Fortunately for V, he made it to the train station and to the train itself. Exhausted, he rode the train for hours and hours, listening to those around him discuss the various stops. In time he exited at Elder Mother Station, wherein some generously pushy spirits insisted on giving him a flower crown, then on seeing him wear it. Without energy for much more, he stays in a small cottage near the station, one that spirits encourage him are meant for guests. It provides something for a few days at least, a few days more than V expected to live.
Because he lives. He's alive. He rouses from a nap, having worn himself out walking around Willow, and picks his head off Shadow who possesses most of the bed to energetic tap tap tapping at his door. Perhaps he's overstayed his welcome. With little enthusiasm at the prospect of finding somewhere else to sleep, a nice tree might do, V makes his way to the door. He opens it to see—
A raven spirit shockingly of Griffon's size, larger than he's ever imagined a raven to be. It holds out a tidy package expectantly. A delivery, it assures him. V accepts the parcel, what's clearly a book, and sees the spirit off. Said spirit makes sure he knows that it can deliver any letter or package that V wishes to any Star Child in Folkmore. Get in touch, and it will make sure everything gets delivered. A nod, but V returns to sit against Shadow's side.
He does nothing but hold the package for a long while, long enough that Griffon teases him about it. V lets the annoying words wash over him. It's the first time he's received a gift, and wrapped as it is, even if Vergil's told others he is here, it can only be from him. An olive branch. Something more that V lacks the words to articulate. Griffon threatens to bite the paper from the package, to bite V's fingers, to make sure V's still alive in there.
He unwraps the paper carefully, making sure not to tear it. He sets it aside, but from the first moments the familiar line of the V on the book's cover comes to view, V knows what it is. The book. The one he found in his childhood home, and the one he took his name from. He traces the two sharp lines. Familiar as it is, he's read many of the poems between its pages, but he reads again until he feels restless.
They live in Epiphany near the border of Willow. V sets out and rides, first, in a small vehicle pulled by a spirit to reach the edge of Epiphany. Then he wanders, unsure where to find his whole self. So it's on a street he sees the familiar coat, the white hair, the firm gait.
"Vergil," V says from where he walks. It's not loud, but the half-devil has good hearing.
At the sound of his name, Vergil looks over his shoulder before coming to an actual stop. He may not be like Dante who ignored V and plowed on ahead as though he heard nothing with how hellbent he was on reaching Urizen, but Vergil is not necessarily that much kinder. He merely turns slightly towards V to demonstrate his willingness to wait for him to catch back up, but he makes no efforts of assisting in closing the distance and remains planted where he stands. Vergil scrutinizes any unsteadiness in V's gait as he approaches. He's not surprised to see V still in as rough shape was Vergil found him in before, but he cannot pretend to understand how V tolerates it as he does.
"You left the mountains," he comments, more matter-of-fact than anything else. He doesn't necessarily look at V as an unwelcome presence, but neither does he view the other's company as a boon. It simply is what it is. "Should I take this to mean you've found some place to stay?"
Were it anyone else, that would be likely an unreasonable question to ask. But Vergil spent much of his years growing up on the streets and outside, and the majority of V's life was spent in a similar manner when he chose to remain behind in Red Grave City rather than following Nero back to Fortuna to regroup. It would no more surprise him to learn that V's found a comfortable bench in a park somewhere than to learn he's found a suitable roof over his head by now. If anything, the latter would be more of a surprise.
The pause is all V needs. He could not hope to catch up if Vergil carried on, but he continues steadily, all the more aware of the difficulty in doing so with that attention on him. Griffon or Shadow could carry him the rest of the way, but V manages with only the cane for support. He's already looked for Vergil, but he will not request his whole self's help when they're on such uncertain ground. When it will not kill him to avoid asking.
"The weather here is more amenable," V says, an agreement to Vergil's own suggestion the previous time they met. The cold makes everything take more effort, and V dresses the same as he did his entire life. He's not of a mind to be forced to pick up many more layers for the freezing temperatures. Stubborn perhaps, but that's his choice.
