Vergil's reaction and silence don't put V off. It was remarkably easy to get money off everyone eager to attack him in his first days, and Vergil at best feels obligated to waste a little of his far more limitless time on his human half. The food is appreciated, but V has greater interest in spending the time together. Vergil drawing attention to the day means he'd rather not spend it alone. Oh, he will not get nearly any of the answers he wants from Vergil in any given conversation, but he has the time to be patient.
The place they stand before is not where V imagined being taken by any means. For lack of another word, it's cutesy. Not only are there cats in the cafe, but the furniture is cat themed. Servers wear cat-themed uniforms. He's not sure if the cat ears are natural (many people in Folkmore have animal ears) or part of the uniform. It could not be brighter and more adorable if a unicorn puked rainbows in the shop. Except the cats vying for Vergil's attention undermine his dark demeanor so thoroughly V works hard not to grin at him. They are a far cry from Shadow, the cats incapable of defending themselves from the weakest of demons. A sliver of a smile escapes.
V nods, and no matter what other preferences he might have he doesn't know, he wouldn't want to go to any other restaurant with Vergil today. He sharply needs to see a cat get in Vergil's lap, calm and trusting. They could serve demon flesh, and V would be pleased. "You'll hear no complaints from me."
He leads the way to the door, opens and holds it for Vergil, and enters the preteen girl's dream cafe. V has never experienced something so cute. He finds a table in one corner, where he can watch the rest of the cafe, as well as anyone else who arrives. The menu's an all new experience for V, so he prepares to order a spread at random. Anything he cannot finish there, he will take back with him. No reason to waste edible food. His smile continues to threaten to grow.
At the first emergence of so much as a hint of a smile at Vergil, the half-demon begins to scowl further and casts his gaze aside. He has the sinking suspicion that this is absolutely a mistake to come here, and that if V did not issue even a modicum of restraint, he might as well have brought Dante or Nero for the amount of grief he would be receiving for it. But they're already here, and Vergil isn't interested in trying to figure out how to get V further to say Satori Hills where the majority of food trucks tend to line themselves up. So, inside Vergil goes when V opens and holds the door against his better judgment. V selects the table and Vergil sits at one of the available seats, resting Yamato against the table.
"Order what you will," Vergil mutters, certainly trying to make it appear as though he lacks the insights in the first place. Even if the ruse weren't already poorly constructed and easily proven false in the first place, the small group of cats that make their way over to their table may very well undermine it altogether. Vergil ignores them as a pair hop into the vacant seat at their table. Less easy to ignore, however, is the little Russian Blue that assertively leaps from floor to table in front of him. She takes her time to stretch, dipping her front half low before taking a step or two forward stretching each leg behind her with each approaching step towards Vergil. She sits expectantly, and when Vergil does not extend a hand, she simply climbs onto him. She has little trouble getting onto Vergil's shoulder and asserting her presence even further to him. (As she does, one of the duo on the opposite chair has its front paws on the table, sniffing the air around V in a curious manner.) Vergil's scowl deepens as she begins to lick at his cheek before he plucks her from his shoulder. He tells her firmly, "Enough."
And yet, who still ends up deposited in his lap like the little princess that she is? That's right. The little Russian Blue who only remains in his lap where he sets her down to lean into the scritches she was looking for in the first place, audibly purring over her victory in the extremely short-lived battle of wills. Vergil looks anywhere but at V.
Sitting is a relief after all the walking V has done to find Vergil and to come to the... Catfe as it's called. The unfortunate reality is that he hasn't gotten better in the days since he arrived. He hasn't worsened either, but it restricts how much he can explore. It's a shame the trains don't stop across more of Folkmore, though he's found some spirits that give rides for the cost of conversation. He rests his cane against the table and doesn't show how good it feels to be off his feet. He was not going to have Shadow carry him to keep up with Vergil. He has some pride.
V considers the menu in the distance written up neatly on boards decorated with paw prints, cat tails, and more. However, much of his attention remains glued to the minor drama before him in which true to its nature, a cat gets her way, no matter the might of Sparda that Vergil has at his disposal. As with their mother, it is no match. As Vergil may be to low level demon spawn, the cat is a force of nature here.
He lays one arm on the table, between him and the curious cat. He makes no further move or invitation but allows the small animal to decide for herself how much she wishes to explore him. Shadow may not sit in V's lap, but V relaxes against Shadow and even sleeps against him regularly. The bed in the guest cottage is large enough for more than one person. Shadow monopolizes much of it, but as something warm and comfortable to lean against while sleeping, V does not mind. He would not need a bed at all. He hasn't had one all of his own before.
