𝔖𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔣 ℑ𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰
For all his bravado and haughty monologues about his power, motivation, and ambition, Vergil was bad at this.
Vergil was a well-read man, a master swordsman, and a witty conversationalist, when someone could pry more than a few words from him, this was all true. But at being an adult human, no. In that category, he was abysmal. He wasn’t quite thinking about that, but it was a nagging thought that had pestered him more than once. No, currently, from where Vergil lay, curled and brooding, he was thinking more about what he was supposed to do in this situation.
It had been three days since he slept in any meaningful capacity. And about four days since he ate more than an apple, or two a day. These two things, sleeping and eating, were apparently deeply important to being human. Another Vergil, in another life, before he fell, before Mundus, and Nelo Angelo, and the nightmares, knew this. A small child who only had the thin clothes on his back, a sword taller than he was, and a book of poems, and nothing else, knew this. The latter knew the feeling in Vergil’s gut now, in the present. He had known it when he broke down and finally went through the garbage looking for food. He heaved a sigh and let his eyes flutter closed, trying in vain to chase sleep.
Vergil’s stomach hurt. His senses were dulling, being without sleep this long. Nelo Angelo neither ate nor slept. He only screamed and suffered. And Vergil wasn’t sure how to overcome that. Back from Hell with Dante, or not.
He rolled over. The brass bed Dante had found for him creaked. Vergil frowned. Dante’s found bed, Dante’s house, Dante’s spare room. Vergil was back to square one. The clothes on his back, Yamato.. Nero had his book. Oh, Lucifer save him, he was worse off than he was when his mother died..
Dante was going to notice his troubles, soon enough, he realized, bitterly. And he’ll make me do something to remedy these.. But how do I do that when I have no desire too..?
“Sorry. Upstairs is off limits.” The tip of Dante’s sword was in between the feet of one of his newest clients who was busy wandering, sniffing out the stale smell of beer and pizza and body odor. His shop was not clean, it was not organized, it was certainly not pretty -- but it is his shop all the same.
The client jolted away, clearly nervous about the weapon, and to that, Dante laughed, perhaps to ease their mind, although it probably made them more afraid.
“I have renters upstairs.” He lied through his teeth. “They get a little... testy, when my clients make a lot of noise. You understand, right?” The client nodded perhaps out of fear more than understanding.
Once they move away from the stairs, Dante followed them more closely, listening to their awkward but straightforward ramble -- a petty request of investigating. Dante could do it -- he had to build his reputation back a bit more now that he was relaxing from doing so many demon related jobs. It wasn’t even like he had hit a dryspell of demon fights -- quite the opposite.
Since the Qliphoth, the idea of demon hunting had been sensationalized, popular even, and Dante’s name brought a lot of people looking for just that. Dante loved to fight. He loved to fight demons most of all. The smell, the blood, the heat -- and yet... now...? He didn’t want to. He just didn’t feel like it.
Once the work is done he shuts the downstairs light off, at least the neon sign, and locks the door. He figures he better check on Vergil, at times he worried that Vergil would wander off, but surprisingly, perhaps for both of them, they had remained here, and hardly ever left.
“Honey, I’m home.” Dante says in a fake cheery voice and cocks a smile, pushing the door to Vergil’s room open. “You throw any parties while I was gone?” Dante folded his arms. “... You hungry yet?” He knew Vergil didn’t need to eat -- nor did he, but it was probably good for them to at least eat more than once every few days... and he knew Vergil was hardly eating much.
