Chapter Text
07:52 Bus Corridor
Dante opens the door from their room to the corridor.They take a breath, trying to get themselves into the mindset of starting the day. They rattle off their checklist for the day. They need to do luxcavations and probably a mirror dungeon. The bus doesn't have any stops planned for today but the company has never been known to give them any advanced notice anyhow.
They've felt paradoxically both more worried and more calm about their role as manager. It's been a year now and they've gone through over half the sinners' turns at this point. And they did their job, and they do really believe they've gotten better as a manager. But they just know something’s going to happen and they don't really know what's going to happen next.
As they open the door to the bus they are met with the fact that they're the last one to arrive, which is a bit odd considering that some of the sinners aren't the most enthusiastic about getting up early. Well, it's not like Dante truly sleeps anyway. It seems like they have interrupted a conversation.
“Dante, Hey~! Looks like you're the one that's late this time,” Rodion says with one of her typical smiles. She's standing instead of sitting and Heathcliff looks halfway to committing violence as prevalent as his eye bags. Dante though is quite aware that there are plenty of eyes on her, and most of them slightly displeased. Dante claps their hands together to ask what in the city caused all the sinners to actually be on time when Heathcliff speaks up, “Oi! Changing the subject ain't gonna work this time.” “My, what an accusation. Maybe you need to get your ears checked,” Rodion dismisses. Dante looks to one of the other sinners for any information as the two bicker. The others seem to just be watching as they talk in circles.
Their gaze swings around the bus and ends up landing on Don Quixote, who happily obliges their silent plea with her normal cadence. “Me? Then I shall regale the with the tale that caused this spat.” She begins, her lance ends up between the two as she gestures outwards like a bard beginning a tale. “It started in the early hours of the morn, I myself was spendi-” “Donqui, if you're going to-” Don Quixote coughs loudly, overpowering the interruption. “Ahem. As I was saying. Young Heathcliff claimed he had heard some noises from Young Rodion’s room and found himself unable to seek rest for the entire night. His irritation boiled over into a flame of grand proportions when they saw each other in the corridor wa-” “Waking everyone up with his shouting and irritating everyone instead of just him. Haah… You could have said that in like 20 less words.” Ishmael says as she interrupts. “Bird, I've got no clue how you didn't hear that racket.” “...no one but you did, I'm half convinced you do need to get your ears checked.” Ishmael gives her last comment as she seems to promptly go back to not being involved in the conversation.
“Fie... thou lacks an eye for spectacle and whimsy,” Don Quixote huffs out due to her tale being cut off. <Oh, I didn't hear anything either.> Dante supplies as the conversation continues. Everything feels ordinary, the sinners butting heads on occasion, the cacophony of different voices and reactions to whoever's saying the loudest thing, hell all they need is some-.
“I wonder~,” Hong Lu chimes in, “What part of your clock allows you to hear?” -some innocuous comment from Hong Lu to change the course of the conversation.
“That's quite a foolish thing to say,” Outis says, “It's obvious the company would have the executive manager's prosthetic be completely outfitted with high end features, we have been told ahn is of no concern after all.” “Oh~! Then is being able to speak a superior feature? most people with prosthetics I've seen around my family have had it, from some of our servants to the assassin's my siblings sent to kill me.” Hong Lu comments, his voice still carrying his joyful cadence. “Y-you…” Outis grumbles, she seems ready to say something.
“Miss Faust, a question,” Yi Sang asks. “Faust is listening.” “Would you, by chance, be able to regale us with the other features of Dante's own clock?” “Faust does not feel the need to answer questions that are not necessary.” Yi Sang merely gives a more solemn look of contemplation as he turns to the other sinners. “You tried, bud,” Gregor says with half-hearted comfort.
“Then if I may offer a theory,” Yi Sang says, “Hong Lu's comment may have some merit, we understand your ticking in spite of no words being truly formed, and you can understand distortions. Without direct evidence we might consider that there is something more.” "Anyone with suitable prosthetics is able to imitate all forms of the human experience, there is no evidence to imply that this one is non-standard outside of speaking.” Meursault's tone is deadpan in a way that makes Dante wonder what he's fully thinking. <If only my head could actually mimic actually sleep.> Dante mutters to themself.
