[jetblackknight]

                    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝚃𝙾𝙼𝙱𝚂 ,                                   𝙸 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 .

[sunfallsprophet]

ʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ Qᴜɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴘʟᴀɪɴ ᴠɪᴇᴡ—ᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ, ʏᴇᴛ ꜰᴜᴛɪʟᴇ, ɴᴏᴛɪᴏɴ.

Granted, being touched so delicately after living for so long in the throes of all manner of Death (save for the true one) must seem to him like an impossible dream made manifest. And if that was not enough, there was also the matter of his newly reborn body that they had been made aware of.

What sort of holy Hell did they had in store for him? Sin so grossly decadent—sin committed in his name—that it would ripen the second it was within their grasp, anticipating that which would soothe rather than soil. Hardened as he was, however, Djahima made it a point to not be rough with him in the slightest, save for the instance of having to remind Vergil not to rush them. Theirs was an art form, after all.

"Just my hand?" They feigned a tone of mild offense. "These hands have done much over the course of three hundred years. You could scarcely imagine." Djahima knew what he meant, of course, but it was just too damn easy to tease him. "You fortunate I ain't have you kiss my ring like I'm the Pope." (He'd probably enjoy that.)

"Now be still, boy," was the last think they said to him before returning their attention to their important work. They let their hand slide easily down the underside of his shaft, fingers curving beneath his heavy sack to caress the sensitive flesh there with calculated ease. They stimulated his balls for a few short moments before bringing their hand back towards his weeping head, then began to stroke his shaft in in long, slow movements, allowing his foreskin to glide down and over his head with their every motion. While doing this, Djahima would periodically turn their cool magenta gaze towards his face—whether this was to see how he liked what they were doing, or to fluster him more with a quick and knowing smile, it was a mystery to anyone but them.

Minutes ticked by as they coaxed him along in their mission to pull him deeper into delirium, his precum causing their hand movements to be that much more fluid. They could feel the heat pulsating off of him in waves, and had they been a simple human, perhaps it would've proved too much. Instead, Djahima found themself further enticed by Vergil's demonic arousal, though he no doubt kept his devil side on a tight leash. They almost weighed the possibility of getting Vergil to unleash this side of him, but decided that it was far too soon for such a development. Instead, they settled for wrapping a well-lubricated hand around his tip once more, pumping him only so far as an inch down before reaching back up to stimulate his glans. The sound of his slick squelching against their hand only grew louder after every rapid movement.

"How do you like my hand, Vergil? Feel good?" They, of course, knew the answer. "You got my hand soaked, so I would assume so." They ceased stroking him and brought their fingers up towards their face. Dribbles of clear fluid stretched from their forefinger to their thumb. Then, a look of puzzlement crossed their features. "Wasn't there something after this? I remember you said you wanted to feel my hand. But then...wasn't there something else?" As if to give him a hint, or to just torture him with the mere suggestion, the tip of their tongue lashed out to lap at the precum coating their fingertips.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ S — SOMETHING ELSE ? ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His brain, so frazzled he couldn't think, could not understand what Djahima could have possibly meant, in that moment. All he could think about was the waves rolling through his body ; a sensation both new and old. There were many things he could have done — so many routes he could take. So many decisions on what to do. And yet . . . A mind, blank, stupefied with arousal, clouded by lust.

                          It took their tongue lashing out at his own pre-come for him to realize what they had meant, and by then, he was no match. Wild eyes, surprised as they were aroused, could only watch this hint, his mind still a blank. By now, the small amount of sweat he always produced was on display, giving a luster to his skin that made it appear as if encased in a thin layer of frost. His cheeks, as deep as they were, grew hot, that same color trailing down his chest and up towards his ears, painting their tips as vibrant as the one that had just been in his lover's perfect hand.                          ❛ M . . . Mouth ? ❜ Was that the right answer to their question ? Vergil didn't know. He was fighting a demon, alright ; a demon that was threatening to burst forth and take what it wanted, no care for his lover's safety. Something feral, awakened by his rolling orgasms, desperate for stimulation. His rational mind, that fragile little thread that he was barely hanging to, knew better — Djahima was teasing him on purpose. They would give him everything he wished for, in time. But that impatience, that instinct, was on the verge of insanity.                            Or perhaps that was just Vergil himself. He no longer knew.                           Breathing heavily, he nodded, more sure of himself, but lingering on the image of Djahima tasting him so freely and without shame. A small portion of his rational mind wondered, will I ever be so bold ? ❛ Please. ❜                           The only two words he could manage in this state. Mouth. Please. A man beholden to his own desire, slowly losing all other instances of thought, yet just coherent enough to make it well and known that this is what he wanted. And by Sparda's Might, did he want it. He couldn't want it any more if he tried. The very thought of the warmth of Djahima's mouth around —                           Another spasm, though this time not so intense. Almost there, already, again. He would be embarrassed if he couldn't see how little they cared for this inexperience.

