Curate, connect, and discover
Headcanon: Dante—when he has the funds—will hop pizza parlors. On those rare occasions, he discovers a dish that provides the right type of sensory stimulation. He’ll get a take home order, or two (or ten), of said dish in the largest size available.
Morrison shows up with an influx of jobs. The broker emphasizes the need for a demon hunter, capable of discerning between demonic threats and mere humans in elaborate costumes. Though tempted to refuse, Dante decides to accept the entire list of jobs.
It’s his most productive day this year. Today’s clientele seems more appreciative. In addition to the payouts, the demon slayer receives items usually meant for trick-or-treaters. Bags of candy—including an entire basket of full size candy bars, a Tupperware with pasta, another container with a slice of cake, an entire foil pan with homemade brownies, a dozen sugar cookies, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Some of the affluent clients provide additional monetary compensation. It’s twilight by the time he gets back. He gets to work stashing the food items. Those close to him were more than welcome to dig in.
Dante summons Cavaliere again. Intending to use the rest of the day for his initial plans. He stops at a small pizza parlor across town; a tan building with a few tables sitting at the front outside. The sign reads “15th Street Pizzeria.” Flickering red and white letters are indicative of the need for repairs. Cavaliere disintegrates. He makes his way to the entrance. Torn black and orange decorations adorn the shattered windows.
“Sparda…” a reverberating growl drips with venom.
With a sigh, he summons the Devil Sword Dante.
“Die blood of Sparda!” It leaps above his head.
He makes short work of his assailant. Blood splatter, fur and viscera litter the surrounding area. The employees and customers are found cornered in the kitchen. Trapped by a muscular bat-like creature, almost as tall as the ceiling. It’s clawed hand reaches for one of the patrons, only for it’s head to be cleaved off.
Dante is lounging in his office chair, feet plopped on the desk, when Morrison pays another visit to Devil May Cry.
“Someone’s been looking for you,” the broker states. “The name “15th Street” ring any bells?”
Assuming it’s another bill for property damage, the question elicits a groan from Dante. Before he can say anything, a middle-aged man wearing black pants and a red t-shirt enters the building. He introduces himself as the owner of 15th Street Pizzeria, rambling about how he spent weeks searching for a tall, white-haired guy with a giant sword.
“You tracked me down because?”
“Well,” the man awkwardly scratches the back of his head, “to say thank you.”
Dante stands up from the couch. This had to be a prank.
The owner voices his appreciation for Dante saving the lives of his employees, the customers, and stopping the demons from destroying his business. He runs outside and returns carrying a couple boxes. After placing them on the desk, the owner mentions that he needs to go back to work. He bids the two men farewell, shaking both of their hands.
Dante carefully opens each box, making note of the toppings in each. Pepperoni. Cheese. Neapolitan. Chicago style deep dish with extra jalapeños, and no olives (courtesy of Morrison). The last one appears looks like a dessert, topped with caramelized pear slices and a white chocolate sauce.
Morrison notices Dante’s focus drift away from the pizza. “What’s the matter? Can’t process a random act of kindness.” He takes a drag of his cigar.
“Nah,” Dante turns to face him. “I just can’t decide where to dig in. That’s all.” He closes the pizza boxes and takes them to the kitchen. All five are placed in the oven at a low temperature, to keep them warm.
“Pizza party tonight then?” Morrison enters the kitchen and notices Dante bringing out paper plates. “I’ll take that as a yes.”