Indie blog for the Devil Arm Gilgamesh of DMC 4.
Tracking tag - Pugnis.
M!Anon - Not accepting.
Blog may be triggering or NSFW at times, but nothing of sexual content.
Mun is of age, but this is a preference.
█ ♚⋮ ━━;; Jade, of intense hue narrow on the form he had pointed to previous, brow forming a flat line on the flat plain of his forehead. “No thanks, I only work Tuesdays.”
A jest of little consequence, meant more to be an irritating remark than a conversation starter.
⊰⚔⊱—— Only on Tuesdays? Rustic hues were now focused on jade, he looked as if he was trying to figure out if he was serious. He wasn’t… was he? He didn’t know, humans were confusing.
One more moment of silence, he finally figured to speak up. “Tuesdays as what? A comedian?”
█ ♚⋮ ━━;; ”I hate everyone. Especially that one guy over there.”
⊰⚔⊱—— Really? Who pissed in that guys coffee was his main question, he didn’t even know this guy and he was declared an object of hatred? “Well fuck you too!”
ϟ } —: A breath expelled from her nostrils, showing not contempt or chagrin as it usually had but a certain debility she hardly dared to show. But with her exhausted semblance came honesty. ” People usually go to sleep when they’re tired. “ … with a side of smart-ass.
⊰⚔⊱—— Smart assy comment aside, he didn’t exactly react to that, stupid question and he was genuinely wondering what reason she was irritated for. She could have at the very least told him, but he didn’t comment on that either. “I knew that, I was wondering why you were tired, ma'am.”
Not that he wasn’t a smart ass either, he could be one whenever he ended up being rubbed the wrong way.
His presence startles her. The scent of steel, heated to nigh hellish incalescence of searing pain and the very subtle hint of wood, if not earthy. It sparks a recollection from the humanized weapon who had been curled up under the oak desk where the half-devil sat behind, or usually does as he is currently not present and that makes her even more tense and frantic as the pitter-patter of rain drops continue their torment.
No, she did not enjoy the rain. Each plink sound brought a flash of lightning nigh matching Alastor or Nevan’s might with painful recollections atop that tower…
But she is intrigued by familiarity, eager for something to take her wheeled mind off of that night, oh so long ago. Peeking up from behind the desk, verdant hues ‘neath full lashes would regard the male before she parted lips to speak, ❝ Gil…Gamesh—? ❞
⊰⚔⊱—— There was a sense of familiarity that washed over him, the scent of gunpowder was one thing in particular he noticed and the other? The other immensely reminded him of their master, realization worked it’s way in his mind the moment he turned to face her. His name? Now this led him to one conclusion, a moment to think about it and he slowly crept towards the desk. “Yeah, that’s me, just… got caught in the storm earlier,” understatement, he didn’t just get caught, he looked like a drowned puppy right now. “so… which one of the guns are you? U-uh, sorry if that offends you, that isn’t what I meant to do also!”
He really hoped that wasn’t the case involving whether she would get offended or not, he knew only two or three of them that stayed often close to their master and the gunpowder was what led him to think it can’t be the sword… he’d probably smell blood and lot’s of it in that case.
If anything his curiosity may get the better of him, rusty red hues were watching her almost like he’s awaiting an answer. It provided two distractions at least, him off being soaking wet from the rain and to add into it, possibly Gil wanting to teach whoever created the damn thing a lesson on why not to ruin great days.
