[ no, there's something else that sets his mind on fire when the action is done. perhaps, before he'd started to remember these thoughts that weren't there before, the action would have annoyed him, made him shrug dante off, yell at him for being so touchy. And that SHOULD be the proper response.
Because how is he supposed to feel when, instead, there's a feeling like a dark, electric fog in his head. A panic that runs so deep at Dante being too close to his unguarded back, his hands where he couldn't see them? What manner of weapon was he using, and where would it find its purchase, how much blood would he lose how could he be so stupid to turn his back to dante? the man's fighting style was sloppy, without grace--running in head-first without a bit of forethought, relying on all the aggression of a beast from hell and still, somehow, finding his mark with it?
how could he turn his back, knowing the rebellion could easily --
Vergil's hand flicks and there's nearly a whistle in the air as he spins the knife in his hand. Eyes going wide, flashing a nearly glowing blue as he shoves backward--hard--against Dante, turning in a moment and DRIVING his sword between his ribs, on the right side-- ]
[ ...and then his eyes return to normal, the memory--the feeling fades away as he remembers where he is--WHO he is--and there's blood on his hands. his heartbeat loud in his head as his fingers pull away from the knife and he takes a step backward. Eyes wide with horror of what he's done.
His mouth falling open as his vision pulses again, black on the edges, lines of red surrounding them as he tries to say something
[ a grumble and a shove are what dante had expected, in truth, dancing back a few steps as vergil glowers at him for invading his personal space unprompted. he should've known better, of course, with all the memories flicking in and out of the guy's head, he should've known that he'd be still on edge despite the decent few days they have had. he really should have known but, for some reason, it never once entered his head.
the downside of being so close is that he has very little time to react when vergil turns on him, blade in hand, and stabs it directly between his ribs. there is very little time for dante to attempt to dodge or reflect the knife as it sinks through flesh and muscle and he stumbles back a couple of steps with a pained noise. eyes wide, whites flashing black, blues turning bright red, as it takes everything in him not to summon his devil sword to his side and strike back.
wait...
the blow is a surprise, knocks the wind from his lungs, but he notices distantly watching blood drip to the tiled floor beneath him, that it doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. one of the first things dante noticed upon arriving was that his limbs felt heavy, that the usual scrapes he has always walked off without much of care actually hurt. he had been stripped back to something a lot less demon and a lot more human, his regenerative abilities aside. it had been something of a humbling experience that, as he stood in nero's place late at night as pain blossomed from his sliced open hand. so his first thought upon registering the fact there is a knife in his chest (he thinks it got his lung) is that this should hurt like hell, but it doesn't─ it still hurts but not the mind-numbing pain a normal everyday person might be experiencing.
dante laughs, the sound more of a wheeze than actual laughter, hands reaching up to gently touch the blood-soaked shirt about the knife. ]
Ow... My ba─ [ whatever smartass comment he was going to make is immediately cut off by the look on vergil's face, the wide-eyed horror he has never once seen from his twin's face. oh, that's right, he doesn't know. the elephant in the room. ] Vergil, look at me. [ there is no way he's going to be able to do kindly, he thinks, might as well rip the bandaid right the fuck off. ] It's okay, it's okay.
[ his expression turns apologetic as he straightens up, one hand wrapping around the knife's hand, and pulls it back out, coughing as his flesh knits itself back together in a matter of seconds. ]
[ 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? ]
[ fear isn't something he is used to seeing on vergil's face, nor panic or even shock, they are painfully human that he feels an ache in his chest. an ache he can't wholly place, nor fully name. it is worse with the sound that vergil makes, that sort of reaction someone normal, someone adjusted, someone wholly human would make at the sight of their very own twin pulling the knife from where he had lodged it. you're not supposed to remove the object, after all, when you've been stabbed unless you want to bleed out.
he laughs again sheepish, the sound more normal, as he reaches up to wipe the blood that had begun to leak from the corner of his mouth away, as vergil all but drops his phone and rushes at him with a concern that he has never ever seen. ]
Told you, it's okay.
[ oh, how their mother would cry happy tears to see them now. to see vergil expressing such concern for his twin, to see them not fighting, to see the fond look smeared across dante's face. he almost wishes he didn't have to explain himself, that he could just avoid it and continue on without dropping this particular bomb on his still very much human brother. he's happier like this and dante doesn't really want to be the one to destroy that. ]
[ he's had first aid training!!!! did you know it's like, required, when you own a business, that you need at least emergency first aid training? because you do. and part of that training is puncture wounds and you ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE THE KNIFE OR WHATEVER ELSE IS LODGED IN OUT. And yet here he is, eyes on the knife, then eyes to dante. rather, eyes to the STAB WOUND that's just underneath that nice new shirt of his.
and the worst part is dante is LAUGHING about it. it feels maddening, like there's some big cosmic joke happening. as he strains to try to figure out what it is he's missing--and then his mind drifts to the memories he's already spent all week obsessing over. How, in those dreams of fighting and clashing with the man in red, that whenever a sword bit or tore at him, it hurt, it bled--but it never continued bleeding.
(why?) he's going to use that towel he'd grabbed up to hastily clean the blood off his hand, almost as if he needs to. just. do something with his hands before he completely loses his mind, here. ]
Sitting is probably a good idea. [ he won't admit that his legs feel like jelly. don't mind if he just tears his eyes away from dante to cross over to the small dining-room table where he sits, his elbows going on his knees, his head tilted down as he continues to unfortunately, consciously breathe. ]
When you pull an object out of a stab wound, it's supposed to gout.
