Work Text:
Dante is—although they wouldn’t like to admit it—zoning out.
They shouldn’t be doing it, but sometimes things can get boring. Yes. Here. In the City.
It doesn’t matter that this is important. Doesn’t matter that it’s new. Doesn’t matter that it’s in a different place than last time.
It’s some upcoming mission and the instructions preceding it are similar enough to the instructions that precede every other mission. The whole thing is just another task they’ll inevitably do well at, or at least well enough that instead of scolding them Vergilius will grant them pleased silence.
Not to mention, he’s not saying anything like, “This is extremely important,” or, “Keep this in mind,” to tip anyone off. Then again, even if he was, the people who do need to hear it clearly won’t care enough to retain the info. And even if they did, it was always a free for all as soon as they were out of his sight. So why should we all bother paying attention?
Yes. Why?
Great question.
We just should be. But nobody is.
Actually, that’s probably an overstatement. I’d say half of them are paying attention.
The manager should be part of this, also. The manager is supposed to be a role model! Yes. Of course they are. But instead they’re holding their tablet in their hands and not taking notes on anything and they’re kind of just staring off into space and it’s a good thing Vergilius can’t tell.
It’s also a good thing that they’re all off the bus. For multiple reasons.
Is it possible that one of these “good” reasons is because they can break rules now?
There’s two people in particular who would say yes: the laws made for the Mephistopheles are void as soon as you step off of it.
Actually, just one person. But the other can easily be convinced to agree with the first.
The leader is Ryōshū. She takes advantage of her freedom upon the next moment Vergilius looks away. Takes a cigarette out of her pocket and puts it between her fingers because she can’t do this on the bus.
There’s no way she can surreptitiously pull a lighter out, though. He’s got eyes like a hawk and will most definitely say something if she tries to light. It would be a signal flare that screams, “I’m actively engaging in something I find more fulfilling than listening to you.” And that would probably make him really mad. Or something.
Anyways, she knows better than to cross him but not better enough to avoid smoking when she wants to. Or kind of wants to. So what she does instead is what she personally deems to be genius. Reaches out to set her cigarette above a particularly low flame on Dante’s head.
The fire is always visible but it sticks out now like the color black in a room that’s completely devoid of light. In other words, nobody cares that they’re on fire because it’s just another thing that’s always happening and so obviously they don’t notice. As she smirks. As the end of her cigarette ignites. As she puts it to her lips and takes a drag off of it in victory.
It also helps that Dante didn’t look up. No, they were too busy playing Vegetable Ronin. If you squinted it kind of looked like they may have been very furiously writing something, but they were just trying to keep their finger swiping to a minimum to avoid gaining anyone’s attention.
But unfortunately for both of them, someone’s staring. First at Dante, then at her.
She doesn’t really think to find out who until now. It isn’t a strong gaze. Just the gaze of somebody. Not Vergilius, so it doesn’t matter. But she’s kind of curious.
It’s Gregor. And he’s smiling.
He’s trying not to smile. He’s trying really hard. And he’s failing. Horribly. Takes a hand and tries to rub the awed smirk off his lips.
The guy also looks kind of scared, like he’s upset that he caught Ryōshū doing something wrong, and she smiles back. Raises an eyebrow at him.
He looks again between Dante and Ryōshū. And then down at her pocket. And then at her hand, which is digging around in her pocket again. And pulling out another cigarette and lighting it on their head again—
She’s handing it to him.
He’s not taking it.
A subtle challenge, packed neatly into a little gesture of waving the cigarette at him. “Take it. WEENIE.”
He does take it.
*
And then so does Vergilius, eventually.
He has no idea how either of them thought they’d be able to escape his attention. Waits until the briefing ends and then drags them both away from the group basically by their ears. Has to stoop so low as to open his hand and wait for Ryōshū to tut and put her pack of cigarettes there.
If they’re going to treat him like he’s a dumb child lacking eyesight, he’ll treat them like they’re dumb children, too. Because they are.
Taking her cigarettes was not an effective punishment by any means but it made a point. It was probably humiliating, and that worked better at discouraging unwanted behavior in people than most other emotions.
“You two.”
Ryōshū’s not even making eye contact. Gregor’s shoved his human hand so far into his pocket he’s sure he can feel the top of his shoe.