He's not certain where he will live long term. Epiphany and Willow each have advantages and disadvantages. He doesn't know enough to make that form of decision, but his body must rest somewhere each night. That's how days and nights work. "A guest cottage in Willow."
It distressed the local spirits to find V outside come morning. Perhaps those who stray farther into the region, away from the main hustle and bustle, get away with it, but he tired of telling off those concerned busybodies. The problem with sleeping in public is that the public feels entitled to be there and give their opinions noisily.
Vergil says little, but there's often more beneath what few words he chooses to use, and that is certainly the case here. He can only assume the decision to stop in Willow is at least partially motivated by a desire to be within decent proximity to the closest thing V has to family or friends. He will be less likely to be exhausted should he seek them out on any sort of regular basis than if he were to choose further away. But the region is also not a bad one when it comes to its climate, and it's not difficult to imagine V seeking out something a bit more pastoral after his experiences in Red Grave City. But it's clearly not a permanent decision by the use of the word "guest." A temporary shelter then. V may still content himself with exploring the other regions, weighing their pros and cons against one another, before settling in somewhere.
It seems a way in which they differ from one another. Or it could be that it's less a way in which they differ and more how their circumstances upon arrival did. When Vergil arrived, he was alone as far as people from his world was concerned. At the time, the apartment he selected seemed to be the most sensible. It afforded him privacy given that it was a studio apartment with neighbors a few doors down rather than directly beside him or across the hall, but the apartment itself was not as isolated as say Mizu's cabin. He had easy access to anything that he might need, which allowed him to maintain a bit tighter of a budget with his Lore until he could acquire the Yamato. There was really nothing further to consider than that.
...Well, perhaps not quite only that. Perhaps there was some part of Vergil that was waiting for at least Dante to follow him to Folkmore. The plan had never really been for Vergil and Dante to live together, but it was not difficult for him to picture Dante doing well within Epiphany rather than some of the other regions. So, they would at least have the opportunity to live close by to one another.
"So what brings you so far from your cottage?" he asks, looking at V. "I doubt our paths crossing again is some great coincidence. I assume you want something."
Not once having housing in his short existence, V doesn't exactly give Vergil much to go on as to what to expect him to do or where to stay. There's Vergil's experience, whatever that might be that V doesn't remember, whatever antecedes him. So much of their life was spent without a home. There's weight to Vergil's short reply, a making sense of V much as he had before. Why not, V is what does not fit neatly into Vergil's life, what should not exist in Vergil's life save as a memory.
If he could know things without having to ask for them, V would know how Vergil came to live with his brother and his son. He wants to know what happened there because his memories of Dante and Nero are not the sort to suggest so close a relationship and ability to get along as to live together. To matter to each other, yes. To build something together now that Vergil's learned from his wrongdoing with V's help, yes. To get to such a point as to live together? That is a truth he needs the story behind and one he does not expect to get.
Ever to the point. V's human frailty, his weakness even beyond that of most humans, gives him away and will continue to do so every time he goes more than a few steps beyond his door. There's nothing for that. Even had it been a coincidence, V's utterance of Vergil's name to grab his attention demonstrates that longing inside him. It is there in ways he cannot put to words.
The book weighs on him, heavier than it should be, for its delivery. Beyond the clothes on his back, which came with him to Folkmore of Thirteen's accord, the book of poetry, this exact book of poetry, is his sole possession. Everything the dragons gave him and he would trade it all in a heartbeat for this book of Blake's poetry. His paltry Lore provides for his daily bread, but he hasn't spared it for anything more. Vergil wants to get to business, but it is not business but feelings, heavy and strong, that weigh on him.
Why did you give it to me? V wants to ask. It means as much to Vergil as to him, and clearly Vergil had it. Vergil obtained it in this world, though it would not naturally be here. He had it, and he gave it away. To V.
