[ fear isn't really an emotion Vergil is used to. it probably isn't even an emotion he's having now--the feeling racing through his mind being closer to panic and shock, probably, as there's a ringing in his ear that makes everything else sound somewhat muffled.
His right hand itches, wet with blood from where he'd sunk one of his favorite knives right in, kept sharp for regular use and made with artisan steel because, you know, a rich asshole has to have the best. those fingers almost feel numb with the ghost of the sensation that came with stabbing a person. His right hand now scrambling over the kitchen counter as he tried to pick up his phone. Forgetting his password, fumbling with the buttons as Dante backed up, blood blooming like some terrible flower over the material of one of the nice new shirts the man had bought.
Dante speaks, and the sound is muffled. The sound of his heart beating in his chest louder than the deep tone in Dante's throat, it's only when the man says his name that He's looking at the man with any sort of clarity for what just happened. His fingers freeze, gripping the phone almost tight enough to break it as the numbers 91 already lay idle on the screen. ]
--Are you mad? [ the first words he can manage to let slip past his tongue, a genuine confusion tinged in the nearly whispered words as his eyes fall down to where that knife sticks out at an odd angle. Vergil hadn't had enough strength to fully hilt the blade in him, but it was still deep enough to do lasting damage. especially given where it was driven in. he could have hit a lung, or even the man's heart.
...a terrible feeling, it is, when you realise that the memory you had most certainly had him aiming for the man's heart. ]
We --need to get you to a hospital, an ambulance, I'll, [ and oh, the sound Vergil makes
when dante
pulls the knife out
is not one that Vergil has ever made in his goddamn life. A small sound in his throat as air escaped in a pained hiss, and he damn near drops his phone. ]
--Are you stupid? [ he damn near shouts this time, phone clattering to the kitchen island as he rushes forward, snatching up a fancy-looking dish towel to---... try to stop a gout of blood that doesn't. come.
panic and worry fading from his eyes as, instead, confusion starts to cloud those catlike eyes instead. the pupil thin and focused as he levels them to look Dante in the face for the first time in minutes. ....what was. Going on here? ]
no subject
His right hand itches, wet with blood from where he'd sunk one of his favorite knives right in, kept sharp for regular use and made with artisan steel because, you know, a rich asshole has to have the best. those fingers almost feel numb with the ghost of the sensation that came with stabbing a person. His right hand now scrambling over the kitchen counter as he tried to pick up his phone.
Forgetting his password, fumbling with the buttons as Dante backed up, blood blooming like some terrible flower over the material of one of the nice new shirts the man had bought.
Dante speaks, and the sound is muffled. The sound of his heart beating in his chest louder than the deep tone in Dante's throat, it's only when the man says his name that He's looking at the man with any sort of clarity for what just happened.
His fingers freeze, gripping the phone almost tight enough to break it as the numbers 91 already lay idle on the screen. ]
--Are you mad? [ the first words he can manage to let slip past his tongue, a genuine confusion tinged in the nearly whispered words as his eyes fall down to where that knife sticks out at an odd angle. Vergil hadn't had enough strength to fully hilt the blade in him, but it was still deep enough to do lasting damage. especially given where it was driven in. he could have hit a lung, or even the man's heart.
...a terrible feeling, it is, when you realise that the memory you had most certainly had him aiming for the man's heart. ]
We --need to get you to a hospital, an ambulance, I'll, [ and oh, the sound Vergil makes
when dante
pulls the knife out
is not one that Vergil has ever made in his goddamn life. A small sound in his throat as air escaped in a pained hiss, and he damn near drops his phone. ]
--Are you stupid? [ he damn near shouts this time, phone clattering to the kitchen island as he rushes forward, snatching up a fancy-looking dish towel to---... try to stop a gout of blood that doesn't. come.
panic and worry fading from his eyes as, instead, confusion starts to cloud those catlike eyes instead. the pupil thin and focused as he levels them to look Dante in the face for the first time in minutes. ....what was. Going on here? ]