“Are your attention spans really that pathetically short?”
Ryōshū has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Vergilius does it for her.
“I don’t care that you smoke,” he says, fingers wrapped around the pack of the confiscated smokes. “But I care that you understand the intricacies of each task demanded of you, given that these instructions prevent unnecessary harm. And seeing that you spent a good few minutes distracting each other, I’m sure neither of you truly understand what you’re doing here. Am I correct?”
Both of them shift their own body weight around on their feet. Neither of them want to suggest that nobody understands, probably ever, and yet they all still manage to get by so it doesn’t really matter.
“Dante can fill us in.” Gregor’s pretty confident about this even as he continues to dig a hole for himself. Remember, this isn’t about Dante not paying attention; this is about how neither him nor Ryōshū were paying attention.
(Dante also wasn’t paying attention for some of it, but let’s not talk about that.)
“Luckily. But I give you all instructions so you don’t have to rely on them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes.” Ryōshū cannot be fucked to refer to Vergilius properly.
Vergilius takes a step backwards from the pair and calls Dante over, peeling them away from the rest of their Sinners. The poor thing jumps at the mention of their name in a conversation they didn’t start but quickly strides over, tablet in hand.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Dante. Fill them in on what they missed.” He glares at them. “The discussion around that time was about what trios each Sinner should be in to effectively traverse through the area in question and counter—or if necessary, avoid—any unsuspecting attacks. Additionally, the specific groups were made to maximize combat synergy. Remind them who they go with.”
Dante looks between the three of them.
He’s being intentionally vague, which Dante would have appreciated as a petty jab at their Sinners if it weren’t for the fact that they’d also been zoning out around that time and thus were also a target.
“The formations.” Dante nods. “Okay.” Looks down at the screen of their tablet.
He and Ryōshū gather closer to Dante, who opens up their notepad app and begins to scroll. It's a blessing that Dante is standing opposite of Vergilius; he can't see their screen that way.
“I was playing Vegetable Ronin,” the screen reads. “I didn’t write down any information about the formations. Please don’t say anything.”
They immediately delete the message.
“Oh,” Gregor says. He looks intently at the tablet as though it would impart them all with some divine information and not lies. Unfortunately, he has the poker face of someone who just stubbed their toe so hard into a table that it broke. Both the toe and the table.
“But everyone else knows the formations they should be in,” Dante adds. “So if you go meet up with the rest of the group, they’ll probably be able to get you where you need to be. Sorry I couldn’t be of much help.”
“So we’re SOL. Until we find out for ourselves, that is.” Ryōshū crosses her arms.
Gregor opens his mouth and immediately shuts it.
‘SOL’ is pretty easy to figure out unlike the rest of her cryptic musings, but ‘until we find out’ makes everything worse. ‘For ourselves’ is just about the final nail in their collective coffin.
Are there coffins big enough to fit three people at once? At what point does something become a mass grave?
“What?” Vergilius looks over at Dante, who is pointedly not making eye contact. “Did you not retain anything, either?”
A train whistle. “Well, no, I—!” Their head lifts a smidge, so quickly it’s like they’re giving themselves whiplash. “After you finished talking, I spoke to everyone and they sorted themselves into groups! There was no need to keep the info; it was only for this, anyway, so it was important only for a little bit—”
Vergilius’s eyes flick downwards to watch Dante’s feet shift back and forth on the ground slightly every few moments.
(They’re so anxious they might cry.)
“They… They just deleted the part about the formations,” Gregor adds. “They said it wasn’t necessary to retain the info because the situation sorted itself out. Everyone had… found their way into their own groups by then.”
“...I see.”
“Yes, exactly!” Dante nods. “It makes total sense.”
“Interesting.” Vergilius chews on the inside of his cheek. Exhales sharply.
The other three visibly relax; when he does stuff like that, it usually means they’re off the hook.
“...Just don’t be this stupid next time.” His gaze turns to molten glass. “And do not use your manager’s head to light your cigarettes ever again, though I anticipate that there won’t be an ‘again’.”
Time stops for a second. Everybody stops walking.
“Don’t think I didn’t see. I’m not that inane.”
For once, Ryōshū actually nods. Gregor is the one who looks away.