Heads are going to roll for this.


((ooc: He's not trapped, oocly because Silent Hill wouldn't bother him enough to make it fun, and two, so he can plot-device around.))

I hate twin brothers.

And whomever decided to destroy that room in the loner-section is going to get the reparations taken out of their flesh.

Where is that woman at the front desk? The new one, with the black hair. The fetish woman who looks like she's Asian or Native America or something with black hair.



((ooc: ...he's talking about Rem. Edit: ...the room is refering to Vash's room after Sora, uh, slapfought a Heartless D:))

I don't care what you people do when you're off the clock, so long as you work hard and don't stain anything.

Cleaning crews need to be dispatched to the eleventh executive story suite before the police investigators arrive.

DATE: January 03, 2008
TIME: 2 AM
SUBJECT: New Hires

What a pleasure to have a number of off-worlders under my employ. Really.

My name is Vergil DeCleric; I'm the Director of the floor here at the Starscape Casino & Hotel Resort. You are my Yes Men. I tell you to do something, you tell me, "Yes." and you do it. It's as simple as that. You've all been placed in positions adequate to the talents you've presented to me, so I expect nothing shy of perfection out of what you do.

My office is located just above the main lobby, off the left stairwell. I am on-call 24/7, but for the sake of your well-being, try to catch me during the hours of 3PM-3AM, unless it's legitimately important, or I will hurt you be very unamused.

Be sure to read your employee handbooks before starting your jobs. Comment here with questions and tokens of worship

( OOC tl;drness: )

... I'm a manager, not a babysitter.

And this is why you should have done what I told you to in the first place. I told you to allocate, and I realize you researched it a bit, and you asked a few questions, and yet you failed in a fiery spurt of glory because you didn't follow through. As always. Pathetic.

Turn off the messenger. Get your notebooks, get your notes. You're immensely prepared to write that, and yet you procrastinate daily. And look where that's gotten you. It's pathetic. Get your means to live, and get to work on that shit. I keep guaranteeing that you won't regret it, but much like the moron you are, you refuse to listen. You would listen if you would agree to my prior recommendations otherwise, as well, but oh no, you won't have that, will you?

Pathetic. AND NO, YOU WILL NOT CUDDLE THE ABOMINATIONS THAT ARE THOSE FOOLS. Get your goddamn notes, and get to work. And on Monday, we're doing exactly as he said, and you're calling. Goddamn baby.

Drench it flat with activities and splendor. Of fantastic animals and dangerous bets. For a time, yes, for a time, it feels much like how it once did.

However, at the end of the day, when the accomplices have been dismissed and the money is tucked away; when the winnings of tiresome hours, guessing and drawing and bluffing and bickering are put to rest in cabinets, kennels and stables...

The hole grows again. Perhaps the activites aren't exhausting enough.

It's all what you make of it. And that, really, is all there is to it. You can choose to list to the side, or you can choose to pick yourself up and dust yourself off and find yourself again. And since you will allow no one to assist in the matter, that, I'm afraid, is all.

Because, regardless of what you think, you have much, did you not know?

Take it as you will.

You have a father that, had he only the ability, one of the few outside of his grasp, would take away every travesty ever committed against you, your mother, and your brother, and would do what he could now, if he thought it would be accepted.

You have a mother who would love you the way a mother should, would you let her, and whose heart breaks every time she is shunned.

You have a brother whose love for your is so great, he challenged Hell itself for your honor. Not for mortals. Not to protect this plane of existance. But for you. Who would do it again should he have to, without blinking. And yet prepares to be your executioner, should the time come. Did you know he and I had a nice, long chat not too terribly long ago? Well, I fathom not. But it was very poignant. I don't suppose the details are very important, at least not now. Rather...Well. Suffice it to say that it is a duty he takes upon himself, wanting others to be left out of it. He's proven himself. I can't argue his points. Me. An eons old demon, cannot argue the kind of logic his love for family spawns. It's almost amusing.

So you tell me. Why must you try so hard?

I have a father, who would do all of that for me. That has done much for humanity itself, who has participated in creating life, and sustaining it. Who shunned his own personal selfishness to leave his family, to do what he thought was right, in an act far more selfless than any god, angel or demon before him has shown.

I have a mother, who would do all of that for me. Who has taken on, with her mortal body, the force of a religion. Who has devoted herself eternally to family. Who has died for them, who has suffered in her eternal form for that family, and is ready to do so again. And even with her aches and pains that come with her aging body, continues to try to do what she can.

I have a brother, who would do all that for me. Who has done, all that, for me. Who is ready... to do that... for me. Who is what he is because of me. Who doesn't smile the way he used to because of me. Who used to be a vibrant soul, but is no more because of me. Who will, forever, be more... suitable for the eternal life blessed into his body than I ever will be, who will forever have a purpose bound to his soul, and then some, as baggage, until the day I am dead.