You can start there. You have ... some sort of ability to shrug off wounds?
[ it isn't like it doesn't hurt at all, it still does, fucking stings as muscles and flesh knit themselves back together with a speed normally not seen in humans. he can't help the laugh, the realization his pain threshold feels... normal again, that he isn't in utter agony one might expect from being stabbed in the ribs with an incredibly sharp kitchen knife.
(he has to go see a guy about a 300lbs gun after this.)
he has to laugh because even if the blow had hurt as much as he had expected it to initially, the move itself was so very vergil. It's exactly why dante makes no other moves, only watches as vergil attempts to clean the blood from his hands and crosses the room to sit at the dining table, elbows resting on his knees and head tilted down.
with vergil settled dante moves about the kitchen, sparing a glance at the pool of blood left on the tiles. he shrugs off his coat, then shirt, tossing the former onto one of the chairs of dining room table while he runs his now crumpled-up shirt under some hot water. better clean that blood up now before it has a chance to stain the tiles, he thinks, ringing out his shirt and moves back to the pool. ]
Something like that. [ okay, well... here goes nothing. ] I'm not human, not completely. [ dante crouches down, using his shirt to wipe up the blood while ignoring the stains of red on his own chest. ] I'm sure you heard about the whole demon problem in the city, yeah? Well, that sort of shit is normal for me. Demons, magic, witches, it's pretty run of the mill back home.
[ only when the tiles come up clean does he stop and lift his gaze to vergil. ]
And, well, to put a long story short our mother attracted the attention of probably one of the strongest demons out there; the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda. It was one of those epic love stories, they got married and had a pair of bouncing baby boys.
[ it was a Very Vergil move. Even as he sits here, at the table, eyes lifted up just enough so he can watch dante work while he's talking, he himself is baffled on how he'd managed to ...spin the knife like that, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, for him. he'd never trained to use any sort of weapon, not yet--and somehow still he'd managed to twist around the long knife in such a way that he didn't hurt himself, and planted it firmly inside someone elses' body.
He's gonna have to throw that knife out.
'something like that'. It's vague, and while he'd been used to most of Dante's answers so far being cagey, avoidant, and subtle drops of 'too much, right now' the information that the reason why the man had shrugged off a knife to the chest was because the man wasn't human... was going to take a minute. ]
I have heard. Yes. [ he does confirm, with a small tightness to his voice, when asked about the city's demon problem. it's part of the reason he hadn't really left the house--he had NO interest in getting mixed up with things that could mess him up. Hearing that supernatural things in Dante's world wasn't so strange--now that he himself accepted the supernatural, knowing it existed in his other 'life' was pretty much the easiest thing to believe, but.
...The lines are easy to cross here, even if Dante's storytelling wasn't really the best. Cliffnotes. He was getting a fucking cliffnotes version of what was probably a much deeper story.
It's fine. He doesn't need details. He'll remember it eventually. Probably? His head is raising now to look at Dante fully, eyes etching along where the bloodstains on him show where he was stabbed. but there's no mark; no scar. nothing? insanity. ]
A demon. Dark Knight Sparda. [ he repeats these words, words he doesn't know; has never heard before, and yet he knew they were right. his eyes close, and his teeth grit--the image of a beautiful blonde woman sitting between himself and a bratty looking kid with a mirror of his own face. ]
And those boys. They were 'Dante' and 'Vergil'. [ he makes the connection, looking down at his hands. Still stained with blood, but. ... it's not as if they hadn't had blood on them before. ]
[ dante chooses to sit there, in the same spot he had been bleeding on the floor mere moments earlier, legs crossed and arms behind him propping up his torso as he leans back a little. there is more to the story, of course, more than a simple mom met dad and had kids, there's what happened to sparda, what happened to eva, what happened to the place they called their home ─ but that has always been a touch subject for both of the twins, one dante isn't prepared to broach unless vergil asks.
the fire, that day, it's definitely in the 'too much' category right now. ]
You got it. [ even the slightest mention of her drags memories from the depths of his mind, memories that leave something warm in his chest and yet also dig an invisible knife deep into his gut. he can still remember her face as clear as day; the warmth of her smile, the softness of her hair, the way she would hold them in her arms and tell them she loved them. dante exhales, gaze flicking up towards the ceiling. ] I'm half-demon, and being the son of a demon as strong as Sparda was I'm pretty hard to kill. My body can heal from pretty much anything.
[ a beat and he looks back to vergil, searching for something in what little of his face he can see. ]
I'm also stronger than a human, faster, can take a lot more hits, and fight for a lot longer.
[ tell him about the fire right now and he might flashback so hard he passes out. no, that's for another day, he's already dealt with enough of a heart palpitation today to do him for the rest of the month, thanks far, far in advance.
While he doesn't currently have any memories of their apparent shared mother other than images that don't have any meaning--for some reason, it... twinges in his mind anyway. His own mother, who had died due to some genetic issue at an age well over 50, looked nothing like this one that sticks in his head, now. This one made him feel... jealous, again, why. Why is it always jealousy? ]
The names strike me that she was a fan of classics. Something I suppose I can appreciate as well. [ but dante and vergil, REALLY? who does that, he's trying to add a bit of levity to the talk, so his hands will stop, uh. shaking. ]
Heal almost anything. Even a steel blade to the ... [ nope, he doesn't want to think about it. ]
Other than when we were kids. Every memory I have of you, we are at odds. I am making every attempt to kill you, by the way I can tell. And you, too, are doing everything to kill me.