"The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest," V says. He looks at Vergil closely. He wants to grasp the olive branches Vergil offers him like a life line, one after the other. Only once in hand, it is not clear what to do. He's left, feebly, with only, "I am not truly one. Not even two months, but you make me feel as though I could be."
It's his first gift, his and truly his alone. Griffon helping him fleece a man of his clothes is not the same.
"I thought you might like it back," he says matter-of-fact as he turns his gaze forward again. It's not a lie, but neither is it the whole truth.
Vergil entrusted the book to Nero before leaving for the Underworld to finish cleaning up the mess he made. He trusted the boy was smart enough to understand there was more to it for Vergil than just a collection of poems, but there was no time to clarify further until recently. That book had been the first thing Vergil truly reclaimed for himself, of his old life. At the time, as V, he hadn't known exactly the weight of it, but he does now with the benefit of hindsight. Nero understands it now, too. But where Vergil sees it as a beginning point in trying to find the pieces of himself that he lost over the years, Vergil assumes it is the beginning for V in how he came to be. The first thing he reached for without any understanding of why it mattered until more of his memories returned to him.
So, in a strange sense, the book is akin to Vergil's birthright to the Yamato. Restoring it to V's possession seemed the only choice in these circumstances.
"The alternative was to deny your existence," he says. "But I have come to understand the cost of that, and have no need to be taught lessons twice."
Yet again Vergil looks away from V as they converse. The urge to tilt Vergil's face back toward him rises, but V does not act on it. No doubt he is difficult to look at or to dwell upon, no matter that Vergil's made the first steps toward him twice over. The gift may not be the same as physically approaching V, but it acts much the same. It is enough that Vergil reaches out. It's enough that V isn't as alone as he thought he would be.
You're not alone, asshole. Indeed he's not. He ignores the distraction while he's with Vergil. It's a more awkward dance of a conversation even than his first meeting with Dante. He came to Devil May Cry as a customer, a comfortable position for Dante and a role for him. It's far less charted territory here.
Intriguing that possessing the book feels like denying V's existence. It is where he took his name from, so much as V can be considered a name. He wonders how long Vergil stared at it, unable to find himself at ease, until he decided to give it to V. Then he delivered it today of all days. Not personally, but that's why V came to find him. Something so significant felt wrong in an impersonal exchange with a spirit.
"I appreciate not seeing what Urizen could do to this fine land," V says, nor with facing a need to sacrifice his existence a second time to stop him. He came here to exist as himself, that desperate bid for life and a more selfish one this time than his original plan. Yet Vergil standing there before him is not him, even as they are the same man. Nor are the words especially sweet. A pragmatic choice more than an open hand. At least the way Vergil puts it.
V resists the urge to drag himself away. No matter if he is something unpleasant stuck under Vergil's boot, he is there and wants more of this day and this man. Wants but does not put that wanting plainly into words. "Since we're not denying my existence or the day, lets get something to eat."
Vergil hums a vague noise of agreement to the good that comes in not having Urizen here as well. V's ability to be here does prove the possibility of Urizen being able to follow suit. But despite the foolishness and incompetence that Thirteen has proven herself capable of from Vergil's perspective, Vergil would like to think that would not be a line she would cross. Vergil would not trust a creature driven so strongly by his desire for power as Urizen not to cause mayhem and destruction in this place. Even in the absence of a desire for conquest as Mundus possessed, Urizen would no doubt not hesitate to throw open every gate available to every world until he stands triumphant above all the rest.
At the suggestion of food, Vergil scoffs lightly with a roll of his eyes. Vergil doesn't believe for a second that V is here in an attempt to make use of Vergil's greater stock of Lore to see to an empty belly, but there is something a touch predictable about the move all the same. An opportunity not squandered, as it were. Vergil does not fault him for it though. The scoff is merely because Vergil believes he possessed a little more subtlety when attempting to take advantage of such an opportunity in the past. Vergil is not a particularly gifted liar, but V leaves much to be desired in that department.
