Little eight year old Vergil trudges along, weeks after the fire, his clothes worn, his shoes already tossed away, and his stomach rumbling. To his relief, he finds a food track with no customers. (The less people seeing him coming or going, the less wagging tongues to invite danger) He runs toward it, he usually can use his baby blue eyes to purchase things he has no money for.
No such luck, as the greasy man that smells of stale fries leers down at him.
“No Money, no food.”
Vergil is desperate, “I’ll wash dishes, sweep the floor, work your fryers….” he mentally gags at his begging. He is a Son of Sparda, not some vagabond beggar!
The man isn’t interested, “No dishes to wash, and I can sweep myself, and a shrimp like you couldn’t even reach the fryer handles” He glowers, “business is slow, I can’t afford to just give the food away, now scram…” Vergil dejectedly turns to leave.
“Wait…” the man calls out, and the boy turns back, a bit too excitedly, “that thing around your neck, that’s a pretty lil’ necklace. I bet it’s worth a meal or two….whaddya say?” The man stretches out his hand, grime in all the crevasses of his fingernails
Slowly, Vergil grips the amulet, his only thing he has that connects him to his mother. The woman who preferred his younger twin, the woman who abandoned him. His stomach contracts painfully, as if in remembrance of the excruciating pain of that night.
“Well, your loss then, kid. Now beat it!” And with that, he slams down the shutters, and drives off in a cloud of dirty smoke, leaving Vergil alone once more.
And as he trudges off, back to the place where Yamato is hidden, he tries his best to ignore the gnawing emptiness…. both in his stomach