...I have a particular memory of. Pinning you down, on a rain-covered night with a blade far too large for anyone to recover from were it to ... [ he makes a gesture. at his chest. ]
Dante, why in the hell were you so relieved to see me, when all I can glean from my memories is a deep hatred between us. [ he just doesn't understand it yet. he hasn't reached those memories yet. ]
[ it's his hand at dante watches carefully, watches the way the trembling that is so alien to him. vergil had never been scared, never been unsure, even when they were kids he was always so sure and steady. on those nights when dante would wake up crying from some sort of bad dream it was always vergil who would assure him, who would wrap his arms around him and soothe him back to sleep. to see him tremble, it's almost too much.
dante links his own hands together in his lap and laughs again, though it is little more than a puff of air than an actual laugh. ]
Yeah, I know the one. [ if vergil had never stabbed him with rebellion that night, would he had ever awakened to this devil in his blood? ] It's... difficult to explain.
We never hated each other, Vergil. [ he looks down at his own hands, bloody fingers interlinking as he tries to find the right words. they've never been good at properly expressing their feelings through words, after all, it's always been easier through actions, through the clash of blades on top of a tower, at the mouth of hell. ] We disagreed on some things, some pretty big things. You wanted power, for a while I did honestly think you were just power-hungry but there was more to it than that.
[ it took him longer than it should of to realize vergil's want for power came from that night, from the fire, from the belief he was too weak to protect that which mattered to him most. ]
As to why I was so relieved? [ another laugh, another exhale of air, his stomach twists and everything in dante screams to leave. ] You're my brother, my twin, my other half. [ his voice lowers, becomes infinitely smaller, as though he could confess it all and if he were lucky no one hear. ] You're the only family I have left, you know? I lost you time and time again.
[ not anymore, not since nero, but he isn't sure mentioning the kid would be a good idea right now. ]
[ 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. ]
[ the response comes out quick, almost snapped, as he feels his hackles raise and his blood pump that little bit faster. he's not sure where it comes from, either, maybe some panicked thought that vergil might hate him for searching for the brother he remembers instead of the person he is now? maybe because he feels like he is teetering on a knife's edge with vergil, as if a single gust of wind the wrong way will make it all tumble down. maybe because some small part of him is terrified of the concept of losing him again, of watching his lips through his fingers like sand and being powerless to stop it. ]
I don't─ I'm not asking you to go back to how you were, honestly, you were kind of an ass a lot of the time. [ maybe he'll turn out like nero, a mixture of both the person he is here and now and the person he was back home. dante isn't sure, isn't sure how to handle it. ] I just...
[ when he lifts his head vergil's hand is there, in front of him, offered to him. blue eyes widen with surprise, words catching in his throat as he all but stares at vergil's hand for a moment. and then another. and then a third. eventually, he swallows the lump in his throat and reaches out to take the hand, using vergil as an anchor to pull himself back up to standing. ]
You're not the only one, Verg. [ his voice is uneven, the smile that finds his face crooked. ] Though I think I've proven I can handle a few stabbings.
[ he can tell he struck a particularly raw cord with dante. a part of him even feels bad about it--it was an obvious comment to make, but he also felt he needed to have it said. Was it because he didn't want to disappoint this man who's clearly lost something important? Or was it because some part of him, deep down and hidden, wanted to take the man down a peg? Whatever it was, he frowns inwardly about it.
He'll pull the man to his feet, and he'll take a moment before letting go of his hand, returning it to the towel he's not put down since all of this started.
Finally looking the other in the eye again. ]
I can tell. [ a pause. ] That I was an asshole. ...Not that I am overly kind, currently, sharing space with you is still something I'm getting used to, given you really can't keep your hands off my things.
[ isnt this a familar line. ]
But I digress. I'm certain I'll get used to it. The memories I am getting aren't going to go away, and in a way, perhaps it's better if you're here, than... off somewhere else, being an idiot. Getting in someone elses' way.
[ what does that even MEAN. ]
As an aside. I came to Kaisou in search for power. It isn't a drive I had before I ... woke up with silver hair and the magic I do have. I'm not sure why I have the drive now, but it's there.
[ for a moment dante's hand hovers awkwardly in the space between them, absently curling into itself as though to keep the warmth that vergil's provided from fading entirely before it falls to his side fingers curled into a light fist. he has always been more contact focused than vergil, ever since they were kids, something that shifted after that fateful night, after that day he watched his brother plummet into the underworld. he kept people at a distance and didn't physically reach out as much as he used to out of fear. fear of losing someone else he loved. but now? now dante feels the need to reach out, to touch, as though to remind himself that this isn't some sort of insane hallucination brought about by loneliness.
pathetic, right? ]
We're brothers, Verg. Brothers share. [ familiar enough to almost feel like a punch to the gut, but dante recovers spectacularly, even though the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] Is that your way of saying you'd be worried about me out there on my lonesome?