When the waitstaff comes over, V motions toward Vergil to order first. Her attention lands on the half-demon as well, and V doubts she's frightened of him, not one of her regulars. Vergil may not order as much V, he very much doubts that, but he can at least see what Vergil orders before placing his own larger order.
Unfortunately for V, there's little information to be gleaned from Vergil's order. The waitstaff know Vergil, and Vergil is enough of a creature of habit to have a typical order. He's still quite pointedly not making eye contact with V—the cat in his lap being infinitely more interesting in that moment—but he confirms for her the usual is fine: an Earl Grey tea with a muffin. The latter is what Vergil clarifies the flavor for, requesting it to be banana nut this time. Vergil looks at the waitress to add a small plate of scrambled eggs, unsalted and unseasoned as well. He doesn't say as much, but it's for the cats. Not him. For as utilitarian and pragmatic as Vergil can be when it comes to food, he has little interest in eating something so bland himself.
Once done with his order, he looks back at the foolish cat in his lap, who has by this point simply flopped over and comfortably turns her head where she wants the scritches to continue. One of her little paws begins to knead a little, but if the pinpricks of her claws through his pantleg bothers him at all, Vergil doesn't show it. The other cat hops onto the table while the other remains in the chair looking from Vergil to V before sniffing at V's hand. After a few sniffs, there's a tiny lick before the cat begins rubbing her cheek against his hand.
Vergil hardly orders anything, and V doubts the third item is for himself. He may not gorge himself on fine foods, but specifically requested eggs to be neither salted nor seasoned is bland beyond reason for personal consumption. However, it is something. V orders Early Grey tea with a blueberry muffin. He adds on a scone, a croissant, and a biscuit. To even out the options, it's a carb heavy menu, he orders an omelette with a variety of vegetables in it and... whatever a bird's nest is. He has no idea. V also asks to keep the tea coming for the table. The waitress eyes V, her eyes taking in his gaunt form, before she agrees in a chipper manner and leaves them be.
V permits the cat to rub against his hand a little while longer before he moves it slowly and gently to brush back against her cheek. She's soft, and her body is so small that he could hold her with a single arm against his chest. He's slow to increase his affections lest he scare her off. Vergil must come frequently for the cat in his lap to have established such a routine. He doesn't imagine their trust is easy to gain, especially as a half-devil. Animals have senses for those things. It's a small simple pleasure, and he enjoys it immensely.
Conversation is a difficult matter to broach with so many topics implicitly off limits. The cats. The cafe. Vergil's history in Folkmore. Vergil's history since the merging. V wants to know more but doubts how much the other man will reveal. "I've found little demands on me from this place yet, only exceptionally social spirits when in public."
"That will not always be the case," Vergil says, petting the length of the cat in his lap. "You should appreciate that being the sole demand while that lasts."
Granted, Vergil has observed his kin to not be as frequently pulled into the games played by the fox spirit. There is a possibility that V may fare just as fortunate as Nero and Dante especially in seemingly capturing Thirteen's interest less frequently. He is, after all, only a fragment. There may not be quite as much for her to derive whatever semblance of enjoyment that she does from pestering Vergil from V as well. But then again, the association may be enough that he will soon find himself subject to all sorts of trials whether by his will or not.
"The fox spirit believes each of us have the ability to attain a certain potential. To do so, she presents us with trials. Or so her rationale for it goes," he says, elaborating further on what he means by the sole demand not lasting forever. Vergil's opinion is made clear both in his word choice and tone. He's yet to be one to mask his opinion of their host. "Some, you have a degree of choice regarding your participation. Others, you do not.
"Not all of them are straightforward or harmless as solving algebra problems with a dragon. There is no corner of your heart the fox spirit deems off-limits for the sake of her amusement."
Vergil finally looks more properly at V rather than the cat that's made herself quite comfortable in his lap, studying his reaction to this information. He doesn't imagine there to be much of one. V is more expressive than Vergil, but he also knows well enough how to temper his reactions all the same. Besides, Vergil wonders just how much anything Thirteen might prod at would truly resonate with V, incomplete being that he is. He remembers a great deal of the horrors Vergil suffered, but there has to be a degree of separation still. Especially now that he is beginning to form memories all of his own, ones that Vergil has no such access to just as there's been a year that V has no way of knowing about so long as Vergil says nothing of it.
Vergil's explanation of what may come, of what is expected of them, is not surprising. It echoes the explanation he received on the journey to Folkmore. That information was so without context it was difficult to understand. Even now, there's so many words he remembers that lack true understanding. Poetry beyond his ken or perhaps only his experience. Understanding will come with time, effort, and experience. He's sure of that because he's sure of himself. V will understand and survive and live, whatever the fox spirit lays before him as a challenge. It is his only way forward.
"It was never my understanding I've been taken to some fantasy land, where life is easy and simple and happy," V says, "simply because I no longer stand alone on the shore of the wide world."