[jetblackknight]

something something, glados, still alive

It's going to take more than yet another kidney issue ( the right one this time ! ), the US falling to f//scism in a matter of months, a 31 year old Scottish man, my mom's ex not taking a plea deal and trying to apply at the job my mom works at now, my mom getting fired from the store we work at out of retaliation by her 19 year old manager, a nurse blowing my vein in the ER ( jesus god this shit hurts so much lmao ), and the exhaustion of nine hour work days doing heavy lifting to keep me from this blog, by god y'all. we didn't start the fire, or whatever

Slooowwwwly working on replies, they'll be trickling in as I get to them in order of oldest to newest ( how I've always responded ). if you're missing one from me, and I should have replied but I haven't yet, kick me pls. I have a few in my drafts right now from the past couple of weeks ( Tania, Nero, V, Squalo, and I just finished Djahima's so that's in the queue ) : >

and as always, my discord is also vergiisparda ( two i's, not an L), I'm almost always reachable there, just know I'm still pretty awkward at talking to new people ! It's getting easier every month, though.

[alumy0]

vergil and nero core

[funretti]

I think he's in danger (눈‸눈)

[titaneus]

"It's because holy water stings, if it doesn't sting my tongue then that means the duckweed did it's job." An admission that she was indeed not human but something more, something demonic. And yet she was kind and carried a warm presence with her wherever she went. Normally she would never admit such a thing openly but it was that familiarity that led her to being honest with him.

"Hmmm I had a feeling that's who you were, I'm not familiar with your brother but I do know your son. He resembles you quite a bit in a good way." She didn't know too much, as nosy as she could be, but when it comes to family affairs she tries not to pry. "And you recognize me but can't remember me, how curious." At first she wondered if he knew her when she was human. But he would have known her by her true name and since he was part demon it's possible the fae magic to erase her name wouldn't affect him. So him calling her 'Tania' wouldn't make sense.

She knew from Nero that Urizen was apparently his father but he would constantly dance around the fact as to how the two were related whenever she did ask. "I never met you when you were Urizen...." She knew of his deeds and what he had done, yet it didn't actually seem to bother her all that much. Even when during the events where the demonic tree had taken over and she actively worked to rescue civilians she held no ill will towards the man who caused it all. There was no hint of malice or judgment in her eyes. On the contrary there was nothing but fondness and curiosity.

"Did you go by any other names at any point? I used to travel quite a bit before the whole demon tree incident so it's possible we could have crossed paths at some point." She often loitered around Fortuna and Red Grave most of the time for work. Has definitely never been to hell..... So outside of those two cities she never stayed in one place for too long.

"There's familiarity in your taste, in your blood I mean... It's different from anything I've tasted before but there's something about it that's familiar..... Which is interesting because I don't make it a big habit of doing so." So if he did go by any other name at any point she should be able to cross reference the people she's met and tasted. It wasn't many but recognized every person she's tasted before. Usually they were demons or humans who were suffering from some sort of illness or poison. But there was one human's blood that tasted unlike anything else. It had the taste of human but there was something about it that felt like it was lacking something. As if his blood was incomplete which was a wild concept to even think possible.

"I'd ask if I could have another taste to see if I can recognize the flavor but I feel that'd be rude of me." She smiles at him as an amused chuckle leaves her lips. "Speaking of thirst.... Are you thirsty? Whenever I heal I usually get incredibly parched. I have water, juice, coffee... Well maybe not coffee that'll only dehydrate you. But I do have tea as well."

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙸 𝙼𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝚂𝙴 ? ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Not quite what she had asked, but he was slowly inching closer and closer to the answer to all of her questions. And his infelction . . . it was almost as if Vergil was not exactly speaking to her, but rather to himself. He drank in the information she revealed to him quickly, ensuring that he would never forget ( and those other two could conceal as much as they desired . . . but the truth would always be there, and he would find it, eventually ). She wasn't human. but she wasn't yet a demon. Was she as he, half of each ? It was possible. Or perhaps something other, too.