"Very well," he says, glancing over at V. "What do you desire to eat?"
That is the question so often asked of Vergil that he's mildly curious if V has a better sense of an answer than Vergil is ever able to offer Nero or Dante.
The ploy may be obvious, but V hardly believes self-deception would be so easy to come by. He had time to prepare, if he wished, but it felt far more pressing to find Vergil than to spend a great deal of time planning the exact conversation. His life and death don't hang in the balance. Though perhaps he ought to expend the effort in the future. No matter, he could also use the rest, the excuse to sit still for a time and regain some of his energy to walk.
Given that consideration, the only answer that comes to mind with Vergil's question is something close. That's not exactly the question: what, not where. Food rotted quickly after Urizen raised the qliphoth, and V has eaten demon flesh more days than palatable food. Only in the earliest days did he ever eat anything truly qualifying as food. He has no real answer to give. Anything not tasting of piss will do.
Vergil likely knows that as well as V. He knows what V did and did not eat in his short time in Red Grave City. So the question comes despite that. He casts about in his mind for something to latch onto and wonders if he'll be forced to live by whatever preference he gives, no matter his feelings once he eats it. It would be terrible for Vergil to think he has some great particular interest in something only to have to force it down in much the same way as demon, worse for not showing any displeasure at it. It would be just his luck. So rather than giving one of the only meals he's ever had, V shrugs.
"Something not messy," he says. It's an actual preference, unlike the taste of anything or a specific food. He'd prefer to keep his hands clean when eating. He watches Vergil from the corner of his eye for a reaction, as well as a decision given that guidance.
At V's answer for what he had in mind to eat, Vergil cannot help but feel a pang of empathy for Nero and Dante even if briefly. While he's not exactly eager to discover what might be considered a favorite food for V the way either of them are about his preferences, a specific starting point beyond that would be preferred. It's not as though it narrows down the options. Vergil is not particularly interested in a messy meal himself most often, and prefers a meal that requires utensils relative to the amount of times Dante or Nero reach for finger food. As such, Vergil gives a flat, unimpressed look to V.
"I don't know why I bothered to ask," he says, dryly before taking a left at the next corner. "Keep up."
"I don't know either," V retorts equally dry. He's eaten a handful of different kinds of food in his life, none of them enough to understand his preferences, and they were all at a time when he was focused on other more important matters: how to afford paying Dante and what his memories were. He barely remembers what half of it tasted like. Vergil knows all that, and still he asked. The fool.
Except it makes V curious himself about what he likes to eat. A question he doesn't know the answer to, and he will not ask Vergil. Not even if the man takes him to his favorite food this very meal. He has to walk hard to keep up with Vergil, but he does. Some vestigial pride remains, with all the debasing he's done.
"You may as well take us somewhere that serves lots of small dishes," V says. They'll have better odds to find something he likes. He's still not sure how long he'll live or be here (the same question, really), so he might as well speed run the matter.
Vergil says nothing to V's additional suggestion, but the combination of look and sharp exhale certainly speak to his aggravation well enough without words needing to enter the fray. He leads the way without attempting any sort of conversation, although his silence is less deafening and more to his preference of not attempting to force a conversation. Which perhaps it would not feel forced to V, but it certainly would to Vergil. He can't imagine there's anything of particular importance either one of them needs to necessarily say to the other. The only thing he could possibly fathom is perhaps satisfying some curiosity of V's about how exactly it all came together in the end, but of what importance is that to him now? V has determined a will of his own to live his own life now, and what has been for Vergil will come to pass when V returns. It's ultimately irrelevant. As for Vergil, he cannot claim a particular curiosity about V. Not enough to demonstrate more than a passing interest.
Vergil comes to a stop outside the Catfe.
"You wanted small dishes that aren't messy," he says, folding his arms. "This is the closest you are likely going to find within the range you can walk. Unless you have some other criterion that you failed to share."