Though alone he very much is most his days. There have been fleeting interactions of little note, but V only has so much energy and so little experience... talking with people. He expects that to be the first trial of note, whether it is an official trial or a mere consequence of the rules of this place. He needs enough interaction to meet his needs. He suspects Vergil would have the same problem, were Dante and Nero not here. They are both more gregarious and enough to keep Vergil well enough off he need not socialize with anyone else—save when the fox dictates it. A luxury.
He turns his hand around so his palm touches the small cat rubbing against it. She presses into it, and V strokes her face. The motions are calming, which V needs, because knowing who puts him, who puts them, through trials and tribulations whatever their wishes, who peers into their heart and takes action there, reminds him of earlier experiences in his life, when his life wasn't his own. Yet it is his. The pain, the torment, it's as real in his mind as the rest of his memories. He says no more, stony faced, as the feelings wash over him until they ebb enough to reveal a glimmering question he cannot pull himself away from.
"I know why I accepted a Faustian bargain," V says, "Why would you?"
Vergil had a future. If Dante isn't killing him here, it might even include a brother, as well as a son. That life is more than they've ever had, and V doesn't understand what Vergil might seek here in its stead.
There is a childish, petty part of Vergil that wishes to say it is entirely none of V's business why he has chosen to be here, and that there is no explanation that he is required to give him. There is some subtle signs of this, his jaw clenching just for a brief moment, his next exhale through his nose a little harsher even as he continues to steadily look at V. Vergil's business, as ever, remains his, and just because V is some fragment of him does not entitle him to know more of Vergil than he would part with when it comes to most of the other Star Children. But whether Vergil likes it or not—and he does not—V knows more than the average person at a baseline, and he knows of Vergil's desires, hopes, and fears better than Vergil does perhaps even now.
The only part V doesn't know is what came after. And Vergil cannot explain it, but he does not wish to share it with V. It's childish and petty and pointless, but he feels it all the same.
"Because I am looking for a way back to the human world," he says, almost thinking to leave it at that. But would V offer him the benefit of the doubt? Or would he assume that all his efforts have been for naught? Frankly, Vergil doesn't think V knows him now well enough to be an accurate judge of that. He only really has past actions by which to judge Vergil. Only vague allusions to his life here in Folkmore stand as contrary evidence. So, he continues, "I made the decision to return to the Underworld to sever the remaining roots and finish cleaning up the mess that I caused. Dante chose to come with me, and I allowed it. But neither of us were willing to allow Nero to follow."
There's no satisfaction in the fact V pushes Vergil's buttons and presses him to interact in ways he clearly prefers not to. That's not the purpose of his asking, only a consequence not worth avoiding in this instance. Only a true saint might pass on asking all the questions someone doesn't want answering, and V is entirely human. Given the statements about their host, V also considers that unwanted as it may be, answering them of his own will here and now to V's question, one that cannot enforce itself upon him, may be more acceptable than the same question in a trial. More mundanely, perhaps, coming from Dante or Nero if they know and would share it (or what context V may need to connect the final dots himself). Vergil answering means he's in control.
A return to the human world. They were not long party to the human world in V's time. Even a year later would be only a glimpse of azure and gold crocuses to the years under Mundus's control and what followed the demon king's death. He would hope Vergil would not be so eager to return, and what few glimpses into Vergil's life and behavior in Folkmore lent him faith. The man befriends cats, normal defenseless house cats. It's not the behavior of one about to conquer hell. The two images superimpose, and V waits to see if the image will grow clearer and unified.
He waits and shuts down any reaction on his part, either judgment or hope. Neither has a public place. The stuttering conversation will jar worse without further answer, but fortunately, Vergil opts to provide further context. What shifts in an hour, a day... It's all a moment.
Stopping Urizen and merging with him was only a necessary step, not the final one. It would rein in Urizen's ambitions and create the opportunity to finish what he started. The tree could not be allowed to stand and to regrow until another hungry demon hungers for its fruit. It's steps that extend beyond his life, beyond what V could do, and thus beyond his most pressing thoughts. That is someone else's problem. Vergil's. Not his. He nods in recognition.
"Someone would hurt that boy if he went to the Underworld," V muses. That line Vergil won't have crossed. Whether he was cognizant of the line at the time or not, V suspects its beginnings fostered. V wanted to be saved, and once saved, he imagines, Vergil could turn his attention to saving someone else. Not everyone, no, but his son.
V is glad that Dante is with Vergil. Being alone again so soon would have been bad, especially in that place. It's possible to be a loner who prefers his own company and benefit from the company of others. "No doubt our host picks and chooses when to make us her offer," V says, "so that the implied pressure of our situation provides all the push we need."
