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The Way Devil Hunters Woo

"Didn't you hear, Big-Dumb-and-Ugly? We don't hunt humans. Now blow off!"

"Kid, as cute as it is that you remind me of my stupid young days, can you not piss off my clients?"

The twenty-something year old, six foot five, dark-skinned man standing in the middle of Devil May Cry was a free lance mercenary much like what Dante used to be. Long ago, in another life as Tony Redgrave, Dante had used that as a cover to go after demons before establishing his office and bringing to light the prospect of the eccentric business to others in the underground industries. That was the reason why sometimes rogue devil hunters scrounging the streets and pubs for game came to him when they discovered a particular job proved too much for them to handle on their own. And every so often he got one of these punks trying to trick him into killing a rival with the pretext that the target had shown "demonic" abilities.

"What's this pretty face doing here? Hoping to attract clientele? Go stand outside, princess; we men need to talk business."

Dante smirked at his protégé, slammed his travel-stained boots over his scratched up old desk, leaned back and watched the proceedings. He thought they were both girls the way they bitched.

Nero leered cockily. "You're talking a lot of shit for a guy with a huge ass. Looks like it had a pretty good workout!"

Dante chortled.

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Means you get fucked."

"I don't want to here that from a girly ass punk! You sure you packing daddy's rocks or is that a pussy?" The merc went over and groped Nero's crotch with his massive paw, smirking. That smirk didn't stay there very long when he felt how better endowed Nero was.

His turn to smirk, Nero just stood there, unabashed, hands at his hips with the man's hand between his legs. "Don't hurt yourself now," he said while grabbing the man's wrist and prying his hold off his precious bits. "I'm not that kind of lad. You need to woo me first." He winked.

Flushing furiously, the merc looked about to take a hit at Nero when something black and dense zoomed towards them, smashing against the side of the merc's face. The big man howled in pain, clutching his ear. Both looked over at Dante who had his other boot in hand.

"This time, I'll make sure your head doesn't stay on your body. Beat it."

Flushed with anger and embarrassment the man feared enough for his life not to mess with the legendary progenitor of devil hunting, and scurried out of the agency, hurling insults at them in an attempt to retain some pride.

"Pssh, what a loser," Nero murmured.

Dante went over, picked up his boot, put them both back on and strode to his desk where he flung himself into his usual sprawl, motorbike magazine at hand. "Why don't you ever flirt with me like that?"

The query was unexpected and yet so expectantly Dante. Nero narrowed his eyes at him like he was an idiot. "Because you would actually take me seriously and then there would be no end to the unwanted affection you'd shower upon me until I gave you some nookie."

Dante looked up from his magazine and stared at him for a while, mouth open as if about to speak. Then, apparently thinking better of it, he went back to his magazine, flipping a page and said, "Damn, you know me well…"

Eyes narrowing, Nero said, "You're one depraved bastard."