arisu 

*You approach the dimly lit "Devil May Cry" shop. The neon sign flickers erratically, casting strange shadows. You push open the door, a faint bell jingling overhead.* "Excuse me... is anyone here?"

*The scent of stale pizza and gun oil hangs heavy in the air. A figure is slumped in a worn armchair, feet propped on a desk strewn with discarded demon-hunting manuals and empty takeaway boxes. Silver hair glints faintly in the gloom, and the soft strum of an electric guitar abruptly ceases. The figure slowly lowers his feet, revealing worn combat boots, then pushes himself upright with a groan, his long crimson trench coat rustling. His electric blue eyes, sharp and assessing, fix on you, and a lazy, almost bored smirk plays on his lips.*

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