He smiles with teeth. "We're grateful for what we find."
"It seems to be that way more often than not when she offers the illusion of a choice, yes," Vergil says with a slight nod. V does not have much experience in Folkmore, but V's conclusion does not surprise him in the least. The fox spirit makes vague allusions to some hidden, greater potential within all of them, and claims the trials are meant to be steps towards that greater potential. But it's ill-defined and Vergil has always assumed that is by design. The Star Children fail or succeed by their own metrics in the long-term, and the Fox retains her justification for whatever nonsense she inflicts upon them all.
"I do not care for what she claims to offer us one way or another," he says. In his youth, it would have been perhaps bravado to say as much. No doubt a part of him would have interpreted the promise of potential to be accessing the rest of his power or claiming the power of Sparda for himself. But he means it now. Vergil has no desire to reach for some greater potential while in this place. Whatever changes he may make about himself are for the people he loves, to be the man that they need and want him to be. It is by his choice, not some consequence of a trial. He continues, "My purpose in being here has only ever been to return to my son without needing to tear or exploit another hole in the barrier between the human world and the demonic.
"His unexpected presence here complicates the matter somewhat, but our aims are aligned and remain the same, as is true of Dante as well." And Vergil would rather that Nero somehow followed him to a place like this where there are so few threats to him than trailing after him into the demon world. Nero is strong and skilled within his own right, but he does not belong there. None of them really do as Vergil has come to realize. It was his father's home, but never his and he was foolish to ever believe he would find what he was looking for there. He stills his hand on the cat in his lap, and she does not seem to particularly mind. "The Fox will rob you of choice often, but you are not completely without it. You still have a choice over what you choose to do or not do in this place."
Vergil averts his gaze again as he adds, "More than you've likely known before now."
His potential is that of a sapling cut down before its time. V had no goal beyond life itself when he accepted the offer because everything else was unknown. There's no way for him to exist in his own world and survive as he is. He's known it his entire existence, so as bitter as the truth is, it simply is. Vergil can return to his son, but V will only return to embrace Urizen and give Vergil that chance for life. There is no potential, once reached, that can be released into the wild. Perhaps that makes him half the man, a dead man, a dead end. If he accepted that, he never would have lasted two days. The truth of it is irrelevant. Only his struggle to continue.
Vergil's complications are clear. Should he leave, he has no guarantee the fox will return him to the human world along that path he came here seeking. Instead he could wind up exactly where he began—separated from his son with no way back that does not grant demons a way to the human world. So why not instead have time with his son here, should it be all the time he can expect in the near future. Why cut that short? It is reason enough to stay.
Because foolish or not, V believes Vergil. It's not merely hoping Vergil can be believed. For reasons difficult to articulate, even to himself, V believes him. Not enough to turn a blind eye, should Vergil stumble, fall, or willfully cut away from that path right before him, but he suspects such difficulties will only be the natural consequences of taking the road less traveled by. May Vergil not prove V a fool.
That task belongs solely to V, what with the choices that stretch endlessly before him. There's no end to them. Though each choice cuts off others. It can be paralyzing and explains why so many people live by routine. The blessed peace of fewer decisions to make. V wants to live, but he does not know what that means now that he no longer focuses narrowly on the tasks that had been before him.
"It was a mistake to cut out your humanity, but I neither regret my existence nor complain of the paucity of choices it left me. As unusual and extraordinary as the challenges you have faced and I, we are not alone in facing difficulties. Thankfully or else the poetry in this book," V sets the precious volume on the table, "would mean nothing."
He pauses as tea and their muffins are brought to the table. Once the waitress leaves, V pours them each a cup. The cat he was petting comes closer and leans against his arm.
His eyes drift to the book when it is laid upon the table. As the waitress is setting things on the table, he continues to look at it rather than V or her, musing on how odd it is that one object can hold such similar meaning to two individuals. Oh, he knows that the connection V feels is a by-product of place and time that Vergil himself created in where he chose to cut from himself what he perceived to be his weaknesses. But still... The book reflects where one life ended, a true loss of innocence as Vergil began his march down his dark and lonely path. But it also reflects where one began, born into the world as a brief return to innocence before the nightmares began for V. For Vergil, without having the time to properly read it from cover to cover, claiming the book again was picking up where he left off. For V, claiming it was claiming himself.
Similar, but certainly not the same. Just as they are.
"I do not feel guilt," Vergil snaps, his eyes lifting immediately from the book in a glare at V. His change in tone is enough so that the cat in his lap lifts her head from her relaxed position. "Whether it was a mistake or not does not matter. I made the choice to survive as I always have and always will. For what reason should I feel guilt or shame about that?"
