“Look Dante... man you ain't gotta do this. Just take the artifact and go. It ain't worth dying over.” Ansel, a long time acquaintance of Dante, sat on the floor of his living room, back pressed against his leather sofa, wide blue eyes stark with fear. “I shouldn't have left you out there... I know man... please, my wife will be home soon, just take the damn thing and go. I won't come after you. I promise.” The man was dressed in a finely tailored suit, stained with blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth, a wound that Dante had given him moments before. It wasn't that Dante wanted the man dead, he was actually quite fond of him on occasion, yet what he had done, the betrayal, required equal measure.<br/><br/>“You're right. You won't.” As the words left Dante's mouth, his smooth, tenor voice level and cold, he pulled the trigger of his masterfully engraved, custom .45 pistol, painting Ansel's sofa with a a thick coat of crimson, bits of bone and tissue creating an oddly abstract mural of the man's final moments. “I'll see you on the other side brother. Rest easy.” With a light sigh, Dante slipped the pistol into the docker's clutch that was strapped beneath his black suit coat, shrugging his shoulders to resettle the suit around him. “You should've known better mate... after what we went through as youths, man you should've known better.”<br/><br/>Turning from the limp body of his former friend, Dante shook his head and moved through the empty house, finding his way to Ansel's office and the safe held within, hidden behind one of the many gaudy paintings that decorated the walls. Pausing with his hands on the chosen painting, a smirk crossed Dante's lips as he admired the abstract work of Jackson Pollock, the anger and chaos striking a chord with him. “Guess you won't miss this if I take it.” Letting the painting hang from his left hand, he reached up to the number pad on the safe and punched in the code he had forced out of Ansel, the satisfying click of the lock opening bringing a grin to his face. “Mikazuki-munechika. What a beautiful blade. You make three of five.” Carefully reaching into the safe to take the ancient blade and the heavy cloth is sat on, Dante gingerly wrapped the blade and turned to leave the office, both the painting and blade held in his hands. “Worth everything I went through.” Ignoring the gruesome mess he had left in the living area, Dante made his way out of the house and stored his trophies in the trunk of his car, a custom built Mustang GT.<br/><br/>Sliding into the drivers seat, he turned the ignition and grinned at the deep rumble of his prized car, the sound driving any thought of his recent actions from his mind. “Time to head home.” Shifting into gear, Dante pulled out of Ansel's drive and headed for his house, some ten or fifteen miles west, just as secluded as his friends abode.<br/><br/>A short while later found Dante pulling into his own driveway, killing the engine and pulling the handbrake as he exited the car. After retrieving his trophies from the trunk, he headed to his front door, pausing a few feet away as he noticed the door slightly ajar, signaling that someone had been stupid enough to break into his home. Holding both the blade and painting in his left hand, he reached beneath the flap of his suit coat and quietly pushed the door open, his hand situated on the grip of his pistol, ready to use it, should the need arise. As he moved through his house, careful to not make any noise, he paused a moment to lay the painting and blade on his leather sofa, his eyes focused towards the end of his hallway, a sliver of light spilling out of his bedroom.<br/><br/>Pulling the pistol from it's holster, he gripped it in both hands, leveling it down the hall as he moved slowly towards his bedroom, finger pressed against the trigger, ready to end whoever was stupid enough to choose his house to break into. With great care not to be heard, he stepped into his bedroom, his eyes locking on a familiar form, standing in the doorway to his closet, one of his shirts draped over her form, though it barely hid anything at all. “Rory... you have got to be fucking kidding me.” With a shake of his head, he holstered his pistol and flipped on the light to his bedroom, scanning the mess she had left as she had rifled through his drawers. “You better have a damn good reason for coming here. Pretty sure we said all that needed to be said when you fucking bailed on me.”