                          Someone that wasn't Urizen. If it wasn't it, then . . .                           ❛ I have no name ; I am but two days old. ❜ The poem slipped from him as easy as water in a gentle river ; and there was no concealing the memories from him any longer. They flooded back in a wave of pain and nausea that had Vergil reaching for his temple, though his face remained unchanged and expressionless. For just a moment, he wasn't there at all, but slowly returned, turning to face her. There was an expression now, familiarity and fluster, his cheeks a gentle shade of dusty rose.                           ❛ Y—Yes, of, of course, how . . . how did I not see it before ? ❜                           He shook his head, as if in confusion, but it was contempt . . . for himself. How he hated his two halves, how he hated the way his demon reveled in the revelation ; how his humanity seemed to shy away from it, embarrassed for a reason he couldn't yet determine. Still, there were other, more pressing matters — reaching for Tania's hand was as easy as slowly moving forward, pulling it palm-upward to his thigh. From what little opening of his wound was left, he bore down hard with the butt of his own palm just beside it, sending a rather small spurt of his own crimson blood into her palm. He released her flesh as soon as he had, tapping his foot. That had hurt a little.                          ❛ You . . . You recognize the humanity, I believe. The . . . My humanity. A fickle thing. Sentimental. Empathetic. Frail. ❜                           Perhaps his descriptors would rouse her memory, fill in the gaps of his own. Vergil had no intention of revealing all he remembered . . . but it would help to have another. He was, at his core, incessantly hungry for knowledge. This would be a delight.

[famiglia-lealta]

"You just think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Sure, every human might as well be a joke to some jacked up demon brat. But I don't care if it'll take fifty cuts or a thousand - one of these days, I'm gonna make you bleed."

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙸 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝚁𝚈, 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙺 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Such a bratty tone ; such an inviting one. A smirk danced across Vergil's expression, marred only slightly by his ever-furrowed brow. If there was one thing a half-demon such as himself enjoyed, it was a challenge . . . and the one offered was simply too good to pass.                          ❛ How about right now, then ? Or are you afraid ? ❜ Like a moth to a flame, Vergil was suddenly so intrigued that he simply couldn't help but rile the younger man further. He had no intention of letting Squalo win, of course, but he also had no intention of hurting him anywhere but his pride.  

[camarokay]

judge me not for the sinful man, but for the boy who lost it all.

[sunfallsprophet]

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇ," ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪɴ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴇ, "ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜱᴏ ʀᴇʟᴀx."

The reality was that Djahima couldn't even remember everything they had once read and heard about those gods (but the beautiful and reserved young man before them need not know that). All they knew was that, by some stroke of luck, they found themself host to an uninvited guest that turned out to be a the half-demon father of Nero. Not only that, but this "Vergil" was still wonderfully apprehensive from their quick skirmish...if it can even be called as such.

They weren't sure what they pictured when Nero first mentioned his father. But it wasn't this.

They spotted the sudden presence of natural bright rouge on pallid cheeks. A thought crept its way into their brain, but they shooed it away—not the time. "Goodness me, you're a mousey little thing, ain't you, Mr. Sparda? Had I known it was this easy to humiliate you, I might've loosened my grip on ya. Would've been a damn tragedy to mark-up that darling face of yours, too. Although..." they scratched at the scarred flesh just above the left side of their upper lip. "Sometimes the ladies like that sort of thing. So long as you respectful, you feel me?"

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙾𝙵—𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Humiliated, of course, was an understatement for how Vergil felt at current. It was not yet a complete annihilation of his self-image, not like so long ago, but it struck a certain wound enough to tear a single stitch away. He did feel a little calmer now, though, with good tea in his body ( warm tea, unbelievably good tea ), and the sun slowly peeking out from behind a canopy that was slowly warming him.