The tone is enough to tell the lie. It's so obvious to V that it's hard to imagine anyone believing Vergil upon hearing it. He knows they have so much in common that in many ways, understanding Vergil's reactions are like looking in a pond. The image is almost the same, rendered different only by the medium it is in. The glare feels more in response to being called out, not merely silently recognized, than anything else. Out pours the common explanation, one that goes behind so much that each of them have done. V cannot exclude himself from that.
V takes a sip of tea as a measure of time. Vergil's aggression and defensiveness do not mean V needs to rush his response. He even pets the cat who bonks her head against his arm a couple of more times as more demanding on his response than Vergil.
"You survived by tearing off your son's arm and have since sworn never to harm him again and seen to it that I swore the same," V states baldly, "You feel guilty as a father who harmed his son, no matter you did not know of or recognize him at the time."
The more obvious answer first. The undeniable one.
"You survived by cutting out part of yourself and leaving it to wither away and perish. You might have told yourself you do not feel guilty because that too was you, but now you must face it, face me, as separate from yourself.
"You can feel no guilt for surviving itself but also feel guilty for what it did."
Not to mention that in so doing, Vergil left his survival in the hands of such weakness he did not want. Yes, that weakness is as much him as the power, so again, it's easier to ignore such guilt when the only person he did that to is himself. It's not anymore. Not with V sitting here.
V takes his time in providing a response to Vergil, but the half-demon is unyielding in his glare while he waits in silence. The prolonged silence ends up preferred to V speaking as it turns out, Vergil's jaw clenching tight the longer V comments upon his decisions with what Vergil assumes V must believe to be pinpoint accurate insight. By the end, Vergil has risen to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor but not tipping by some small miracle with the force. The Russian Blue that formerly occupied his lap does not land in a heap on the floor, quickly leaping back onto the table. There's a light clatter as she steps on the small plate Vergil's muffin had been placed upon. The muffin is not upended, but his tea is knocked over in her attempts not to step on it all the same, and both cats—the Russian and the little one who expressed interest in V—clear off from the table quickly at the sudden noise of the cup hitting the table. Tea pools on the tabletop before beginning to drizzle and drip to the floor below. For a moment, that seems to be all the sound in the Catfé beyond Vergil's harsh breathing as hardly anyone else, patron or staff, seems to dare move.
"If you think for one moment that I intend to sit here and tolerate you speaking to me like this— You, the one whose consciousness ceases to be the moment you are returned to where you belong— You would have the gall to attempt dictating to me what I feel and accuse me of lying! You are sorely mistaken, if you really think I've any interest in partaking in any of that, let alone this pathetic facsimile of a life you so desperately cling to," he says, his gaze upon V cold and angry all the while he sputters. "I care not what becomes of you now any more than I did the day I excised you from me. You are nothing more to me now than you were then."
Vergil snatches Yamato from what it still rests against the table.
"Enjoy your tea. And your book," he spits before turning on his heel and making his way towards the door. Everyone in the Catfé very quickly turns their attention anywhere but towards V or Vergil.
Vergil empties his anger and frustration on V. The words are biting cold, much like the environs in Wintermute, but V lets it wash over him. The book belies the harsh words, that V is nothing more than cast off weakness to be discarded and left to die, that his life is nothing but a lie (shapes among the clouds to dissipate as quickly). Vergil finishes and leaves.
No one looks his way. They so obviously avoid looking at V after those denunciations they all could hear that they may as well gawk at him like a feral cat that has wandered into this cafe of tamed, beloved creatures. His very clothes are at odds with the decor and everything about this place. A sore thumb, an open wound, an unwanted cast off. No matter that he understands Vergil's reaction and the hollowness of the insults, the sting thrums. V takes a sip of his tea and stubbornly remains. There is food to eat and a book to read. There are three cats who remain at his table.
He continues this facsimile of a life. He'll continue it until it becomes real.
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The place they stand before is not where V imagined being taken by any means. For lack of another word, it's cutesy. Not only are there cats in the cafe, but the furniture is cat themed. Servers wear cat-themed uniforms. He's not sure if the cat ears are natural (many people in Folkmore have animal ears) or part of the uniform. It could not be brighter and more adorable if a unicorn puked rainbows in the shop. Except the cats vying for Vergil's attention undermine his dark demeanor so thoroughly V works hard not to grin at him. They are a far cry from Shadow, the cats incapable of defending themselves from the weakest of demons. A sliver of a smile escapes.
V nods, and no matter what other preferences he might have he doesn't know, he wouldn't want to go to any other restaurant with Vergil today. He sharply needs to see a cat get in Vergil's lap, calm and trusting. They could serve demon flesh, and V would be pleased. "You'll hear no complaints from me."
