[ it's time for vergil to make that face again. that face where he doesn't like what the other is saying because it means he has to admit he's feeling something other than being just fine thank you and hoo boy he hates being called out when he's feeling something other than just fine thank you.
A hand moving up to rub his temple as he tries to loosen off the pressure of being annoyed at the call-out, looking over his fingers at dante. he's far more interested in the talk of devil arms and weapons with souls than he is about the subject of being pent up. ]
Being that they are made of demons. Can they transform to and from demon-to weapon shape. [ ...a long, quiet pause. ...hold on. ] Does that mean you, a demon, can become a weapon like that, as well. [ he's not sure if that's interesting or terrifying. ]
While I doubt any of my current stock downstairs include any devil arms, I will. I suppose. Pay another visit to that shop downtown to purchase another training weapon.
If I agree to spar with you, at least promise you'll do your best not to break said training weapons.
... [ because as he closes his eyes, he's suddenly hit with another quiet, almost somber memory of being on a playground. The sound of a creaky swingset echoes in the air nearby, and he's sitting on a horse-like seat with a wooden sword between his knees.
"You completely messed up the hand guard. Were you trying to break it out of my hands?" A young voice--one he recognises as his own, scolding that of a small boy sitting at his feet. Knees scraped up and scabbed over, bruises on his calves. He's rubbing his face, trying his best not to look guilty.
"Don't *cry* about it, it can be fixed. But with how often you just want to play swords with me--it's kind of dumb to break my sword, then we get no actual training done. ]
--It's kind of dumb to break my sword, then we get no actual training done.
[ Vergil mumbles, in exact time with the memory that drifts slowly out of his head. ]
no subject
A hand moving up to rub his temple as he tries to loosen off the pressure of being annoyed at the call-out, looking over his fingers at dante. he's far more interested in the talk of devil arms and weapons with souls than he is about the subject of being pent up. ]
Being that they are made of demons. Can they transform to and from demon-to weapon shape. [ ...a long, quiet pause. ...hold on. ] Does that mean you, a demon, can become a weapon like that, as well. [ he's not sure if that's interesting or terrifying. ]
While I doubt any of my current stock downstairs include any devil arms, I will. I suppose. Pay another visit to that shop downtown to purchase another training weapon.
If I agree to spar with you, at least promise you'll do your best not to break said training weapons.
...
[ because as he closes his eyes, he's suddenly hit with another quiet, almost somber memory of being on a playground. The sound of a creaky swingset echoes in the air nearby, and he's sitting on a horse-like seat with a wooden sword between his knees.
"You completely messed up the hand guard. Were you trying to break it out of my hands?" A young voice--one he recognises as his own, scolding that of a small boy sitting at his feet. Knees scraped up and scabbed over, bruises on his calves. He's rubbing his face, trying his best not to look guilty.
"Don't *cry* about it, it can be fixed. But with how often you just want to play swords with me--it's kind of dumb to break my sword, then we get no actual training done. ]
--It's kind of dumb to break my sword, then we get no actual training done.
[ Vergil mumbles, in exact time with the memory that drifts slowly out of his head. ]