“U-Uhm actually, the… amnesia thing is weird too right?,” Sinclair pipes up, “People don't forget like that when they get head prosthetics, at least not that I know of, unless there's been some change since…” And then immediately trails off.
Dante finds this conversation is drifting exceedingly away from the original topic to a point they would rather not focus on right now and it seems at least one of the sinners is in agreement. They should probably give the rundown for the schedule. <Cool, head, amnesia, can't speak, thanks. let's focus o->
“That is true…” Yi Sang says, “It is quite a poetic contrast how a modification that typically makes one's own life disposable instead makes their own life invaluable.” Dante sighs, they wish they had a voice that the sinners couldn't ignore.
“This conversation is irrelevant,” Outis barks, trying to control the conversation, “The executive manager is our manager and no theorizing will change that.” Her words suck the air out of the room, Dante is, for once, thankful for her brashness.
<Okay so today's schedule has us doing a mirror dung-> The bus stops suddenly, Rodion reflexively grabs Dante to keep them from actually falling. It makes them feel irritatingly incompetent. The other sinners aren't so lucky to be prepared for that. Yi Sang in particular payed the price of standing near Heathcliff by being hit in the nose by his bat. His nose is clearly broken and dripping blood.
“Fuel for Mephi in the way, can't vroom vroom,” Charon says plainly. “F.S.I.” Ryōshū says with a smirk, clearly eager to have something to do beside listening to an argument.
Dante wants to deal with this quickly, they really want to get to their actual plan for today.
They hear Yi Sang groan in pain, they should probably deal with that first.
09:45 Outside the Bus
The ids shatter from the sinners as they begin to drag the bodies of the random low-level syndicate members that had the misfortune of wanting to try and extort them.
They're pretty far past the point of caring about mulching the bodies of their enemies to fuel the bus, but that doesn't mean the random passerbys are. Sometimes they've been met with people who see them fueling up the bus who quickly avoid eye contact and walk quickly past them or cross the street to avoid them.
Maybe they should ask Heathcliff to see if they can figure out what he thinks about the motives of the syndicates jumping them.
<Hey, Heathcliff.> they ask. “Oi.” <What do you think they were doing?> “Same as any other small fry bastards wantin' for power, they want a name. They end up punching down towards a lot of blokes to make people run and remember them, just so happens a bus is typically full of ‘em.” As they muse on this thought Dante feels thankful for each of the sinners' specialized knowledge, they wonder if that was a part of the recruiting process. They wonder what was part of their own recruiting process if they had one at all. Dante looks down as Meursault tosses the last body in, they wanted to have people remember them and now one of the last people who will see them alive isn't even able to talk to most people.
The sinners have mostly gotten back on the bus. “Haah… you just gonna stand around and be weird all day?” Ishmael's words break them out of their thoughts. <Hey, no matter what a broken clock is right twice a day.> they say, Ishmael simply hums noncommittally not entertaining their joke as she ascends the steps of the bus.
Dante thinks they might have a better plan now for the mirror dungeon. Once all the sinners are back on and the bus is moving again they finally have the attention of the sinners as they all are sitting in their seats. <Today is a solo run day.> Dante proclaims. The air around the bus almost instantly turns competitive. Gregor’s the only one that sighs in relief because he's exempt due to doing the last solo run. Rodion smiles, “How are we choosing this time~? I vote we play cards, first loser has to join ya.” “N.R. we should B.T.T.D.” Ryōshū says. “It might be no risk for Rodya, but we... shouldn't strain Dante with a battle to the death,” Sinclair translates, though his hand clutches his weapon tightly, ready to swing if required. “Well, even if I'm not in the runnin’, I'm not opposed to some good old card games. I was pretty good back in the day,” Gregor says. “Sure ya were Greg~.” Rodion responds in an almost condescending tone. Gregor silently grumbles to himself at the comment. “Dante~ I could show you how to play whatever we end up doing so you can make sure no one cheats. Cause even if you did play before you probably wouldn't remember, right?” Dante can only think about how Rodion really is twisting the knife right now.