He leads the way to the door, opens and holds it for Vergil, and enters the preteen girl's dream cafe. V has never experienced something so cute. He finds a table in one corner, where he can watch the rest of the cafe, as well as anyone else who arrives. The menu's an all new experience for V, so he prepares to order a spread at random. Anything he cannot finish there, he will take back with him. No reason to waste edible food. His smile continues to threaten to grow.
"I welcome any suggestions." Mostly to hear them.
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"Order what you will," Vergil mutters, certainly trying to make it appear as though he lacks the insights in the first place. Even if the ruse weren't already poorly constructed and easily proven false in the first place, the small group of cats that make their way over to their table may very well undermine it altogether. Vergil ignores them as a pair hop into the vacant seat at their table. Less easy to ignore, however, is the little Russian Blue that assertively leaps from floor to table in front of him. She takes her time to stretch, dipping her front half low before taking a step or two forward stretching each leg behind her with each approaching step towards Vergil. She sits expectantly, and when Vergil does not extend a hand, she simply climbs onto him. She has little trouble getting onto Vergil's shoulder and asserting her presence even further to him. (As she does, one of the duo on the opposite chair has its front paws on the table, sniffing the air around V in a curious manner.) Vergil's scowl deepens as she begins to lick at his cheek before he plucks her from his shoulder. He tells her firmly, "Enough."
And yet, who still ends up deposited in his lap like the little princess that she is? That's right. The little Russian Blue who only remains in his lap where he sets her down to lean into the scritches she was looking for in the first place, audibly purring over her victory in the extremely short-lived battle of wills. Vergil looks anywhere but at V.
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V considers the menu in the distance written up neatly on boards decorated with paw prints, cat tails, and more. However, much of his attention remains glued to the minor drama before him in which true to its nature, a cat gets her way, no matter the might of Sparda that Vergil has at his disposal. As with their mother, it is no match. As Vergil may be to low level demon spawn, the cat is a force of nature here.
He lays one arm on the table, between him and the curious cat. He makes no further move or invitation but allows the small animal to decide for herself how much she wishes to explore him. Shadow may not sit in V's lap, but V relaxes against Shadow and even sleeps against him regularly. The bed in the guest cottage is large enough for more than one person. Shadow monopolizes much of it, but as something warm and comfortable to lean against while sleeping, V does not mind. He would not need a bed at all. He hasn't had one all of his own before.
When the waitstaff comes over, V motions toward Vergil to order first. Her attention lands on the half-demon as well, and V doubts she's frightened of him, not one of her regulars. Vergil may not order as much V, he very much doubts that, but he can at least see what Vergil orders before placing his own larger order.
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Once done with his order, he looks back at the foolish cat in his lap, who has by this point simply flopped over and comfortably turns her head where she wants the scritches to continue. One of her little paws begins to knead a little, but if the pinpricks of her claws through his pantleg bothers him at all, Vergil doesn't show it. The other cat hops onto the table while the other remains in the chair looking from Vergil to V before sniffing at V's hand. After a few sniffs, there's a tiny lick before the cat begins rubbing her cheek against his hand.
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V permits the cat to rub against his hand a little while longer before he moves it slowly and gently to brush back against her cheek. She's soft, and her body is so small that he could hold her with a single arm against his chest. He's slow to increase his affections lest he scare her off. Vergil must come frequently for the cat in his lap to have established such a routine. He doesn't imagine their trust is easy to gain, especially as a half-devil. Animals have senses for those things. It's a small simple pleasure, and he enjoys it immensely.
Conversation is a difficult matter to broach with so many topics implicitly off limits. The cats. The cafe. Vergil's history in Folkmore. Vergil's history since the merging. V wants to know more but doubts how much the other man will reveal. "I've found little demands on me from this place yet, only exceptionally social spirits when in public."
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Granted, Vergil has observed his kin to not be as frequently pulled into the games played by the fox spirit. There is a possibility that V may fare just as fortunate as Nero and Dante especially in seemingly capturing Thirteen's interest less frequently. He is, after all, only a fragment. There may not be quite as much for her to derive whatever semblance of enjoyment that she does from pestering Vergil from V as well. But then again, the association may be enough that he will soon find himself subject to all sorts of trials whether by his will or not.
"The fox spirit believes each of us have the ability to attain a certain potential. To do so, she presents us with trials. Or so her rationale for it goes," he says, elaborating further on what he means by the sole demand not lasting forever. Vergil's opinion is made clear both in his word choice and tone. He's yet to be one to mask his opinion of their host. "Some, you have a degree of choice regarding your participation. Others, you do not.
"Not all of them are straightforward or harmless as solving algebra problems with a dragon. There is no corner of your heart the fox spirit deems off-limits for the sake of her amusement."