[ but the smile faulters slightly and dante shifts his weight, a darker look finding his eyes. i came to kaisou in search for power. it shouldn't surprise him and, in truth, it doesn't, that drive dragged vergil back from the very brink, drove him to rip his humanity, his memories and nightmares, from his very being. but he doesn't remember the why, what set that feeling so deep in his chest that he carried it for over twenty years. ]
I could tell you, but it's a long story and I don't know if you can handle another heart attack today.
[ perhaps, in a view, it could have been seen as pathetic. maybe, were Vittore fully in a mindset that belonged to vergil he might suggest the want for contact as pathetic. insofar as he was always the more unfriendly of the two--mostly out of feeling embarrassed, instead of actually disliking the contact. Truth was, he never once turned dante away when they were kids, when Dante had a bad dream and asked to sleep in Vergil's bed. Not once when he got spooked by their father yelling and wanted to sit next to him, on the couch as Vergil read one of his stupidly long poetry books. Dante had always wanted to be in his space, and somehow as they stand here, face to face in his kitchen, the moment isn't awkward.
it's familiar.
Maybe that's why Vergil doesn't move away. ]
...I recall you used to steal my things, in your desperate want to share. ...But I digress. I've already agreed to let you live here, and I am not about to rescind the invitation. [ a beat. ] And I would not worry, I'd be merely concerned about the trouble you could cause.
[ yes, he'd be worried.
He's moving a little now, looking for that abandoned knife as the others' smile flickers. His want for power is returning, yes--but perhaps by the time he remembers why he wants it, he'll not be so desperate for it anymore. Perhaps. Not once he remembers the reflections he made atop of a lonely chair at the very top of a twisted, evil tree... ]
...yes. I've had quite enough excitement for one day. [ And he does pause. Thinking. Calculating. Trying to get the words to form. ]
[ it's enough that vergil doesn't move away, that he stays close enough that if dante wanted to (and he does) he could easily reach over and grab him. it seems to settle the need for contact, or at the very least make it easier to stomach. his shoulders aren't nearly as tense with vergil this close, muscles not coiled in such a way that one would not be remiss in thinking he is about three seconds from either bolting or attacking. dante's always been more relaxed in his brother's presence, after all, even when their blades were at each other's throats. ]
I only stole them because you wouldn't pay attention to me, Vergil. [ majority of the time, yes, dante felt the need to take the very things that vergil would pay more attention to than his own brother. even on that fateful day, all those years ago, dante had tried to take his stupid book with the emblazoned v ─ an action that would result in the pair fighting and vergil running away out of frustration with his brother. it had been dante's desire for his twin's attention that caused vergil to be absent when the demons attacked, that caused their mother to run out into the fire and the demons in search of him, that left dante alone as the world he knew crumbled down around him.
fuck.
dante pushes the thoughts down, latching onto vergil's next words like a drowning man out at sea. don't think about it, don't do this shit again. ] It's okay I know the truth, you'd be all lonely without me.
[ vergil moves, looking for the knife, as dante shifts his weight foot hitting the bloody blade beside him. he leans down and picks it up, dirtying his fingers even further, only to straighten a second later and holding it up to vergil. ]
[ feels weird to move away right now, anyway. like it'd be breaking some sort of tension that's holding him together the, honestly, terrifying experience of stabbing another human being. ... Demon? Devil? It wasn't that simple, he still needs time to think on it. Apologising felt strange, and what feels even stranger
is having the other admit that he stole his shit just for attention. It makes something prickle in him, and emotion that he's sure doesn't fully belong to him. No, it belongs to him, Vergil--not Vittore. Like he's just been told something he'd never put the lines together for, some secret that has been eluding him for years that he's finally got an answer to.
He only took his things because he wouldn't pay attention to him. Always preferring to be alone with his books--a selfish child who didn't understand the concept of loneliness. His heart feels like it has a pit in it--a bad joke in Dante's next comment being that he'd be lonely without Him.
(it's probably true, isn't it. how the tables had turned, how dante had grown, so surrounded by people who care for him--and how lonely vergil had become as the years grew long, grew cold.)
He seems to come back to reality when Dante offers him that. Bloodied knife. Telling him not to apologise. A silent, breathless laugh escaping him as he feels, very suddenly, so very lost for words. As if he was missing some other way to communicate with the man. They always had a different way of communicating, didn't they? When the words wouldn't come?
...
Vergil grabs the knife and immediately marches over to the garbage bin, throwing it inside. ]
I am not using a knife that's been in your lung to cook with.
I will buy a new one, and we can try to forget that happened. [ he's never gonna forget it. one day they'll look back at this and laugh. probably. ]
...
And that shirt you used to wipe up the blood was Armani.
[ a terrible joke to reflect from dante, to reflect from the truth that he would be lonely without his brother at his side. that he had been lonely during all those years of unending grief, even as surrounded as he was, that there was always something missing ─ a hole that he couldn't fill no matter how many women (or men) entered his life, no matter how much he drank, how much he fought, how much he would push himself to his very limits. dante had been lonely, terribly lonely, right up until the day v walked through his door.
but he won't say that, not sober at least, won't put that weakness out in front of vergil to take in and mull over. it's too early for that, too much to even consider, and dante would rather he didn't fall to his own emotions this early.
eyebrow raise as vergil grabs the knife, blue eyes blinking as he marches over and tosses the knife away. what a waste of a knife. it was a good one too, he thinks, considering how clearly it sliced through skin and muscle to dig itself into his lung. it'd be a shame to lose it really, but he can't blame vergil for throwing it away considering that very fact. ]
Well, human blood is considered the source of demon's power, you know? [ he shrugs, picking up the ruined shirt to try and clean his hands of blood. ] Just saying it could've added a little bit of a kick.
