you have no idea what i'm capable of (warhorse) wrote in dustofnations,
you have no idea what i'm capable of

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30_deathfics (unofficial) - 027. Tight

Title: Untitled
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Character(s): Trish, Vergil
Type: One shot, written for my unofficial claim at 30_deathfics, table of which can be found here.
Word Count: 1482
Rating: We'll say PG-13.
Warnings/Spoilers: Uh, no spoilers or real warnings except for language, but, um. This is a version of Dante, Vergil, and Trish known as the Tabloids. Boils down to: They're post DMC2, Vergil's gone off his rocker after living in Hell, and has a split personality (one being Tabloid!Vergil, who's childlike in his craziness, the other being, well, a more mature version of Vergil), and is living with Dante and Trish at DMC. They're funny. :}
Summary: Trish is cleaning out her closet and asks Vergil what he thinks of a pair of jeans. He is painfully honest and hilarity ensues.

She hadn't thought twice, when Vergil had skittered in while she'd been going through her closet to decide what to keep, and what to get rid of. After all, it was Vergil, and he was practically harmless, to everyone but Dante. And even then, she was convinced, he was only so because he wanted to be affectionate with his brother; she thought he was sweet, if very, very off. And, in fact, she also thought Dante could stand to learn a lesson or two from him, because he was so very simple, really. It didn't take much at all to keep him happy.

So there she was, digging through her closet while Vergil had perched himself on her bed, like an overgrown kid or something. She supposed that the reason she was so...Compliant to his whims, was because she very well knew she'd had a hand turning him into that; that poor broken creature who could barely function enough to be more than an invalid. She had; she'd helped in twisting him into Nero Angelo and helped make him a monster, and she'd never uttered a word of that to Dante. She didn't know how, and so by her compliance, she figured it was a sort of redemption to that. A pale one, in comparison, as she very well remembered the proud, alert, intelligent, and belligerant young man he'd been before, but it was something, rather than the nothing approach she could have used.

She was only halfway through all of her clothing. In truth, it wasn't nearly what her esteemed partner in crime thought it was, because she truly didn't waste all her earnings on clothing and 'that girly shit', like he thought she did. But she let him have his little bitchfits and temper tantrums because it made him happy. And while a happy Dante didn't necessarily mean a happy everyone, it was better than having him sulk like a big child.

A pair of jeans were pulled from the closet's recesses, a pair she hadn't even seen in ages, and she vaguely wondered where her black dress - the simple one that looked good with heels - had gotten off to, before shaking the pants out for a good look at them. "I don't know, Vergil." That roused the elder twin where he'd sprawled across her bed, toying with a pom-pom pillow that had struck his fancy, and he glanced up, wide-eyed and curious.

"What do you think? Yay or nay? I haven't even thought about these things in forever." She paused and glanced over at him, where he still stared, but more as though he didn't see her at all (she was used to it, really), before giving a shrug and starting to shuck the pair she was already wearing. "I guess the most important thing is if they still fit."

She'd gained a bit of muscle over the last few years, and she wasn't one to deny it, after all. And the truth of it all was, while it was Vergil, she didn't have a single ounce of worry or shame in changing right there. Why should she? He was like a child. And it wasn't like he cared or anything to begin with; not like his brother, who would snort and blow and bellow like his eyes had been jabbed out with hot pokers. The big idiot; how she wanted at times to do exactly that, when he started.

Once the pants she'd been wearing were kicked off to the side, she stepped into the foundling pair, noticing from the get go they were going to be a little tight. That was alright, too! Tight jeans, she figured, when she looked as good as she did, weren't really that big of a deal. But the further up her legs she tugged them, the more constricting they became. It was okay, too. They just needed a little wearing to loosen them up.

Once they were over her hips and buttoned, she let out a breath and a wince, because she hadn't anticipated them being that tight, before looking in the full length mirror mounted on the closet door. "Well?" She glanced back over her shoulder, gesturing to indicate the jeans. "Be honest, Vergil. What do you think?"

Vergil propped himself up on his elbows from where he'd been lolling about once more on the bed, on his stomach, and rested his chin in a palm, eyes focusing on her, for once. And he took a long moment, brow drawn downward in concentration so tightly he almost - almost - seemed himself. "You've gotten fat."

"...What." She hadn't meant that honestly, and she most certainly hadn't got fat. But she tried to take it in stride, as she very well knew Vergil just...Didn't understand tact. Not anymore. "Fat." Still, that had stung, even if it had come from the loony, as his brother would say. "How the hell do you figure. What, are you cruising for a black eye, sweetie?"

"You said be honest," Vergil pointed out, with all the guilelessness of a child, pulling the pom-pom pillow to him. "You've gotten fat. That's honest. They don't fit and they make your ass look big."

Sometimes Trish wondered if the retarded and broken act was just that; an act. That was one of those times.

"Oh, really." Trish, really, was all for indulging Vergil's whims, but that was taking things a step too far, in her humble opinion. "How do you get that?" she asked indignantly, turning so she could, in fact, view the offending body part in question. "Are you crazy? They make my ass look wonderful." And then she glanced at him. That had been a really dumb question. Of course he was crazy.

"No." Vergil pulled himself into sitting upright on the bed, folding his legs indian-style. "They make it look big." It was accompanied as he held his hands apart from one another, a great deal wider than her ass could ever hope to be. "This big. As big as Dante's ego." And it was just more proof, in her opinion, he was pulling the wool over all of their eyes.

"You take that back." But she couldn't help it because that really stung. Her ass was not that big. "I mean it, Vergil, or I swear I am going to hurt you."

"Dante won't let you." It was punctuated in what Trish considered to be a very gloating smile, before he pushed himself to the edge of the bed and got to his feet, straightening his sleeves as he did so. Dante had said it was funny, because while everything else about the man had changed, for the most part his taste in clothing had not, thus the dark blue button down he himself was wearing.

But that didn't matter, because he'd gone and pissed Trish off. "Oh, really." Electricity crackled at one hand, and she sent him an eye-triggered glare; her own trigger was a tad different from theirs, given she was full-blooded and they were not, but it got the same point across, anyway. "You better run, Vergil. I mean it."

"Mmhmm." Sleeves straightened, he started strolling casually out of the room, which wasn't that unusual. He usually skittered from place to place, but a stroll was far more preferable, considering. "Whatever you say, Ms. Hutt."

And that did it. Trish saw red, and she was on the move. Unfortunately, however, the jeans she'd put on just weren't built to handle the kind of moving she could really do, and three steps toward Vergil she heard a rip, right up the back. And faltered, as she realized what had happened. And she knew Vergil had heard it, too, as his laughter echoed back from wherever he'd scuttled to in the shop. That? Was not the laughter of a madman. Well, it was, but it was not the laughter of the Vergil she was used to. That was the laughter of a man in full possession of himself, and who was faking.

A quick check confirmed that, yes, her pants had, indeed, ripped up the back, right across the ass, and she pressed her hands to her face, to simply breathe. She was going to kill him. Kill him dead and leave the body for Dante to find like a proud kitty, because Vergil deserved it. Her ass was not big. It wasn't! It wasn't big, and he was a damn fool.

X-Posted: popyourpills, Yellow Orb

Tags: 30 death fics, devil may cry, dmc, tabloids, trish, unofficial claim, vergil
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