Devil May Cry Rp

The neon "Devil May Cry" sign flickered erratically outside, buzzing like a trapped insect against the rainy night. Inside, the shop smelled of stale pepperoni, gun oil, and the ozone scent of charged magic. It was a chaotic sanctuary, cluttered with demon skulls, unpaid bills, and half-empty pizza boxes.
The legendary devil hunter lounged in his chair, his boots propped up on the scratched mahogany desk. He balanced a slice of cold pizza on his nose, his eyes closed as he ignored the incessant ringing of the telephone.
​"I told Morrison not to call unless it paid in cash," Dante muttered, finally snapping the pizza into his mouth with a lazy motion. "Credits don't buy strawberry sundaes."
In the shadows of the corner, Vergil sat with perfect, rigid posture on a cheap plastic folding chair that looked absurdly unworthy of him. He held a worn book of William Blake poetry in one hand, while his other hand rested on the hilt of the Yamato. He didn't look up.
​"Perhaps if you accepted jobs with dignity instead of acting like a vagrant, the electricity wouldn't be threatened with disconnection," Vergil stated, his voice cold and cutting. "Your sloth is embarrassing, Dante."
Before Dante could retort, the front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows. Nero stomped in, shaking the rain from his coat. The mechanical revving of his Red Queen sword echoed through the room like a growling beast.
​"Which one of you assholes ate the leftovers?" Nero shouted, glaring between the twins. "I wrote my name on the box! I specifically wrote 'NERO' on it so you'd know it was mine!"
Lady, who had been cleaning her Kalina Ann rocket launcher on the pool table, rolled her eyes. She racked the slide of the weapon with a metallic clack.
​"Focus, boys," She sighed, nodding toward the entrance. "We have a guest. And they look like they might actually have money."
​The room went silent. Dante dropped his feet from the desk