Vergil finally looks more properly at V rather than the cat that's made herself quite comfortable in his lap, studying his reaction to this information. He doesn't imagine there to be much of one. V is more expressive than Vergil, but he also knows well enough how to temper his reactions all the same. Besides, Vergil wonders just how much anything Thirteen might prod at would truly resonate with V, incomplete being that he is. He remembers a great deal of the horrors Vergil suffered, but there has to be a degree of separation still. Especially now that he is beginning to form memories all of his own, ones that Vergil has no such access to just as there's been a year that V has no way of knowing about so long as Vergil says nothing of it.
A curious prospect.
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"It was never my understanding I've been taken to some fantasy land, where life is easy and simple and happy," V says, "simply because I no longer stand alone on the shore of the wide world."
Though alone he very much is most his days. There have been fleeting interactions of little note, but V only has so much energy and so little experience... talking with people. He expects that to be the first trial of note, whether it is an official trial or a mere consequence of the rules of this place. He needs enough interaction to meet his needs. He suspects Vergil would have the same problem, were Dante and Nero not here. They are both more gregarious and enough to keep Vergil well enough off he need not socialize with anyone else—save when the fox dictates it. A luxury.
He turns his hand around so his palm touches the small cat rubbing against it. She presses into it, and V strokes her face. The motions are calming, which V needs, because knowing who puts him, who puts them, through trials and tribulations whatever their wishes, who peers into their heart and takes action there, reminds him of earlier experiences in his life, when his life wasn't his own. Yet it is his. The pain, the torment, it's as real in his mind as the rest of his memories. He says no more, stony faced, as the feelings wash over him until they ebb enough to reveal a glimmering question he cannot pull himself away from.
"I know why I accepted a Faustian bargain," V says, "Why would you?"
Vergil had a future. If Dante isn't killing him here, it might even include a brother, as well as a son. That life is more than they've ever had, and V doesn't understand what Vergil might seek here in its stead.
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The only part V doesn't know is what came after. And Vergil cannot explain it, but he does not wish to share it with V. It's childish and petty and pointless, but he feels it all the same.
"Because I am looking for a way back to the human world," he says, almost thinking to leave it at that. But would V offer him the benefit of the doubt? Or would he assume that all his efforts have been for naught? Frankly, Vergil doesn't think V knows him now well enough to be an accurate judge of that. He only really has past actions by which to judge Vergil. Only vague allusions to his life here in Folkmore stand as contrary evidence. So, he continues, "I made the decision to return to the Underworld to sever the remaining roots and finish cleaning up the mess that I caused. Dante chose to come with me, and I allowed it. But neither of us were willing to allow Nero to follow."
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A return to the human world. They were not long party to the human world in V's time. Even a year later would be only a glimpse of azure and gold crocuses to the years under Mundus's control and what followed the demon king's death. He would hope Vergil would not be so eager to return, and what few glimpses into Vergil's life and behavior in Folkmore lent him faith. The man befriends cats, normal defenseless house cats. It's not the behavior of one about to conquer hell. The two images superimpose, and V waits to see if the image will grow clearer and unified.
He waits and shuts down any reaction on his part, either judgment or hope. Neither has a public place. The stuttering conversation will jar worse without further answer, but fortunately, Vergil opts to provide further context. What shifts in an hour, a day... It's all a moment.
Stopping Urizen and merging with him was only a necessary step, not the final one. It would rein in Urizen's ambitions and create the opportunity to finish what he started. The tree could not be allowed to stand and to regrow until another hungry demon hungers for its fruit. It's steps that extend beyond his life, beyond what V could do, and thus beyond his most pressing thoughts. That is someone else's problem. Vergil's. Not his. He nods in recognition.
"Someone would hurt that boy if he went to the Underworld," V muses. That line Vergil won't have crossed. Whether he was cognizant of the line at the time or not, V suspects its beginnings fostered. V wanted to be saved, and once saved, he imagines, Vergil could turn his attention to saving someone else. Not everyone, no, but his son.
V is glad that Dante is with Vergil. Being alone again so soon would have been bad, especially in that place. It's possible to be a loner who prefers his own company and benefit from the company of others. "No doubt our host picks and chooses when to make us her offer," V says, "so that the implied pressure of our situation provides all the push we need."
He smiles with teeth. "We're grateful for what we find."
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"I do not care for what she claims to offer us one way or another," he says. In his youth, it would have been perhaps bravado to say as much. No doubt a part of him would have interpreted the promise of potential to be accessing the rest of his power or claiming the power of Sparda for himself. But he means it now. Vergil has no desire to reach for some greater potential while in this place. Whatever changes he may make about himself are for the people he loves, to be the man that they need and want him to be. It is by his choice, not some consequence of a trial. He continues, "My purpose in being here has only ever been to return to my son without needing to tear or exploit another hole in the barrier between the human world and the demonic.