[ it's a joke, of course, he isn't seriously suggesting that vergil start adding blood to his meals ─ never mind the demonic side of him thrashing against its chains at the very thought. ]
Oh? Was it? [ he looks at the shirt, bloody and torn from where the knife had hit him. ] Whoops.
[ maybe one day when Vergil is more like Nero--remembering who he is and mixing who he is now, they could share a drink and maybe say one or two sentences about how stupid life had been and how it really hadn't been necessary to force themselves into such a position where they were so desperately alone and yet right there the whole time.
it definitely isn't a conversation to be sober with. Honestly, Vergil doesn't want to be sober now and is quietly contemplating the wine he's got chilling in the fridge.
Also the knife is DEFINITELY a good one but there's no way he's using it again. Man have you ever heard of prion diseases?! ]
I will remind you that while you have a demon half, I am, sorely, very human in this world. Despite how I may look. [ the slitted eyes got questions from people. ] My only supernatural abilities are quite pathetic compared to... being able to instantly heal from a stab wound.
...
Also yes it was. But I suppose I can overlook it this time. Given it was me who put a hole in it, in the first place.
[ YOU SHOULD CARE BECAUSE ITS PROBABLY, LIKE, A 90$ SHIRT YOU FUCK. ]
[ there are too many maybes for dante to hope, but he does regardless, he sits and waits for memories to filter in so the weight can lift from his chest and he can finally breathe again. he'll need a drink after this one, he thinks, something strong enough to quell the demon in his blood that demands violence, that demands blood, that demands─
he huffs out a laugh, shoulders raising in a half-hearted shrug. honest, it wasn't a serious suggestion. ]
Right, right, please forgive me. [ dante continues to clean his hands with the shirt, seemingly unbothered by the fact the shirt was supposedly expensive. well, it isn't anymore, fabric is fabric in the end of the day, better he ruins this thing further than get blood all over vergil's tea towels. ]
Might have to burn it. [ he comments offhandedly. ] Unless you want someone rooting through your trash looking for some demonic blood. That shit can be potent, even half demon blood.
[ its fine probably, dante's been here long enough to know that vergil keeps a fair stock of wine in the kitchen And while it probably isn't the wilder twin's drink of choice, it sure can do the trick in numbing the brain, given that it's the good expensive wine. Vergil wont miss a bottle being gone. probably. right? ]
I'll overlook it. [ he's going to also just. pretend he's not watching dante wash his hands with a 130$ shirt, it's fine, it's just a shirt, it's a good sacrifice to pay in regards to not having to explain to the police why he'd stabbed his twin brother in his kitchen.
....his twin brother from a different dimension, no less. Ah, but now there's his brain stalling again as he rounds his head to look at dante--having started to busy himself at the sink, washing blood out from the crevices in his fingers. ]
Please tell me that is a joke. Your tone does not change when you are being serious and when you are laying it on thick. Do you think something ... unsightly will go digging about in the trash for something soaked in your blood.
[ dante lifts his head to look over at vergil, expression almost deadly serious at the question. honestly? he'd loved to be lying because it is definitely something that dante would do but in this? nope, there is no lie. ]
If they figured out that you've got a half-demon under your roof? Probably. [ he cleans off what he can without water, shifting his weight and moving over to the sink. ] Blood is a component in a lot of magic-based things, the more potent the blood the stronger whatever you're trying to do can be. Demonic blood is pretty fucking potent, and the demons back home... [ his voice drifts off almost considering whether or not he should even say this. ] Let's just say in order to become King of the Underworld it involves growing a fruit made out of human blood. The more they ingest the stronger they are.
[ blue eyes glance over at vergil, searching his expression for any sort of recognition, a twitch in his face that tells dante another memory has slipped through the cracks. ]
For the record? I don't drink blood. [ just in case he was wondering. ] But being part human makes my blood exceptionally potent. So yeah, if someone figured it out I'm sure you might have someone digging through the trash for my blood soaked shirt.
[ a fruit made of human blood. he blinks, twice, at the story, and he's sure that he's read a story somewhere in his vast collection of books, even lifting his head up to look toward the livingroom, which has about six bookshelves in it--with a thoughtful look on his face. ]
There are many stories of blood as being power in old folklore, such as the Aztecs drinking blood to gain power and immortality, as well as Vampires needing it to...
[ ...there's a taste of iron in his mouth, as those catlike eyes go still, the roaring voice in his head screaming that
with this
he could obtain everything.
...that wasn't his voice. That wasn't HIS voice, and... ]
Did we. Fight something that ate a fruit like that? There's... many eyes, and a distorted scene of a house.
...
[ ...hm. he's staring down at the shirt, now, with a look of INTENSE dislike for the idea that someone could start stalking the house if they found out that demon blood could come out of the garbage at any time. any time!!! ]
dante all but stills, eyes widening, he shifts closer and takes vergil by the shoulders as though the motion itself would be enough to stop the memory from bleeding through. there is no gentle way to tell him about that; the fruit, urizen, about v, or any of that. one question would lead into the another, into mallet island, into temen-ni-gru, into that fateful night where their mother died, into where was their father why wasn't he there why didn't he stop it. but he can't stop the memories, no matter how hard he might try, they'll keep coming and dante made the resolve not to lie to him that same night vergil asked him to stay. ]
Not exactly. [ the shirt is forgotten, dropped to the floor between them. ] It's more complicated than that.
