[ there's no question that the next few days were the weirdest Vittore has ever experienced in his life. he's always been a lonely person by nature--having a private dorm through university, the only peers he truly kept were professional ones, kept at arm's length
Having someone in your space was... not what he was used to. hard to adjust to, but somehow, at the same time, he didn't hate it as much as he thought he would. it made him doubletake, the first day or so when he caught a glimpse of the man in the corner of his eye. almost startled to see him there before remembering, right, he'd done this.
and just as august promised, the memories didn't stop, either. they're subtle, for now; flashes of memory that included his longer-haired opposite. usually somewhere dark, usually armed with some sort of weapon. almost always talking to one another in snarky, level-headed voices that didn't quite sound brotherly. he mostly couldn't remember what was being said between himself and Dante in those memories, but along with them always came the feelings of jealousy, guilt and ... a longing, that he can't quite figure out.
he'd asked dante a few questions, of course, in the coming days. always keeping them shallow, for now--he still needed time to adjust. things like, were you always so fascinated with swords why is it that i always get angry when you touch my books how have you survived this long with such an aversion to vegetables why do you dress like a cowboy, is that style popular back where we once lived
and the such
he wasn't so keen on asking the deeper questions like why his memories always smelled like blood, like brimstone the sound of clashing swords ...and why there was something so wild in his heart that it didn't even feel like himself in those memories, and why was it absent, now
no, those need to come later, when he's remembered more, seen more
and more comfortable with the fact that, for some reason, the thought of being violent towards dante didn't feel
wrong.
But for now, Dante is downstairs, the time clicking slowly to five, when the shop would close And Vittore is in his kitchen. Dies Irae playing loudly on a somewhat refurbished vinyl player, echoing loudly through his very clean kitchen as Vergil cut and tied some home-made gnocchi for tonight's dinner.
He doesn't even turn his head when Dante enters the room. ]
Action : [ a few days after Dante moved in ]
Having someone in your space was... not what he was used to. hard to adjust to, but somehow, at the same time, he didn't hate it as much as he thought he would. it made him doubletake, the first day or so when he caught a glimpse of the man in the corner of his eye. almost startled to see him there before remembering, right, he'd done this.
and just as august promised, the memories didn't stop, either. they're subtle, for now; flashes of memory that included his longer-haired opposite. usually somewhere dark, usually armed with some sort of weapon. almost always talking to one another in snarky, level-headed voices that didn't quite sound brotherly.
he mostly couldn't remember what was being said between himself and Dante in those memories, but along with them always came the feelings of jealousy, guilt and ... a longing, that he can't quite figure out.
he'd asked dante a few questions, of course, in the coming days. always keeping them shallow, for now--he still needed time to adjust. things like, were you always so fascinated with swords
why is it that i always get angry when you touch my books
how have you survived this long with such an aversion to vegetables
why do you dress like a cowboy, is that style popular back where we once lived
and the such
he wasn't so keen on asking the deeper questions
like why his memories always smelled like blood, like brimstone
the sound of clashing swords
...and why there was something
so wild in his heart that it didn't even feel like himself in those memories, and why was it absent, now
no, those need to come later, when he's remembered more, seen more
and more comfortable with the fact that, for some reason, the thought of being violent towards dante didn't feel
wrong.
But for now, Dante is downstairs, the time clicking slowly to five, when the shop would close
And Vittore is in his kitchen. Dies Irae playing loudly on a somewhat refurbished vinyl player, echoing loudly through his very clean kitchen as Vergil cut and tied some home-made gnocchi for tonight's dinner.
He doesn't even turn his head when Dante enters the room. ]