                         ❛ Respectful, yes. ❜ And he would be ; would always be, now. Djahima had, whether unintentionally or not, created a fiercely loyal ally in just a few short moments. After a while, of course. A little while. A bit. Just a bit. He was still apprehensive and rattled ; but that would wear off in time, too.                             Vergil cleared his throat, reaching up to wipe at his mouth. The actions of a nervous man. His eyes, also, seemed to wander anywhere but at the being before him. He snuck glances, of course, fleeting little things that gave him incomplete after incomplete flashes of the one before him. Or was he the one before them ? Unclear. Still, his curiosity was beginning to take over, and with it came more questions.                          ❛ What . . . brings you to Fortuna, of — of all places on Earth ? ❜                           That was a polite enough question, wasn't it ? Of course it was.                           And it would be, along with so many others. What had been an almost terrible meeting had slowly morphed into something else. It was not often that Vergil was a chatty type — he was a man of much fewer words . . . and yet here he was, quietly asking the ( ethereal, handsome, beautiful, stunning, incredibly visually interesting ) being in front of him question after question after question, simple ones, things he learned from television shows and watching strangers interact with one another on busy streets and quiet cafes.

                          The only difference between the two was his interest. He listened quietly, too, enraptured by whatever it was Djahima had to say, both caught by the answers given and the voice that spoke them to existence. He didn't know it yet, wouldn't understand the feeling slowly clawing its way forth from somewhere he had once thought buried so deep it couldn't be found again, but he was already captured, sitting politely and easily into a net made of silk and golden hair. He didn't even notice as the sun gave way to evening, and the evening to night. He didn't realize that he was finally dry. All he seemed to care about was this new being, this . . . friend, he had found.                            And yet, despite it all, it would be weeks before he saw them again — not entirely out of being busy, but because of embarrassment. To have spoken the head off of a stranger, only offering his own story in bits and pieces, as asked, was a strange thing. And he had to hear it all from his dearest brother ; a mistake he would not yet make again. 

[jetblackknight]

I'M STILL ALIVE I SWEAR, I'VE REPLIED TO SOME THINGS AND PUT THINGS IN THE QUEUE FOR TOMORROW I SWEARRRRRRRRR I SWEAR I'M NOT DEADDDDD

[twinicegiantorbiters]

dragongirls

[twinicegiantorbiters]

dragongirls are hugging you

[losergfdotcom]

isolation the most goated coping mechanism i love talking to no one and losing my mind alone

[gabbolovestea]

The second poster is finished 🫡 I gave Vergil a different action pose from the usual Judgment Cut, I really enjoy his gameplay because it almost looks like he's dancing with how graceful his swordmanship is,,, I envy his flexibility ngl 😭 ok enough yapping

[hundredsmelt]

          the room becomes changed with an air of honesty that catches nian by surprise,    a drop in temperature when it was just right to lull them to careless chatter, and then careless sleep.    from yet another sip,    calculated and prudent this time,    two eyes raise to peer over at vergil,    check if he’s maybe drunk.    their seats,    angled as they are,    and the familiarity left to traverse between them sounds back,    indeed,    a loud and clear maybe.

          spoken their mind as per usual,    nian hadn’t gauged the reach of their words.   if they struck true,   it had been on nothing but intuition and fancy,    sharp as they could be,   brandished with no second thought.   so it seems vergil's words,    for one,    weren’t haphazard,    and the matter of people,    their presence or lack thereof,    isolation as a preference,    had been more than small,    clumsy talk to fill the silence.    terrified    ⸻    nian backtracks over the minute that just flew by    ⸻    of this world?   a strong word for a rippled reality.    it doesn’t at all sound like the same man walking amidst and hailing from demons…    but it’s a manner of nonsense nian knows and understands,    if tangentially.    where vergil describes it as fear,    nian had felt it searing her eyes,    so tepid it burned,    coming out of a dark tomb into fresh air.

          ‘    yep,   sure didn’t give me a ton of hopes on that front…   plus agreeing to treat me that easy⸻    ’    a hiccup to punctuate their drawl,    and they sink further into the cushions.    as their head rests back,    glass gently perched on their stomach,    they gaze up to the ceiling,    to the fan in its stringent cycle.    ‘    maybe you’re the lucky one?    lucky that i make for really nice company.    ahaha…    ’

           their heart isn’t fully in what they say;    it’s busy going over the same thing,    with involuntary regard.    cradle-shaped,    the tipsy feeling is taking them through reminiscence,    sparing nostalgia,    then fondness.    a sensation more than likely to the opposite of vergil’s,    yet what nian sees in him right now is some of herself.