[ at least this time when he's grabbed, he doesn't have an adverse reaction to it. and hey, dante grabbing him by the shoulders actually DOES shake him out from remembering anything else? congratulations? you probably just ripped him out of something he wasn't ready to see, dante. ]
...Are you alright. [ his eyebrows furrow as his head tilts a little--confusion clouding his eyes for the moment as the man holds him as if he's going to slip through his fingers again.
a hand coming up to rest on dante's arm, as if to anchor the man down from wherever he's going? ]
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2/2
Because how is he supposed to feel when, instead, there's a feeling like a dark, electric fog in his head. A panic that runs so deep at Dante being too close to his unguarded back, his hands where he couldn't see them? What manner of weapon was he using, and where would it find its purchase, how much blood would he lose
how could he be so stupid to turn his back to dante? the man's fighting style was sloppy, without grace--running in head-first without a bit of forethought, relying on all the aggression of a beast from hell and still, somehow, finding his mark with it?
how could he turn his back, knowing the rebellion could easily --
Vergil's hand flicks and there's nearly a whistle in the air as he spins the knife in his hand. Eyes going wide, flashing a nearly glowing blue as he shoves backward--hard--against Dante, turning in a moment and DRIVING his sword between his ribs, on the right side-- ]
[ ...and then his eyes return to normal, the memory--the feeling fades away as he remembers where he is--WHO he is--and there's blood on his hands. his heartbeat loud in his head as his fingers pull away from the knife and he takes a step backward. Eyes wide with horror of what he's done.
His mouth falling open as his vision pulses again, black on the edges, lines of red surrounding them as he tries to say something
apologise
panic, shout
phone
where's the phone
he needs to call 911
He's just killed a man in his kitchen. ]
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the downside of being so close is that he has very little time to react when vergil turns on him, blade in hand, and stabs it directly between his ribs. there is very little time for dante to attempt to dodge or reflect the knife as it sinks through flesh and muscle and he stumbles back a couple of steps with a pained noise. eyes wide, whites flashing black, blues turning bright red, as it takes everything in him not to summon his devil sword to his side and strike back.
wait...
the blow is a surprise, knocks the wind from his lungs, but he notices distantly watching blood drip to the tiled floor beneath him, that it doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. one of the first things dante noticed upon arriving was that his limbs felt heavy, that the usual scrapes he has always walked off without much of care actually hurt. he had been stripped back to something a lot less demon and a lot more human, his regenerative abilities aside. it had been something of a humbling experience that, as he stood in nero's place late at night as pain blossomed from his sliced open hand. so his first thought upon registering the fact there is a knife in his chest (he thinks it got his lung) is that this should hurt like hell, but it doesn't─ it still hurts but not the mind-numbing pain a normal everyday person might be experiencing.
dante laughs, the sound more of a wheeze than actual laughter, hands reaching up to gently touch the blood-soaked shirt about the knife. ]
Ow... My ba─ [ whatever smartass comment he was going to make is immediately cut off by the look on vergil's face, the wide-eyed horror he has never once seen from his twin's face. oh, that's right, he doesn't know. the elephant in the room. ] Vergil, look at me. [ there is no way he's going to be able to do kindly, he thinks, might as well rip the bandaid right the fuck off. ] It's okay, it's okay.
[ his expression turns apologetic as he straightens up, one hand wrapping around the knife's hand, and pulls it back out, coughing as his flesh knits itself back together in a matter of seconds. ]
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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? ]
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he laughs again sheepish, the sound more normal, as he reaches up to wipe the blood that had begun to leak from the corner of his mouth away, as vergil all but drops his phone and rushes at him with a concern that he has never ever seen. ]
Told you, it's okay.
[ oh, how their mother would cry happy tears to see them now. to see vergil expressing such concern for his twin, to see them not fighting, to see the fond look smeared across dante's face. he almost wishes he didn't have to explain himself, that he could just avoid it and continue on without dropping this particular bomb on his still very much human brother. he's happier like this and dante doesn't really want to be the one to destroy that. ]
You're... gonna want to sit down for this, Verg.
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and part of that training is puncture wounds and you ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE THE KNIFE OR WHATEVER ELSE IS LODGED IN OUT. And yet here he is, eyes on the knife, then eyes to dante. rather, eyes to the STAB WOUND that's just underneath that nice new shirt of his.
and the worst part is dante is LAUGHING about it. it feels maddening, like there's some big cosmic joke happening. as he strains to try to figure out what it is he's missing--and then his mind drifts to the memories he's already spent all week obsessing over.
How, in those dreams of fighting and clashing with the man in red, that whenever a sword bit or tore at him, it hurt, it bled--but it never continued bleeding.
(why?) he's going to use that towel he'd grabbed up to hastily clean the blood off his hand, almost as if he needs to. just. do something with his hands before he completely loses his mind, here. ]
Sitting is probably a good idea. [ he won't admit that his legs feel like jelly. don't mind if he just
tears his eyes away from dante
to cross over to the small dining-room table where he sits, his elbows going on his knees, his head tilted down as he continues to unfortunately, consciously breathe. ]
When you pull an object out of a stab wound, it's supposed to gout.