<Actually, I was just gonna say I'm choosing Ishmael.> Ishmael sputters in indignation for a moment, clearly not excited to be picked with no fanfare. “What did I do?” she asks. “What a shame, bird. What a shame. Looks like you've got extra work,” Heathcliff jabs. “Better luck next time, Ishy.” Rodion smirks. "Oh, shut it."
<It's not a punishment or anything, I just needed someone who wouldn't… mess things up?> Dante almost questions their own decision due to the reaction. “Huh?” <You're Zwei identity is very useful for this type of thing.> “Ah…” <And… you'll be exempt from the main team for the more difficult dungeon this week.> Ishmael seems content at their response, both at their respect of her abilities and the promise of less work, even if she is incredibly unenthusiastic. Really Dante just wants to not listen to another conversation about their sense of self and Ishmael doesn't really start uncomfortable conversations and most of her identities aren't all too talkative at all, so it's perfect to get away from that.
10:16 Floor 2 Shop
Dante looks at the gifts offered to them at the shop. Ishmael had temporarily taken off her identity and is right next to them watching their choices as they carefully spend their limited resources. “Maybe you should try and get another defensive one?” she mutters. <We really don't need another one, the ones we have are more than enough.> “And yet, if something were to happen… I need to stay up. You need to be able to forfeit and get out of here.” <I've never had a problem with forfeiting dungeons before.> “You could die, and it's purely my responsibility, so really you should-” Dante picks up a gift related to blunt damage, <Then kill them before they're a threat.> Them spending the last of their cost seemed to keep Ishmael from contradicting them further. “Haah… Fine, just be careful. One wrong move and you will die.”
11:37 Floor 4 Stairs
The two were descending the stairs leading to the fourth floor. The previous floors had been rather calm, the identity really did have an easy time taking hits after Dante got a few gifts.
“What did you choose for this floor?” Ishmael asks. <Something related to gloom, I just wanted the gift at the end.> Dante is holding their tablet tightly as they walk. The silence is slightly getting to them at this point. They think of their floor choices this run, they have their floors they refuse to choose in solo runs due to the sinners. The other options for themes this time were more related to Ishmael’s turn then they would have liked and they didn't really want to fight mirrors and memories of her old crew right now. Hah! Memories, something they don't have from before a year ago. Wings, they feel pathetic for letting it get this under their skin after one conversation about their head. The silence has gone from relief to kind of grating at this point. Which caused them to say something quite stupid, looking back on it. Because they didn't really want that answer in any way.
<Would you still trust me when I get my head back?> They ask. Ishmael's expression turns dour as the words reach her, like she knows her answer immediately but a part of her doesn't want to say it. <Ishmael?> “I heard you… I'm just thinking.” The distance of a few steps between them feels metaphorically larger. <Take your time, then.>
They're almost to the fourth floor when Ishmael finally speaks up again. “No… I can't promise you that.” Her voice isn't really confident, it's more resigned. <Oh. I walked into that one, huh?> they can't help but feel bitter about how conditional it feels. “It's not about you but I'm telling you the truth. I can't unconditionally trust someone I've never actually met.” It feels hypocritical, it should be hypocritical, there has to be something wrong with that statement. <Never met? What about Don, her amnesia thing?> “I wouldn't say I ever really trusted Don Quixote, she's too unpredictable and emotional, but I respect her abilities.” Dante wants to try and poke holes, to be annoyed that someone they worked so hard to help and took a harpoon for is so flippant about this, so forward about how conditional their trust is.
Because if they get their head back they'll still be themselves. They have to be, they have an example don't they. Don lost her memories and yet she still has the same motivations, wants, just expressed with some more naivety. So they have to be the same in some way right? They must be similar to the previous version of themselves because they have to. They'll be an entire person and remember their favorite food, their book, their childhood, and just their life in general. They'll remember every want they've ever had before this.
What do they want again?
They've been standing at the door to the next floor for four long minutes, Ishmael still isn't making eye contact and hasn't said anything to get them back on track.
<Let's finish this dungeon.> “...Yeah.”