          ‘    you know that one saying?    good medicine tastes bitter, or whatever…   i think it’s kinda true.    i mean,    i’ve been there myself.    thinking,    being out n’ about’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.    but… that’s where it gets you.    kinda like you said…    having sweet shit all the time will have you puking your guts out.    makes you sick,    sooner or later.    ’    nian takes a breather,    the vodka to their lips again,    an amused look returned to vergil.    ‘    i getcha,    basically.    i go nuts just keeping to myself and my sword forever.    probably more than you.    but that’s why i love being around people,    seeing the world.    it’s all just so different from me.    ’

               nian ponders the last solitary remnant of ice in their glass for a moment.    they can’t help themself.    they take the bottle in their hand and top up the glasses,    theirs first,    then vergil’s.    however unsolicited and unneeded,    their arm stretches out for the pour,    keeping the vodka from any spill with ungraceful agility.    and with a grunted hey,    to reel in his spooled attention,    they raise their glass.    ‘    toast?    to whatever ya want.    ’

[jetblackknight]

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ He listens, intently, on Nian's words — now that the buzz has set in, focusing has become a concentrated effort. But their words ring true : every single one. It is a strange feeling, relating so much to someone so different from him. Breaking news: Grown Man Understands the Concept of Empathy for the First Time. Stop the presses ; alert the network, it's a miracle ! Still, there is a comfort in realizing this, as dumb as it is. He leans, fully, across the surface of his brother's mini-bar, mimicking Nian and yet finding comfort in relaxing his cheek against it, watching his new companion chatter on. Such a strange sensation. They offer a toast, and he lazily lifts his glass, his tone strong and true, despite a little slurring at the end.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙰 𝚃𝙾𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙾 . . . 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙸 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙸𝚃𝚈. 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿 ? ❜

                          An unsure toast, of course, ended on a question, as if what he had said is not quite correct. His scowls. His hero ( one of only two — the other his Father ), would have held his head in shame. Somewhere, he just knows that William Blake is rolling in his grave at Vergil's complete inability to do something as simple as make a toast. And yet . . . he feels as if he has said exactly the right words, even if they were jumbled. He doesn't even notice the connotations of his latter words, too overcome with the idea that he is even toasting a drink with someone else to see anything but the inevitable.                           He brings his glass close enough that Nian can close the distance with hers, and awaits the familiar clink of glasses against one another. And he knows, despite never being included in one, that he will have to down the rest of his drink — as is tradition. Human tradition. Centuries of moments just like this, of toasting to any and all ; of language barriers, for just a single moment, being complete broken. Wars set aside. Friendships rooted. Such a small gesture, and yet it is the world.                           Or perhaps Vergil is simply so drunk that he is finding a tear-jerking moment in something insignificant. His jury is still out.                          ❛ There is . . . There is not much room here to exist, ❜ He starts, after a moment of quiet ; collecting himself and his thoughts, ❛ But you are free to find somewhere to relax, some—somewhere to sleep, if a form such as you even does so. My space is the balcony. You are free to use it. There . . . is a bed I do not oft sleep within ; I shall take this couch, as recompense. My bed is more comfortable. ❜                           That was, naturally, the next step, wasn't it ? Offering a guest somewhere more comfortable to rest their drunken head ? Or was there yet more celebrations and traditions to be had ? More conversation ? He did not know ; this was his first time being a social creature.

[captianimarum]

Admittedly, though if only to himself, Nero wasn't certain of the statement that was offered freely to him. More alike than he knew? Family was family, blood was blood, genetics were genetics - - but as of yet his own consciousness largely refused to acknowledge the fact that they were rather alike. Perhaps it was just one of those things that would take its time to form, slowly blossom in the back of his mind until he had no choice but to sit and stew over it. For now - - he kept entirely silent on the matter and simply followed behind, silently thoughtful.

It's a struggle, though he would deny it verbally, to fly the distance in which they did - but he makes it and upon arrival chooses to mention naught about how exhausted the inside of his bones felt. Would it always be that way? Would he always feel as if his very blood was aflame when he attempted to defy gravity? He fuckin' hoped not.

"Probably for the best--- I'm a really shite swimmer." Credo had spent hours upon hours attempting to teach him as a boy, as a teen - - and though Nero could do enough to keep himself from drowning, he had never quite grasped a decent enough stroke for it to be considered swimming instead of disorganised flailing. It stings to remember, but he uses that pain to push himself onward.

