[ he's getting it under control. His hands clenching between his knees as he slowly moves to sit up straigher, so he can look at the man a little more fully. He's gotten control of his breathing, the panicked edges of his vision starting to return to normal as his heart rate steadily returns to something somewhat normal. Vittore has always been the sort of person to curtail his emotions, but there's something else in his mind that doesn't feel like it was there before, telling him to calm himself. Concentrate, get himself back into a state of mind where he was showing no weakness.
He'll listen to dante again, after his, honestly, very pointed question. It was the one thing that wouldn't stop bothering him for a while. Dante had approached him like someone who had lost a dear friend, a lost family member. And yet, other than the memories that were clearly that of children--all his memories of Dante were so. Violent. Burning, a rivalry that went beyond that of friendly sport.
It's why it had been so easy to stab the man. It was natural. It was the most natural reaction in the world, and while he himself had come back to earth to realise the weight of the action, Dante had laughed.
To hear they never hated each other makes him feel, unsure. But, at the same time, it felt right, too. While his memories were that of him fighting Dante with every attempt to keep him on the ground, the emotions in those moments were never hatred. They were always ever the same. Guilt. Jealousy. ]
...Power. I was focused on that? [ he says with a... quiet voice, that he can't actually bring himself to hide the quiet amusement in it. It's... it's uncanny, that, because... well. That's something they can talk about later, because right now, what's more important is talking about the last thing Dante just said. It made a weight appear in his chest and it steadily is beginning to gain weight.
He closes his eyes, before moving to stand. He'd regained the strength in his legs, the jellylike feeling fading. He slowly moves over to Dante, where he offers him a hand. ]
I may not be the brother you remember. And it may take me some time to get back to someone you recognise. I am more than certain that won't be easy for you, just as it is difficult for me to be remembering these. Thoughts and feelings that are mine, but have been lost.
I have never been good at this family thing. So you will have to also learn to live with that.
...
And likely deal with a few more stab wounds in the future, if you pull something foolish like that again. [ this is vergil language for 'i'm not going anywhere this time', probably. ]
no subject
He'll listen to dante again, after his, honestly, very pointed question. It was the one thing that wouldn't stop bothering him for a while. Dante had approached him like someone who had lost a dear friend, a lost family member. And yet, other than the memories that were clearly that of children--all his memories of Dante were so. Violent. Burning, a rivalry that went beyond that of friendly sport.
It's why it had been so easy to stab the man. It was natural. It was the most natural reaction in the world, and while he himself had come back to earth to realise the weight of the action, Dante had laughed.
To hear they never hated each other makes him feel, unsure. But, at the same time, it felt right, too. While his memories were that of him fighting Dante with every attempt to keep him on the ground, the emotions in those moments were never hatred. They were always ever the same. Guilt. Jealousy. ]
...Power. I was focused on that? [ he says with a... quiet voice, that he can't actually bring himself to hide the quiet amusement in it. It's... it's uncanny, that, because... well. That's something they can talk about later, because right now, what's more important is talking about the last thing Dante just said. It made a weight appear in his chest and it steadily is beginning to gain weight.
He closes his eyes, before moving to stand. He'd regained the strength in his legs, the jellylike feeling fading. He slowly moves over to Dante, where he offers him a hand. ]
I may not be the brother you remember. And it may take me some time to get back to someone you recognise. I am more than certain that won't be easy for you, just as it is difficult for me to be remembering these. Thoughts and feelings that are mine, but have been lost.
I have never been good at this family thing.
So you will have to also learn to live with that.
...
And likely deal with a few more stab wounds in the future, if you pull something foolish like that again. [ this is vergil language for 'i'm not going anywhere this time', probably. ]