#durativo

[windofdogma]

@durativo​ replied:

Hopefully it didn't get wrecked in the everything, bud

All right, so maybe it’s a second goat named Sally...

[gelum-lumen]

@durativo:  vergil say "Nya"

He looks like he might explode. “Nya. Happy?”

[anapproachingstorm]

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..?

[darwinianterror]

Candidacy

@durativo

“Your stance is all wrong.”

Vergil brought his hand down, away from his jaw with a fluid motion, letting his heels touch the dusty wooden floor. Sweat stuck to his brow in beads, and he lightly panted from exertion.

As they were having a simple sparring match, he did not have the usual greaves and gauntlets on - instead Vergil had gone for bare knuckles and feet, and could feel a bruise blooming over his knuckles. It’d be gone within the hour, but it still stung to know Dante could block his strike. Contemplating the matter had broken Vergil’s concentration enough for a blow to land just below his throat.

Dante shouldn’t have been able to block his jab. He was far too hunched - elbows drawn in and arms splayed out casually. How, how, how- Had he blocked it?!

Masking his frustration with bland disinterest, Vergil pointed to Dante’s feet. “Further apart.” How Dante had outperformed him whilst acting so lax and laid back was borderline infuriating. Vergil couldn’t sense any magic present - and the fact baffled him further.

A twitch of the brow was the only sign of his ire coming to the surface, and he masked how occupied he was by wiping them upon his loose-fitting trousers. This was a trick, surely?

“Dante. Surely you can’t tell me, you took me on at my peak with footwork like that?” He kept his tone scathing, hoping he could work out an offended response to recieve a damn answer as to why.

[criimsoncloud]

@durativo​

"If he shows up, I'll hold him down, you punch him."

“I’m half afraid my fist would crack on one of his armor plates.”

[dantes--rebellion]

for @durativo​ con’t from here.

“You make my fucking blood boil, you little shit, it more ways than one.” And Dante wasn’t really a guy easily agitated by such things, but Tony, oooh Tony, that little brat had a way about him. 

He knew what the younger man was after, of course, it was very clear that he wanted to be punished in a very certain way. As to why he couldn’t be sweet about wanting it, Dante had no idea. He could just as easily simply kiss Dante and crawl into his lap, but nooooo, he had to be a snot about it. 

“That’s fucking expensive, Tony.” Dante said as he stalked over to the bed like a predator. It was probably the only expensive thing he owned, a gift from a client he once helped, for Christmas or something, he couldn’t remember. He was saving it for a special occasion, looks like that occasion was now. 

He grabbed the bottle from Tony’s hands, some of it already gone, the little thief, so Dante just drank the rest so he couldn’t have it. “You want this fancy bottle so bad, then I’ll fucking give it to you.” 

He straddled the bed and ripped the jacket from Tony’s shoulders exposing his young, supple body. “Well, at least you made this easier. He turns Tony over on his back and grabs his leg, hoisting it up on his shoulder. Dante was handling Tony as he were light as a doll and just as posable. Any amount of struggle would be useless now, he was in deep trouble. 

Dante took the stopper off the bottle and threw it to the other side of the room, or it might have stuck in a wall with the force, he wasn’t sure. Then he did his own performance and sucked the neck of the bottle into his mouth and deep enough to cover the whole thing in his hot spit. 

“Guess what happens now, hot shot? Open wide.” 

[strictomiles]

@durativo​ said: He shakes the box at him. "What, do you want one too?"

“You’re sayin’ they’re strawberry? Toss one over.”

[hartbeating]

Continued from here. ♥ @durativo

Dante’s assessment of Tifa not being of demonic heritage was correct--but there were other ways to become strong, other factors that came into play. Many years of training as hard as she could combined with generations worth of natural Mako influence upon her family line--upon herself--and the lion’s heart of a survivor to form a formidable foe that might not have looked like much in comparison, but in a contest of style versus substance, she chose substance each and every time. The way that the intimidating-looking silverette winced when no one had even made him break a sweat was proof positive that she had made the right choice in focusing on the fight rather than the spectacle. As flashy as Dante was, she knew he had a good foundation beneath it--and this wasn’t gonna be easy.

Good.  She could use the opportunity to go all out.

His running commentary earned a faint smirk, the brunette not seeing fit to engage in returning banter--not yet, anyway. It wasn’t like he really gave her the opportunity to when he was rushing her, arms encircling her waist. Bracing herself as best as she could, she dug her heels into the ground to ensure he didn’t drive her too far back--and when he went to lift her up, she was quick to hook her leg around his, making the attempt to block him from doing so. Should she succeed, she would attempt to wrap her own arms around him, a belly-to-belly suplex the maneuver she would go for if she succeeded.