He wonders what Credo would have thought of this situation - meeting Nero's biological father. He didn't doubt he'd have a few stern words to say, in the very least - -

The interior of the Ferry is familiar; countless times now had he sat there on the quiet journey to Redgrave and, doused in the weight of the world, did he sink into the deepest depths of his thoughts. Had he no company now, Nero would have likely fallen into that very same habit.

He sits, lets his eyes settle on the sights beyond the window and wonders just what to say.

"You know... when I was a little boy, I used to sit on the rocks near the pier and watch the Ferry come and go. I always used to dream of getting on it and travelling over the sea, and that when I got to the other side my family would meet me. First time I came over on the ferry after the shit that went down in Forrtuna, Dante met me there - - - called me a little scrub and said I needed a shower."

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙰 𝙵𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈, 𝙽𝙾 𝙳𝙾𝚄𝙱𝚃 ? ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Though apprehensive, seeing Nero walk onto the sea-faring vessel as easily as he did left little room for Vergil to do any more than follow, sliding into a seat opposite of him. That did not stop the rampant and unceasing bounce of his right leg, nor the totally and completely inconspicuous constant wringing of his hands. But he made no mention of them, as aware as he was of them, too focused on what his son was speaking about. 

                         ❛ If I had had the ability to be there . . . I would have. Dante was right to insert himself into your life. Please never think otherwise. ❜ He tries to reassure his son, as best he can, but the words sound like a piss poor excuse again. He was well and in the trenches at that point, on the cusp of escaping M—of escaping Him. It would be another year before he did, and another several missing Nero at every chance in his quest to find the repaired Yamato. He was almost grateful to have missed him so many times, after all that had happened when he finally did. He'd never forgive himself for the carnage, neither Nero or Kyrie would have to worry about that. ❛ He does have a . . . unique way of showing his admiration and love, though. And do not let him try and fool you ; he has always been that way. Ever since we were children. It's good to know that not much has changed since. ❜                           But how much has changed you, Nero ? And how much of it my fault ? He can't help but think ; and though he wishes above all that he could speak the questions aloud, he remains quiet, shifting uncomfortably in place. Even here, even now, he cannot come to terms with the fact that there is living proof of his legacy sitting casually on a ferry seat just opposite of him, choosing to open up about his past — a past he was never truly a part of. It would always be in the background of his mind, and for a good while.                           ❛ Have you . . .  ❜ He instead tries to find a way to word the question in which it won't sound awkward, or perhaps too deep. ❛ Have you had enough time to process the life you've been . . . thrown into ? Not my existence, that will take years — no, decades, I fear — but . . . your life as a whole. Of finding that you were not fully human, and all that came after ? ❜                           A hell of a way to ask if Nero was truly alright, but then again, Vergil was never one for subtlety. 

[ecneir]

Devil Trigger

[titaneus]

When he declines the potion she nods her head and reseals it before pocketing it for now. If he did not want to drink it she wouldn't force him. At the very least it didn't look like he needed it, with the holy water being siphoned out of his system his natural regeneration should be able to take care of the rest.

"I dragged you out of that clinic and drove you back to my place. Well this is also considered my clinic as well. Though its a bit under the radar, I can't necessarily operate above board since I don't have a license. I mostly work with other devil hunters and the few who have nowhere else to turn." It's possible he could have heard of her clinic if he worked with other hunters, but she never made an effort to advertise her work. "I think I settled in not long after most of the city completed its repairs." It really was quite the steal, with how the city was in desperate need for people to come back they were practically giving away homes, and with her record as working as one of the volunteers during the disaster she was practically handed the keys the moment she asked for it.

Green hues follow his gaze to the duckweed growing in his thigh. "I hope it's not uncomfortable for you. It's my first time using duckweed for something like removing holy water. Though with this I might be able to use it to make a holy resistance potion! So if something like this happens again there can be a more immediate solution." With his life seemingly in the clear she visibly relaxes, leaning back on the coffee table she had been using as a makeshift seat as she hovers a hand over the duckweed. Fingers dancing in the air as she felt the energy course through the fauna.

It appeared his recovery was faster than she initially anticipated and so she gently sifts her fingers through the duckweed to swipe blood on the tip of her finger. And without warming she placed it between her lips so she could taste it. She was hit with a familiar and yet foreign taste. It was of mixed blood for sure, there was the familiar taste of human blood mixed with demonic blood. What was strange was that the taste was somehow.... Oh there wasn't a sting anymore!