You can start there.
You have ... some sort of ability to shrug off wounds?
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(he has to go see a guy about a 300lbs gun after this.)
he has to laugh because even if the blow had hurt as much as he had expected it to initially, the move itself was so very vergil. It's exactly why dante makes no other moves, only watches as vergil attempts to clean the blood from his hands and crosses the room to sit at the dining table, elbows resting on his knees and head tilted down.
with vergil settled dante moves about the kitchen, sparing a glance at the pool of blood left on the tiles. he shrugs off his coat, then shirt, tossing the former onto one of the chairs of dining room table while he runs his now crumpled-up shirt under some hot water. better clean that blood up now before it has a chance to stain the tiles, he thinks, ringing out his shirt and moves back to the pool. ]
Something like that. [ okay, well... here goes nothing. ] I'm not human, not completely. [ dante crouches down, using his shirt to wipe up the blood while ignoring the stains of red on his own chest. ] I'm sure you heard about the whole demon problem in the city, yeah? Well, that sort of shit is normal for me. Demons, magic, witches, it's pretty run of the mill back home.
[ only when the tiles come up clean does he stop and lift his gaze to vergil. ]
And, well, to put a long story short our mother attracted the attention of probably one of the strongest demons out there; the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda. It was one of those epic love stories, they got married and had a pair of bouncing baby boys.
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...spin the knife like that, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, for him. he'd never trained to use any sort of weapon, not yet--and somehow still he'd managed to twist around the long knife in such a way that he didn't hurt himself, and planted it firmly inside someone elses' body.
He's gonna have to throw that knife out.
'something like that'. It's vague, and while he'd been used to most of Dante's answers so far being cagey, avoidant, and subtle drops of 'too much, right now'
the information that the reason why the man had shrugged off a knife to the chest was because the man wasn't human... was going to take a minute. ]
I have heard. Yes. [ he does confirm, with a small tightness to his voice, when asked about the city's demon problem. it's part of the reason he hadn't really left the house--he had NO interest in getting mixed up with things that could mess him up. Hearing that supernatural things in Dante's world wasn't so strange--now that he himself accepted the supernatural, knowing it existed in his other 'life' was pretty much the easiest thing to believe, but.
...The lines are easy to cross here, even if Dante's storytelling wasn't really the best. Cliffnotes. He was getting a fucking cliffnotes version of what was probably a much deeper story.
It's fine.
He doesn't need details. He'll remember it eventually. Probably?
His head is raising now to look at Dante fully, eyes etching along where the bloodstains on him show where he was stabbed. but there's no mark; no scar. nothing?
insanity. ]
A demon.
Dark Knight Sparda. [ he repeats these words, words he doesn't know; has never heard before, and yet he knew they were right. his eyes close, and his teeth grit--the image of a beautiful blonde woman sitting between himself and a bratty looking kid with a mirror of his own face. ]
And those boys.
They were 'Dante' and 'Vergil'. [ he makes the connection, looking down at his hands. Still stained with blood, but. ... it's not as if they hadn't had blood on them before. ]
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the fire, that day, it's definitely in the 'too much' category right now. ]
You got it. [ even the slightest mention of her drags memories from the depths of his mind, memories that leave something warm in his chest and yet also dig an invisible knife deep into his gut. he can still remember her face as clear as day; the warmth of her smile, the softness of her hair, the way she would hold them in her arms and tell them she loved them. dante exhales, gaze flicking up towards the ceiling. ] I'm half-demon, and being the son of a demon as strong as Sparda was I'm pretty hard to kill. My body can heal from pretty much anything.
[ a beat and he looks back to vergil, searching for something in what little of his face he can see. ]
I'm also stronger than a human, faster, can take a lot more hits, and fight for a lot longer.
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While he doesn't currently have any memories of their apparent shared mother other than images that don't have any meaning--for some reason, it... twinges in his mind anyway. His own mother, who had died due to some genetic issue at an age well over 50, looked nothing like this one that sticks in his head, now. This one made him feel... jealous, again, why. Why is it always jealousy? ]
The names strike me that she was a fan of classics. Something I suppose I can appreciate as well. [ but dante and vergil, REALLY? who does that, he's trying to add a bit of levity to the talk, so his hands will stop, uh. shaking. ]
Heal almost anything. Even a steel blade to the ...
[ nope, he doesn't want to think about it. ]
Other than when we were kids. Every memory I have of you, we are at odds. I am making every attempt to kill you, by the way I can tell.
And you, too, are doing everything to kill me.
...I have a particular memory of.
Pinning you down, on a rain-covered night with a blade far too large for anyone to recover from were it to ... [ he makes a gesture. at his chest. ]
Dante, why in the hell were you so relieved to see me, when all I can glean from my memories is a deep hatred between us. [ he just doesn't understand it yet. he hasn't reached those memories yet. ]
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dante links his own hands together in his lap and laughs again, though it is little more than a puff of air than an actual laugh. ]
Yeah, I know the one. [ if vergil had never stabbed him with rebellion that night, would he had ever awakened to this devil in his blood? ] It's... difficult to explain.