Vergil, frankly, looks like he would rather be anywhere else. He hasn't been frequenting the Catfe nearly as often these days because it's a spot that he prefers to be on his own, but there's little denying that he's a regular. Especially as a few of the cats seem to be vying for attention from the window.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Because he lives. He's alive. He rouses from a nap, having worn himself out walking around Willow, and picks his head off Shadow who possesses most of the bed to energetic tap tap tapping at his door. Perhaps he's overstayed his welcome. With little enthusiasm at the prospect of finding somewhere else to sleep, a nice tree might do, V makes his way to the door. He opens it to see—
A raven spirit shockingly of Griffon's size, larger than he's ever imagined a raven to be. It holds out a tidy package expectantly. A delivery, it assures him. V accepts the parcel, what's clearly a book, and sees the spirit off. Said spirit makes sure he knows that it can deliver any letter or package that V wishes to any Star Child in Folkmore. Get in touch, and it will make sure everything gets delivered. A nod, but V returns to sit against Shadow's side.
He does nothing but hold the package for a long while, long enough that Griffon teases him about it. V lets the annoying words wash over him. It's the first time he's received a gift, and wrapped as it is, even if Vergil's told others he is here, it can only be from him. An olive branch. Something more that V lacks the words to articulate. Griffon threatens to bite the paper from the package, to bite V's fingers, to make sure V's still alive in there.
He unwraps the paper carefully, making sure not to tear it. He sets it aside, but from the first moments the familiar line of the V on the book's cover comes to view, V knows what it is. The book. The one he found in his childhood home, and the one he took his name from. He traces the two sharp lines. Familiar as it is, he's read many of the poems between its pages, but he reads again until he feels restless.
They live in Epiphany near the border of Willow. V sets out and rides, first, in a small vehicle pulled by a spirit to reach the edge of Epiphany. Then he wanders, unsure where to find his whole self. So it's on a street he sees the familiar coat, the white hair, the firm gait.
"Vergil," V says from where he walks. It's not loud, but the half-devil has good hearing.
no subject
"You left the mountains," he comments, more matter-of-fact than anything else. He doesn't necessarily look at V as an unwelcome presence, but neither does he view the other's company as a boon. It simply is what it is. "Should I take this to mean you've found some place to stay?"
Were it anyone else, that would be likely an unreasonable question to ask. But Vergil spent much of his years growing up on the streets and outside, and the majority of V's life was spent in a similar manner when he chose to remain behind in Red Grave City rather than following Nero back to Fortuna to regroup. It would no more surprise him to learn that V's found a comfortable bench in a park somewhere than to learn he's found a suitable roof over his head by now. If anything, the latter would be more of a surprise.
no subject
"The weather here is more amenable," V says, an agreement to Vergil's own suggestion the previous time they met. The cold makes everything take more effort, and V dresses the same as he did his entire life. He's not of a mind to be forced to pick up many more layers for the freezing temperatures. Stubborn perhaps, but that's his choice.
He's not certain where he will live long term. Epiphany and Willow each have advantages and disadvantages. He doesn't know enough to make that form of decision, but his body must rest somewhere each night. That's how days and nights work. "A guest cottage in Willow."
It distressed the local spirits to find V outside come morning. Perhaps those who stray farther into the region, away from the main hustle and bustle, get away with it, but he tired of telling off those concerned busybodies. The problem with sleeping in public is that the public feels entitled to be there and give their opinions noisily.
no subject
Vergil says little, but there's often more beneath what few words he chooses to use, and that is certainly the case here. He can only assume the decision to stop in Willow is at least partially motivated by a desire to be within decent proximity to the closest thing V has to family or friends. He will be less likely to be exhausted should he seek them out on any sort of regular basis than if he were to choose further away. But the region is also not a bad one when it comes to its climate, and it's not difficult to imagine V seeking out something a bit more pastoral after his experiences in Red Grave City. But it's clearly not a permanent decision by the use of the word "guest." A temporary shelter then. V may still content himself with exploring the other regions, weighing their pros and cons against one another, before settling in somewhere.