"Ah, it looks like its done its job." She remarks as she pulls the finger from her lips. She couldn't feel the sting of holy water on her tongue which meant he should be able to recover the rest of the way on his own. "Let's get this taken care of now shall we?" With a hum her hand hovers over the fauna and she released some of her demonic energy. Roots retract from his gaping wound as they wrap around her fingers and the duckweed was now wrapped around her palm. Once everything was sorted she'll have to store these for later to see if she can make a holy resistance potion.

"I'm very good with faces you know, especially if the face is pretty." She adds with a small chuckle as she grabs her glasses to return them back to her face only to pause when she realizes they're stained with his blood. Oh dear she'll have to do some cleaning once everything is settled. While he may have been discomforted seeing her stained in crimson she wasn't at all bothered. She was a nurse after all she was used to being drenched in blood.

"While you feel familiar I know we haven't met before. You know my name and yet I feel left out not knowing yours. Of course, if your not comfortable with sharing I understand." She didn't all appear bothered by the fact he was trying to trick her. Many of her patients gave her fake names or outright refused to give their names. She could always tell when they weren't being honest but she never pressed.

Though there was one name she couldn't quite decipher.... V... Did he achieve what he was looking for?

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙸 𝙰𝙼 𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃, 𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His words are true ; and not the least bit upset. In truth, he was fascinated by her application of a plant in order to heal him. That, too, was familiar, but once again, his mind began to ache with the attempt at recollection. Whoever this was, his two halves were locked into fierce battle to either conceal, or reveal, how close they had become. And from the intensity of the pain, he had a feeling he already knew. It would have been nice to know, but he would have to discern based on — as Nero would often call things — vibes alone.

                          However, the " vibes " his son so accurately often described were certainly . . . unusual. He watched her reach for the living siphon on his thigh, almost presuming she was trying to comfort him in a way. Instead, she brushed her fingers along half-demon blood and brought it to her lips to taste. A part of him was alarmed at this — he had no frame of reference for how toxic or otherwise sickness-inducing his blood was — and here she was, seemingly a human, seemingly something else, merely tasting him. A shiver, whether from her boldness or the sense of unease that washed over him, ran down his spine. And yet a warmth did, too. As if this was normal of her. As if he had seen it happen before, and had no problem with it then.                          ❛ And you can tell . . . how ? ❜ There was a level of trust already here, in place from times past, but it still perplexed him that she could tell from taste alone. And yet this Tania was still correct. As she pulled the duckweed away from the gaping wound in his thigh ( which, in any other instance, he would have immediately covered with his palms to keep such an unsightly thing from a proper lady ), his wound began to heal, creating and stitching together sinew and skin alike. As if the duckweed had, momentarily, impeded his body's own progress. The pain still remained, and the sting would too, for a while, but this felt better. Knowing there wasn't an open wound with ( strangely familiar ) roots squirming around within like vegetarian maggots was certainly a plus.

                          But more important matters were at hand. She revealed hers, now, questioning him on his familiarity before he had a chance to do so first. Father's Might, she was a crafty one. He understood the feelings within him, obscured in pain, a little more. He had liked this part of Tania. There was something devilishly intriguing about it. Right. Well, there was no point in lying, was there ? After all, he had quite a recognizable visage, regardless of if she didn't yet recognized it herself.                           ❛ I am Vergil, Son of Sparda. Twin brother of the . . .  ❜ He paused, as if the next line to fall from his mouth was embarrassing, rather than prideful.  ❛ Twin brother of the Legendary Devil Hunter, Dante, you . . . may have heard of him. He protects this city. ❜                           And it certainly wasn't easy living in the shadow of your brother's fame. Especially when your own was infamy. He hoped that she wouldn't know his name instantly ; that perhaps she wouldn't know the legends or the rumors. Just one day, one, where he was not immediately ousted as an evil person ( though he knew, full well, he was ; nearly irredeemable in the eyes of many ).                          ❛ And you are Tania. A woman I recognize, and yet I do not. It seems that we both share a familiarity with one another. My . . . memory . . . disallows investigation. That is my apology. ❜                           His eyes wandered, of course, though not because of the blood she was all but drenched in. He was slightly uncomfortable now, unused to revealing so much so quickly. Vergil was not a man of many words, nor was he a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. And yet, all on his own, he seemed to open up to her ( however little, of course ) as if he had known her for far longer than this singular encounter would presume.