fandomtownies | The Park, Early Saturday Morning

Between all the... everything, about those two days with Ez, especially when it had gone south from both their ends, and the meltdown he'd had on Kathy a few weeks back-- it was beginning to occur to Dante that maybe he wasn't as okay as he'd been playing at for the past. Oh.

Year? Two years? Was it the first time he'd killed Vergil that the pit at the heart of his being had been born, or the second?

Whatever it was, Dante had elected to deal with it the way he always dealt with things when they were at their worst: he'd taken off to this universe's Baltimore, played at his favorite open mic place until his voice was raw, and gotten completely shitfaced. He wasn't sure how he'd wound up back on the island, in the park, but it had happened... somewhere along the line?

Whatever it was, the Dante who'd passed out in the grass near the duck pond was not the Dante who woke up in that same place, the sensation of a sword cleaving through the air right by his head still in his skin, and a low, dry, and painfully familiar voice ringing in his ears-- "I know how stubborn you can be. I thought it might be the only way to wake you."

He lurched upright, hand shooting up to feel the stubble on his chin. Wait. That wasn't stubble. That was on its way to a fucking beard. "...What day is it?" His eyes shot open. "...And am I late for the reunion?"

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You didn't get the luxury of sleeping in much when you were running an Institute, which might have explained why Isabelle was already out and about. The takeaway cup from the Perk was mostly out of nostalgia. Fandom didn't have much on coffee you could get in New York.

The stroll through the park was something of a patrol. Old habits, and all that, and maybe she wanted to see the flamingos.

But instead, she found something else.

"... Dante?"

"I recognize that voice," Dante said, turning his head so he could squint properly at said new person.

He looked like a bit of a mess: dried blood in hair that was very long, face scruffy. Somewhere underneath it all was the visage of a twenty-year-old, the person she'd probably recognized, but he was a bit on the scraggly side.

Edited 2019-05-18 15:15 (UTC)

His hair was longer; hers was much shorter, now. But while Isabelle was a very well-preserved 40-something, she had nothing on him in the youthfulness department.

Though she made up for it in the lack off scruff. And she was still an Amazon of a woman, clad in black and wearing ridiculous heels.

"You don't look great," she said, with an unnecessarily cheerful uptick that may have sounded familiar, too. (She'd already surmised he wasn't gravely injured or anything, and she'd never grown out of being a brat. Sorry.)

"Hey, you try getting punched by a walking piece of heavy metal music video decor and see how you look," Dante said. He rolled one shoulder, then the other. "What day is it?" he repeated.

Not that she knew he was repeating it, but whatever.

"Saturday," Isabelle obliged easily. "Saturday morning, to be more precise."

"Okay," Dante said, pushing himself up to his feet.

Where he... paused.

"Which Saturday morning?"

Just covering his bases.

"May 18th." At least here. Might not have held true everywhere else. "Beginning of the Reunion Weekend."

That seemed like it might have made a difference.

"Huh," Dante said, and let out a soft huff. "Guess I was asleep for a month. Figures."

"Sure," Isabelle said. Without sarcasm, it should be noted - Fandom had been in her life for about 25 years, she accepted a lot of things at face value.

Or at least was less obvious about not believing, as the case sometimes was.

"Did the beat-down happen before the extended nap?"

"About thirty seconds before, give or take," Dante said, "And it wasn't a beating, he just has a really mean right hook and I think he's sensitive about his face."

He slid his hand into his pocket, fishing around for his phone, and... produced a mess of wiring and broken diodes. "Fuck. Kathy's going to kill me."

"Sounds like a beating to me," Isabelle replied, even though it didn't. See above re: eternal brat.

She followed that up with a quizzical, half-amused headtilt, though. "Want to borrrow mine?"

She couldn't remember anyone's number, and didn't expect anyone else to, but that didn't mean she couldn't offer.

"Am I going to lose boyfriend points if I mention I don't know her phone number off the top of my head?" Dante wondered.

Isabelle snorted. "I don't think my husband of over twenty years knows mine either," she said. "You're fine."

Of course, Jon could always send her a fire message so he didn't really need to remember her number. But still.

"Good to know," Dante said. He sucked in a breath of air. "Probably can't get off the island until this thing is over, either. Fan-tastic."

He looked over to Isabelle. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"Fabulously, as always," Isabelle said, because she'd never learned any modesty. But at least she was cheerful about it - and also kind of dropped the tone in favor of something less exaggerated and less preening right after. "Busy, mostly. Doesn't look like my people are running out of work anytime soon."

"More killing demons and kicking ass, huh?" Dante said. He ran a hand through his h-- fuck, he really needed a shower. "Yeah, me too."

"Bet you have fewer meetings, though," Isabelle quipped. It didn't fully count as teasing, but kind of.

Also, be glad you probably had fewer meetings, Dante.

"No meetings at all," Dante said cheerfully. "You should think about going freelance, it's way less hassle."

Isabelle heaved an oh so put-upon sigh. "Not an option for my kind of Nephilim, unfortunately."

As much as dealing with the stuffier (and older) members of the Clave could make her wish it was.

"See, now that's just a lack of imagination," Dante sighed. "I hope the vacation time's good."

Isabelle snorted again. "The head of the Institute doesn't get days off," she said, wryly amused. "Maybe I should smash up my phone too..."

Or possibly just tell her husband to threaten people with bodily harm if they were talking about calling her.

The Park, Early Saturday Morning

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