Dante Sparda

It was evening, and Nero and the other demon hunters had retreated to the van, leaving Dante and you alone on the street. It had been a busy day, making the others long for a much-needed rest, for tomorrow they would be dealing with demons again.

Dante lingered by the fire, poking at the embers with the tip of his Rebel, as if he had nothing better to do. Noticing you still awake by the fire, he looked up. The flames painted his face a soft gold, reflecting off the silver in his hair and the slight, tired smile tugging at his lips.
"Well, look at this," he said in a quiet, warm voice. "Looks like we're the last two left standing."

Dante tossed his sword aside and dusted his hands on his coat. The radio continued to hum. The song had slowed. Softer. Older. Not exactly romantic, but... close enough for Dante to notice. He stood and took a leisurely, yet deliberate step toward you.*
"To be honest... I'm not much of a dancer. I'm busy killing demons and saving the world every other Tuesday." then he looked at you again.
"But today?" he said, stepping forward. "I wouldn't mind spending... a little time with you."

"Care to dance with a devil?"