"His unexpected presence here complicates the matter somewhat, but our aims are aligned and remain the same, as is true of Dante as well." And Vergil would rather that Nero somehow followed him to a place like this where there are so few threats to him than trailing after him into the demon world. Nero is strong and skilled within his own right, but he does not belong there. None of them really do as Vergil has come to realize. It was his father's home, but never his and he was foolish to ever believe he would find what he was looking for there. He stills his hand on the cat in his lap, and she does not seem to particularly mind. "The Fox will rob you of choice often, but you are not completely without it. You still have a choice over what you choose to do or not do in this place."
Vergil averts his gaze again as he adds, "More than you've likely known before now."
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Vergil's complications are clear. Should he leave, he has no guarantee the fox will return him to the human world along that path he came here seeking. Instead he could wind up exactly where he began—separated from his son with no way back that does not grant demons a way to the human world. So why not instead have time with his son here, should it be all the time he can expect in the near future. Why cut that short? It is reason enough to stay.
Because foolish or not, V believes Vergil. It's not merely hoping Vergil can be believed. For reasons difficult to articulate, even to himself, V believes him. Not enough to turn a blind eye, should Vergil stumble, fall, or willfully cut away from that path right before him, but he suspects such difficulties will only be the natural consequences of taking the road less traveled by. May Vergil not prove V a fool.
That task belongs solely to V, what with the choices that stretch endlessly before him. There's no end to them. Though each choice cuts off others. It can be paralyzing and explains why so many people live by routine. The blessed peace of fewer decisions to make. V wants to live, but he does not know what that means now that he no longer focuses narrowly on the tasks that had been before him.
"It was a mistake to cut out your humanity, but I neither regret my existence nor complain of the paucity of choices it left me. As unusual and extraordinary as the challenges you have faced and I, we are not alone in facing difficulties. Thankfully or else the poetry in this book," V sets the precious volume on the table, "would mean nothing."
He pauses as tea and their muffins are brought to the table. Once the waitress leaves, V pours them each a cup. The cat he was petting comes closer and leans against his arm.
"I don't want your guilt," V says.
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Similar, but certainly not the same. Just as they are.
"I do not feel guilt," Vergil snaps, his eyes lifting immediately from the book in a glare at V. His change in tone is enough so that the cat in his lap lifts her head from her relaxed position. "Whether it was a mistake or not does not matter. I made the choice to survive as I always have and always will. For what reason should I feel guilt or shame about that?"
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V takes a sip of tea as a measure of time. Vergil's aggression and defensiveness do not mean V needs to rush his response. He even pets the cat who bonks her head against his arm a couple of more times as more demanding on his response than Vergil.
"You survived by tearing off your son's arm and have since sworn never to harm him again and seen to it that I swore the same," V states baldly, "You feel guilty as a father who harmed his son, no matter you did not know of or recognize him at the time."
The more obvious answer first. The undeniable one.
"You survived by cutting out part of yourself and leaving it to wither away and perish. You might have told yourself you do not feel guilty because that too was you, but now you must face it, face me, as separate from yourself.
"You can feel no guilt for surviving itself but also feel guilty for what it did."
Not to mention that in so doing, Vergil left his survival in the hands of such weakness he did not want. Yes, that weakness is as much him as the power, so again, it's easier to ignore such guilt when the only person he did that to is himself. It's not anymore. Not with V sitting here.
"Lying about it doesn't help." Gentle but firm.
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"If you think for one moment that I intend to sit here and tolerate you speaking to me like this— You, the one whose consciousness ceases to be the moment you are returned to where you belong— You would have the gall to attempt dictating to me what I feel and accuse me of lying! You are sorely mistaken, if you really think I've any interest in partaking in any of that, let alone this pathetic facsimile of a life you so desperately cling to," he says, his gaze upon V cold and angry all the while he sputters. "I care not what becomes of you now any more than I did the day I excised you from me. You are nothing more to me now than you were then."
Vergil snatches Yamato from what it still rests against the table.
"Enjoy your tea. And your book," he spits before turning on his heel and making his way towards the door. Everyone in the Catfé very quickly turns their attention anywhere but towards V or Vergil.
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No one looks his way. They so obviously avoid looking at V after those denunciations they all could hear that they may as well gawk at him like a feral cat that has wandered into this cafe of tamed, beloved creatures. His very clothes are at odds with the decor and everything about this place. A sore thumb, an open wound, an unwanted cast off. No matter that he understands Vergil's reaction and the hollowness of the insults, the sting thrums. V takes a sip of his tea and stubbornly remains. There is food to eat and a book to read. There are three cats who remain at his table.
He continues this facsimile of a life. He'll continue it until it becomes real.