And then there is me. Former slave and puppet of a cult, only to fall and become a slave and puppet to the realm that the cult meant for me to dominate.

So, here I sit, with power. With knowledge. ... Amongst dusty books, in a small apartment. With wealth locked away that I will never touch, that I suppose one day I'll give to Ophelia and Dante. With broken memories that I can't sift through, unable to even remember my age or my birthday. Sometimes... I forget my... heh... full name...

So tell me... Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, husband to the famous demon huntress Eva Spencer, father to the second champion over Hell, Dante...

Why... do you believe I try so hard? Why do you believe I stew here, day in, day out, contemplating ways to make the day a little less droll, as it rolls along. Contemplating how I might be able to take my own head if it gets to be too much...

I destroy families. I'm not a part of them.

...she sang Mr. Blue Sky to me. She showed up at my residence whilst I slept and sang Mr. Blue Sky to me to wake me up.

There are no words. ... Well. Matricide comes to mind.

And my hunt truly begins.

Apparently my involvement with Una Voce hasn't been forgotten. At least my knowledge with Scala Caeli will yet again come in handy. Alas, alas. Rebeka, Johann, why did you do this. Alas.

Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluntas.

The blade whispers of thousands of deaths, but its true power is only MINE to command. They mean to alter it. I will not have them destroy the integrity of the blade created for my father's hand.

And here, I thought there was nothing but mediocre existence after the fall.

Maior-dearest? A word or ten?

cryptorchild

The lunacy is strong in that one.

Because if this is a test, I'd like to know what I'm supposed to do.

At least I don't wear hats.

Pants may be a problem, however.


...well, swell comeuppance for a father neglectful.

How utterly unproductive. Not exactly surprising, I can say. Hm. And so the end approacheth.

( To the <I>Maior</I>; accidentally viewable to Dante )

You have to be fucking kidding.

Mizrael needs to stop talking out of his ass. That's bullshit.



And? I think I need to pay a visit to the other. Again. For other reasons, however. Tch.

There's a problem.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

If you two don't hurry up while time is still free, I'm leaving without you. And neither one of you get to see my toy.

I am.

It's time to return.

But this does pose an important question:

WHY IS THERE NO FOOD IN THIS HOUSE.

dante

dante

SEE THSI

dante

improtnat

elkd

eldlf

eldrftr

eeeeeeedddddllr
e
ld
e
r

elder
edler
elder
eld
er
eed
eled
elder

elder

maklf
maior
elder
maiorr
elleder

maior
elder

I'm reminded as to why I don't like to go out. Especially with them. Or at all, now.

Hn. I should burn this place to the ground.

I SPEAK TO THE UNDERGROUND AND THE UNDERGROUND SPEAKS TO ME.

...

...

...........
...

........

...........................
.

...
.
.
..........

...

I'm going to kill myself a little demonic kitty.

Lost myself, for a little while. Or something.

Dante. You needed a favor of me?

There.

Hmn. I don't believe I'll be able to meet you as planned.

I... Hmn.

"My grief lies all within,
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul.

I haven't had a thing to say, and I suppose I still don't. Nothing of consequence, nothing that no one cares much to see.

They say communicating one's feelings and thoughts is an effective way to heal, but is that truthfully so? Or is that just the coercing of busy-bodies that have nothing better to do with their time, other than attempt to get those who prefer to their thoughts to themselves to speak about their thoughts?

I haven't a thing to say; nothing of consequence.

... Something about the baby puts a few things into perspective. Ironic, considering everything, don't you think? Mother squirms, each time the child within her moves, and announces it even if no one is around her. There's... pride there, and I can only assume that she acted the same when carrying us. Perhaps. I have to assume we were not the smallest of children, and being two instead of one... well.

But she announces it, whenever the child moves, and beckons whomever might be there over, to partake in feeling the little one move. And in doing so, it... hm... I was that small once. As was my brother. That child, despite his or her blood, will never be as strong as we are. We will continue to gain in strength, while he or she attempts to keep up. This is inevitable, but can we prevent this one from experiencing what we have? Perhaps.

... Look at me say that, as if there's a choice to do otherwise.

But feeling that puts so much into perspective. We all start as something small, don't we? And, in some respects, remain that small. Our stubborn, instilled natures preventing us from opening our minds as we should. There's envy there, to some degree, for people like the Maior and Mother. Stronger than the average from both planes of existence, they've opened themselves to worlds far beyond normal perception, and... hm.

I don't know. It very, honestly doesn't matter, does it?

I think I'll go back to posting quotes and poems.