Dante didn’t have a large reaction. His lips had parted slightly but his traditional greeting dried up in his throat. His fingers squeezed around Ivory, almost setting it of, but not quite. His eyes widened a fraction but he still didn’t look up.
He wouldn’t look, not until he set down his magazine, which gave him enough time to re-compose himself. His face returning to his mask: a smirk. He looked the man in his shop up and down and…could find nothing out of place. It was his father, his own flesh and blood and inside he felt something pull free. He ached. Long buried pain brought back to the surface as he tried to tamp it down.
"Well? Oh, I’m just swell, dad." His words dripped with sarcasm, but his tone was quiet. "I do have a question for you though. Where have you been?" That question brought an edge of anger to his voice, a brittle smile remaining on his lips.
Sparda did have a few ideas of what would result of him just entering his son's abode. Sarcastic remarks were definitely one of them. He's got a fire in him just like his mother, that's for sure. However he isn't really ready to deal with the sass. Instead he'd rather have a much needed conversation.
He kept to himself, stepping inside further but not too much for him to cause any sudden reactions from his son. Got a good feeling that he might as well be armed. Why wouldn't he? His father all of a sudden around after years had gone by. Albeit Vergil thought differently when seeing the cavalier once more.
Noticing that smirk caused a twitch of his brow. Ah yes, naturally that question is brought up right away. It's simple enough, but oh but how Sparda himself really desired an answer. He let out a sigh before speaking. "That... I cannot answer." A simple inquiry answered with a simple, yet unsatisfying response. Not much else to be said really.