It seems a way in which they differ from one another. Or it could be that it's less a way in which they differ and more how their circumstances upon arrival did. When Vergil arrived, he was alone as far as people from his world was concerned. At the time, the apartment he selected seemed to be the most sensible. It afforded him privacy given that it was a studio apartment with neighbors a few doors down rather than directly beside him or across the hall, but the apartment itself was not as isolated as say Mizu's cabin. He had easy access to anything that he might need, which allowed him to maintain a bit tighter of a budget with his Lore until he could acquire the Yamato. There was really nothing further to consider than that.
...Well, perhaps not quite only that. Perhaps there was some part of Vergil that was waiting for at least Dante to follow him to Folkmore. The plan had never really been for Vergil and Dante to live together, but it was not difficult for him to picture Dante doing well within Epiphany rather than some of the other regions. So, they would at least have the opportunity to live close by to one another.
"So what brings you so far from your cottage?" he asks, looking at V. "I doubt our paths crossing again is some great coincidence. I assume you want something."
no subject
If he could know things without having to ask for them, V would know how Vergil came to live with his brother and his son. He wants to know what happened there because his memories of Dante and Nero are not the sort to suggest so close a relationship and ability to get along as to live together. To matter to each other, yes. To build something together now that Vergil's learned from his wrongdoing with V's help, yes. To get to such a point as to live together? That is a truth he needs the story behind and one he does not expect to get.
Ever to the point. V's human frailty, his weakness even beyond that of most humans, gives him away and will continue to do so every time he goes more than a few steps beyond his door. There's nothing for that. Even had it been a coincidence, V's utterance of Vergil's name to grab his attention demonstrates that longing inside him. It is there in ways he cannot put to words.
The book weighs on him, heavier than it should be, for its delivery. Beyond the clothes on his back, which came with him to Folkmore of Thirteen's accord, the book of poetry, this exact book of poetry, is his sole possession. Everything the dragons gave him and he would trade it all in a heartbeat for this book of Blake's poetry. His paltry Lore provides for his daily bread, but he hasn't spared it for anything more. Vergil wants to get to business, but it is not business but feelings, heavy and strong, that weigh on him.
Why did you give it to me? V wants to ask. It means as much to Vergil as to him, and clearly Vergil had it. Vergil obtained it in this world, though it would not naturally be here. He had it, and he gave it away. To V.
"The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest," V says. He looks at Vergil closely. He wants to grasp the olive branches Vergil offers him like a life line, one after the other. Only once in hand, it is not clear what to do. He's left, feebly, with only, "I am not truly one. Not even two months, but you make me feel as though I could be."
It's his first gift, his and truly his alone. Griffon helping him fleece a man of his clothes is not the same.
no subject
Vergil entrusted the book to Nero before leaving for the Underworld to finish cleaning up the mess he made. He trusted the boy was smart enough to understand there was more to it for Vergil than just a collection of poems, but there was no time to clarify further until recently. That book had been the first thing Vergil truly reclaimed for himself, of his old life. At the time, as V, he hadn't known exactly the weight of it, but he does now with the benefit of hindsight. Nero understands it now, too. But where Vergil sees it as a beginning point in trying to find the pieces of himself that he lost over the years, Vergil assumes it is the beginning for V in how he came to be. The first thing he reached for without any understanding of why it mattered until more of his memories returned to him.
So, in a strange sense, the book is akin to Vergil's birthright to the Yamato. Restoring it to V's possession seemed the only choice in these circumstances.
"The alternative was to deny your existence," he says. "But I have come to understand the cost of that, and have no need to be taught lessons twice."
no subject
You're not alone, asshole. Indeed he's not. He ignores the distraction while he's with Vergil. It's a more awkward dance of a conversation even than his first meeting with Dante. He came to Devil May Cry as a customer, a comfortable position for Dante and a role for him. It's far less charted territory here.
