Trish locks her door, all but throwing herself onto the bed of her apartment after the typical day of working shit jobs while Devil May Cry isn't getting all that many requests (bills have to get paid, after all.) Gently pushing the pandas away the the indent she's made in the bed to keep them from falling, her eyes drift to the circular rug taking up most of the floor and serving only one purpose to her; a spot to practice her creation skills.
She heaves herself of the bed and stands, tossing her coat on the chair in the corner and crosses the room, setting herself in the dead center of the rug and crossing her legs. It's not the first time her first dozen or so tries fails to make anything substantial, but by now its almost therapeutic. Letting her mind drift and form anything she idly thinks of, the piles of useless garbage grow pretty damn quick. Her thoughts wander to everyone at the shop, led there by the pangs of loneliness supplied by her busy schedule. To Dante, the antics and chaos that typically followed him (them?) Around. To Nero and Kyrie, taking care of the orphans with almost no issue while she struggled so much with her lovely little abominations. And oddly... to Vergil. It wanders to his resolve, even for the stupidest of things. To the times he's tried killing Dante and even Nero, in desperate bids to be the strongest version of himself. To him, however unintentionally, bringing Red into their lives and the joy that came with her. And finally to his growth. How he's changed to be someone so different to how he used to be those years ago.
She opens her eyes and looks down, feeling weight in her hands that wasn't there a moment ago. If it had been any of her children, it would have felt warm, but this was freezing. A crystalline blue sword sat in her hands, a cold mist lazily drifting off of its sky colored sheath. It was... beautiful. Thorned vines wrapping around the hilt and joined together by a single, mesmerizing rose on the surface of it. She stood, drawing the pristine sword to observe it's frozen edge, noting the temperature lowering further as she drew it.
She sheathed it, threw on her jacket and ran out the door.
Breathing hard and heaving from the near dead sprint to the DMC office, she knocks hard and fast on the door. The second it's opened, she holds out the sword and, catching her breath, speaks:
"I have something for you."
@journalofvergilsparda @thereddestofqueens
