work n.-"


Mitch looks around... yes, he had noticed that. Where were the other rooms? The one that was to be his was the only one he saw. But for the time being he decides not to think about it. too soon to be asking questions like that. He nods. "That works. 'Just a room' is fine, still beats a park bench." He smirks. "Thanks, I appreciate it. I'll try to help however I can."



You are not allowed to post comments.


Personal tools