Fan Fiction ❯ Time to Go ❯ Time To Go ( Chapter 1 )

*I don't own any of the Devil May Cry characters and what not. I just wanted to take a stab at writing at fanfic. So don't sue me! Comments are welcomed!

 

 

 

 

“Ugh! I've had better shit than this!” The man tossed his ham sandwich to the floor of the diner. The stench of smoke clogged his nostrils, he twitched his nose and looked over his shoulder.

“There a problem, Sonny?” the old purple haired waitress asked. Dante coughed and snorted at her impolitely. She rolled her eyes and spat her cigarette to the floor and grinded her heel on it

“Thanks….” Dante added, he left some money on the counter and took to his feet. The 50's attired waitress just scoffed and started wiping down the counter-top. The sound of the white haired youth's boots stomping towards the exit was interrupted when some hick truck drivers snickered at his crimson outfit.

“Say, where you off to, queer?” inquired the pudgy redneck closest to Dante. The hybrid cracked his knuckles and spun to meet the ignorant eyes of the Southern man.

“What did you call me?”

“I said youz a queer.”

The trio of hicks burst into laughter and patted the pudgy one's sweaty back. Dante's hand balled up into a fist as he glared at the men.

“That's really funny… sort of like your face, fat-ass,” he retorted, smirking at his insulter, “ look at you three piggies, all round and pink…go play in the mud!” Dante chuckled to himself, messing with idiots was one of his hobbies. The trio jiggled as they got to their plump feet.

“You want to start something, freak show?” The shorter balding man implored. Dante sighed and shook his head. //If I wasn't running late I'd have these three set on meat hangers at a Butcher's shop! //

Mockingly the ample sprite bowed and chuckled, “No, of course not gentlemen…please go back to your slop-I mean food.”

Being the hicks they were, not able to understand Dante's “fancy” words, they sat back down and continued pigging out. Dante left the diner silently, as he started up his Harley, he noticed the three arrogant truck drivers get into their rigs and strap in. Contemplating whether to stir up some trouble, Dante waited to see what direction they were heading in. He put on his red- flamed helmet and noted the hill-billies were traveling his direction, how convenient; he smirked.

The drivers pulled onto the dusty road, their wheels spitting gravel at Dante who followed behind. Revving his engine for more juice, Dante began to pass the last truck. The driver of the last semi checked his side-view mirror, the image of a red-cloaked man, coat fluttering behind the body, caught his buggy eyes. Dante aiming Ivory at the man's reflection smiled to himself. Bang! The mirror was shattered, Dante then shot out two of the wheels causing the semi to jack- knife. Jutting his weight back, the cloaked motorist slid with ease under the stalled truck.

“One down,” he notes, “two to go.” Easing along side the second truck, the driver was too caught up singing to the Dixie Chicks to notice anything. Dante being the anti-country music devil that he was, thought of a more cruel idea. Balancing his weight, Dante slowly stood up on his bike's seat, he was parallel with the driver, tapping on the window. The bald hick stared in disbelief at the man waving to him while holding a huge ass sword. A clean swipe and the mirror hit the dirt hard, the truck driver mortified, threw his hands over his face screaming for mercy, only to let his vehicle slide into a ditch, tossing him out of the semi and into the swampy filth.

“You might want to check your pants!” Dante hollered over his shoulder. Checking his watch, Dante noted he had forty-five minutes to get to his destination, “Time's always on my side,” he laughed. Along side the final and most disgusted hick, Dante veered off to the left after seeing a wooden ramp. Leaning down more as he sped up to decrease resistance, he took flight off of it, hurtling toward the top of the truck, BOOM-CLANG!

“What the fuck!” the pudgy driver shrieked. Dismounting his parked bike, Dante tossed it up ahead into some brush. Dragging his sword over the metal casing, he slowly reached the glass sunroof over the driver. Eyes searching every way, the driver began to sweat and shake with fear. CRACK! The glass shattered and fell on the beefy driver. Poking his head in, Dante smirked, “Boo….” The driver went wide-eyed and screamed, jerking the wheel to the left toward another ditch.

Kicking off of the roof and landing with grace on the road, Dante laughed his ass off at the wreckage he produced.

 

“Ah…just in time,” Dante grinned as he sat in front of the TV with a beer in his hand, the remote in the other, and some burritos on the make-shift table before him. “I wouldn't miss this show for anything,” he sighed as he nestled into his gray springy couch, “Fucking hicks almost making me miss my favorite show.”

He took a swig of the beer and turned up the volume. About five minutes into the gory program the phone rang.

“What the hell…!”

 

The End