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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no subject
"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.
no subject
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.