13:01 Floor 4 Unknown Event
They open the door to the next room of the floor and are met with a completely unfamiliar sight. The world around them is suddenly a deep black void filled only by a floating gigantic ornate grandfather clock as the only floor to walk on. The hands of the clock move slowly but they'll have to walk on the face to reach the exit door at the top of the clock.
“Nope.” Ishmael mutters, clearly not enjoying this room immediately. Her large sword is firmly between the new room and Dante. “Discovering new stuff should not be the job of the Zwei. You're the client but… I did not sign up for this.”
The words of the identity meld with the motivations of the sinner. Even if she speaks and remembers herself differently she still feels she has to protect Dante with her life.
It's at least simpler to brush off Ishmael’s anxieties when she has this identity. <We'll just ignore it and walk through, I can forfeit if we need to.> “Haah… you're the client, just stick close,” Ishmael's gauntleted hand pats them on the shoulder. They step through the threshold landing on the ground of the clock face, the texture of it uniquely different from the wetness of the blubbering toads domain they were just at. The chimes of each tick feels impossibly loud now that they're in the room proper.
Dante notices cobwebs on the wood of the grandfather clock, and they realize how ill-kept the larger than life clock even is. It's too big to see fully from this angle and its edges fade into the void it resides in. “Let's go,” Ishmael sharply tugs on their sleeve. They follow easily, that is until they watch the clock strike midnight. Both hands line up and a door on the face of the clock opens.
A glowing gold gift that's impossible to identify springs out of it. It feels uniquely tempting, like whatever abnormality that resides in this domain is begging them to grab at it, it promises them something with just its appearance. It promises… both remembrance and forgetfulness. And Dante is desperate to take half of that bait. To rip that band-aid off and live with the consequences happening now instead of later.
<Grab it.> “Seriously?” <Yes. It is your job to listen to me.> There's no threat around yet and Dante is sure things won't stay that way. Ishmael looks around, they are quite close to it. She tells Dante to keep a bit of distance and pulls the item off from its mechanism. It's not a clean break but the item is in her hand and no longer attached to the pop-out mechanism so that's a win. The glow fades a bit, showing its nature as a golden skull.
Before Dante can identify or ruminate on the purpose of the gift the chimes of the clock get louder and quicker. And those clock hands are, in fact, accelerating. And now that they're looking at them a bit closer, the hands are incredibly sharp, cleanly cut you in half sharp to be specific.
“My job to listen to you...” Ishmael mutters with irritation. Her blade comes between the large hand and Dante's body. The sparks fly as Ishmael slowly loses ground against the pure mechanical advantage of the minute hand. Dante looks at the skull that Ishmael unceremoniously dropped to protect them. The object almost looks respectful as it looks into their clock with it's eye holes. They should leave the room and check it out at the shop. Right as Dante's about to try and discuss a way out, Ishmael loses her footing, opting to quickly cover Dante by tackling them to the ground instead of letting them be decapitated.
<Thanks. We shoul-> Dante trails off as they look up to find Ishmael bleeding profusely from her neck her mouth hanging open in pain as she takes shallow breaths. They don't think they'll be able to survive the next go around at this moment, and turning back the clock is not something they have time to do during mirror dungeons. Her eyes are focused solely on the threat coming towards them.
Dante decides at that moment that forfeiting is a good idea, they'll have to get the skull next time around with more sinners. They grab their pad and initiate the forfeit as the hour hand is only a few moments from hitting them.
They feel like they're floating for a moment as the dungeon fades. The vertigo of suddenly being somewhere they were not a few moments ago is intense. They'll be back on the bus in a moment.
07:52 Bus Corridor
Dante opens the door from their room to the corridor. Not the mirror dungeon door but their bedroom, which is weird enough in and of itself though there are ways they think they might justify it. What they cannot actually justify is Ishmael not being there though.
They should deal with this quickly, ask Faust for some information on this abnormality and hope that she'll answer directly. Dante needs to be a proactive manager after all. They open the door to the bus proper expecting to see the midday or soon-to-be setting sun.
They're met with morning light and a familiar set of words.
“Dante, Hey~! Looks like you're the one that's late this time,” Rodion says with one of her typical smiles.
And the only response they can think of in their head is fuck.