Intriguing that possessing the book feels like denying V's existence. It is where he took his name from, so much as V can be considered a name. He wonders how long Vergil stared at it, unable to find himself at ease, until he decided to give it to V. Then he delivered it today of all days. Not personally, but that's why V came to find him. Something so significant felt wrong in an impersonal exchange with a spirit.
"I appreciate not seeing what Urizen could do to this fine land," V says, nor with facing a need to sacrifice his existence a second time to stop him. He came here to exist as himself, that desperate bid for life and a more selfish one this time than his original plan. Yet Vergil standing there before him is not him, even as they are the same man. Nor are the words especially sweet. A pragmatic choice more than an open hand. At least the way Vergil puts it.
V resists the urge to drag himself away. No matter if he is something unpleasant stuck under Vergil's boot, he is there and wants more of this day and this man. Wants but does not put that wanting plainly into words. "Since we're not denying my existence or the day, lets get something to eat."
no subject
At the suggestion of food, Vergil scoffs lightly with a roll of his eyes. Vergil doesn't believe for a second that V is here in an attempt to make use of Vergil's greater stock of Lore to see to an empty belly, but there is something a touch predictable about the move all the same. An opportunity not squandered, as it were. Vergil does not fault him for it though. The scoff is merely because Vergil believes he possessed a little more subtlety when attempting to take advantage of such an opportunity in the past. Vergil is not a particularly gifted liar, but V leaves much to be desired in that department.
"Very well," he says, glancing over at V. "What do you desire to eat?"
That is the question so often asked of Vergil that he's mildly curious if V has a better sense of an answer than Vergil is ever able to offer Nero or Dante.
no subject
Given that consideration, the only answer that comes to mind with Vergil's question is something close. That's not exactly the question: what, not where. Food rotted quickly after Urizen raised the qliphoth, and V has eaten demon flesh more days than palatable food. Only in the earliest days did he ever eat anything truly qualifying as food. He has no real answer to give. Anything not tasting of piss will do.
Vergil likely knows that as well as V. He knows what V did and did not eat in his short time in Red Grave City. So the question comes despite that. He casts about in his mind for something to latch onto and wonders if he'll be forced to live by whatever preference he gives, no matter his feelings once he eats it. It would be terrible for Vergil to think he has some great particular interest in something only to have to force it down in much the same way as demon, worse for not showing any displeasure at it. It would be just his luck. So rather than giving one of the only meals he's ever had, V shrugs.
"Something not messy," he says. It's an actual preference, unlike the taste of anything or a specific food. He'd prefer to keep his hands clean when eating. He watches Vergil from the corner of his eye for a reaction, as well as a decision given that guidance.
no subject
"I don't know why I bothered to ask," he says, dryly before taking a left at the next corner. "Keep up."
no subject
Except it makes V curious himself about what he likes to eat. A question he doesn't know the answer to, and he will not ask Vergil. Not even if the man takes him to his favorite food this very meal. He has to walk hard to keep up with Vergil, but he does. Some vestigial pride remains, with all the debasing he's done.
"You may as well take us somewhere that serves lots of small dishes," V says. They'll have better odds to find something he likes. He's still not sure how long he'll live or be here (the same question, really), so he might as well speed run the matter.
no subject
Vergil comes to a stop outside the Catfe.
"You wanted small dishes that aren't messy," he says, folding his arms. "This is the closest you are likely going to find within the range you can walk. Unless you have some other criterion that you failed to share."
Vergil, frankly, looks like he would rather be anywhere else. He hasn't been frequenting the Catfe nearly as often these days because it's a spot that he prefers to be on his own, but there's little denying that he's a regular. Especially as a few of the cats seem to be vying for attention from the window.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
(no subject)
(no subject)