We never hated each other, Vergil. [ he looks down at his own hands, bloody fingers interlinking as he tries to find the right words. they've never been good at properly expressing their feelings through words, after all, it's always been easier through actions, through the clash of blades on top of a tower, at the mouth of hell. ] We disagreed on some things, some pretty big things. You wanted power, for a while I did honestly think you were just power-hungry but there was more to it than that.
[ it took him longer than it should of to realize vergil's want for power came from that night, from the fire, from the belief he was too weak to protect that which mattered to him most. ]
As to why I was so relieved? [ another laugh, another exhale of air, his stomach twists and everything in dante screams to leave. ] You're my brother, my twin, my other half. [ his voice lowers, becomes infinitely smaller, as though he could confess it all and if he were lucky no one hear. ] You're the only family I have left, you know? I lost you time and time again.
[ not anymore, not since nero, but he isn't sure mentioning the kid would be a good idea right now. ]
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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. ]
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[ the response comes out quick, almost snapped, as he feels his hackles raise and his blood pump that little bit faster. he's not sure where it comes from, either, maybe some panicked thought that vergil might hate him for searching for the brother he remembers instead of the person he is now? maybe because he feels like he is teetering on a knife's edge with vergil, as if a single gust of wind the wrong way will make it all tumble down. maybe because some small part of him is terrified of the concept of losing him again, of watching his lips through his fingers like sand and being powerless to stop it. ]
I don't─ I'm not asking you to go back to how you were, honestly, you were kind of an ass a lot of the time. [ maybe he'll turn out like nero, a mixture of both the person he is here and now and the person he was back home. dante isn't sure, isn't sure how to handle it. ] I just...
[ when he lifts his head vergil's hand is there, in front of him, offered to him. blue eyes widen with surprise, words catching in his throat as he all but stares at vergil's hand for a moment. and then another. and then a third. eventually, he swallows the lump in his throat and reaches out to take the hand, using vergil as an anchor to pull himself back up to standing. ]
You're not the only one, Verg. [ his voice is uneven, the smile that finds his face crooked. ] Though I think I've proven I can handle a few stabbings.
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He'll pull the man to his feet, and he'll take a moment before letting go of his hand, returning it to the towel he's not put down since all of this started.
Finally looking the other in the eye again. ]
I can tell. [ a pause. ] That I was an asshole. ...Not that I am overly kind, currently, sharing space with you is still something I'm getting used to, given you really can't keep your hands off my things.
[ isnt this a familar line. ]
But I digress.
I'm certain I'll get used to it. The memories I am getting aren't going to go away, and in a way, perhaps it's better if you're here, than... off somewhere else, being an idiot. Getting in someone elses' way.
[ what does that even MEAN. ]
As an aside.
I came to Kaisou in search for power. It isn't a drive I had before I ... woke up with silver hair and the magic I do have.
I'm not sure why I have the drive now, but it's there.
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pathetic, right? ]
We're brothers, Verg. Brothers share. [ familiar enough to almost feel like a punch to the gut, but dante recovers spectacularly, even though the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. ] Is that your way of saying you'd be worried about me out there on my lonesome?
[ but the smile faulters slightly and dante shifts his weight, a darker look finding his eyes. i came to kaisou in search for power. it shouldn't surprise him and, in truth, it doesn't, that drive dragged vergil back from the very brink, drove him to rip his humanity, his memories and nightmares, from his very being. but he doesn't remember the why, what set that feeling so deep in his chest that he carried it for over twenty years. ]
I could tell you, but it's a long story and I don't know if you can handle another heart attack today.
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it's familiar.
Maybe that's why Vergil doesn't move away. ]
...I recall you used to steal my things, in your desperate want to share. ...But I digress. I've already agreed to let you live here, and I am not about to rescind the invitation. [ a beat. ] And I would not worry, I'd be merely concerned about the trouble you could cause.
[ yes, he'd be worried.
He's moving a little now, looking for that abandoned knife as the others' smile flickers. His want for power is returning, yes--but perhaps by the time he remembers why he wants it, he'll not be so desperate for it anymore. Perhaps. Not once he remembers the reflections he made atop of a lonely chair at the very top of a twisted, evil tree... ]
...yes. I've had quite enough excitement for one day. [ And he does pause. Thinking. Calculating. Trying to get the words to form. ]
I apologise for stabbing you.
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I only stole them because you wouldn't pay attention to me, Vergil. [ majority of the time, yes, dante felt the need to take the very things that vergil would pay more attention to than his own brother. even on that fateful day, all those years ago, dante had tried to take his stupid book with the emblazoned v ─ an action that would result in the pair fighting and vergil running away out of frustration with his brother. it had been dante's desire for his twin's attention that caused vergil to be absent when the demons attacked, that caused their mother to run out into the fire and the demons in search of him, that left dante alone as the world he knew crumbled down around him.
fuck.
dante pushes the thoughts down, latching onto vergil's next words like a drowning man out at sea. don't think about it, don't do this shit again. ] It's okay I know the truth, you'd be all lonely without me.
[ vergil moves, looking for the knife, as dante shifts his weight foot hitting the bloody blade beside him. he leans down and picks it up, dirtying his fingers even further, only to straighten a second later and holding it up to vergil. ]
Keep your apologies, it wasn't your fault.
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... Demon? Devil? It wasn't that simple, he still needs time to think on it.
Apologising felt strange, and what feels even stranger
is having the other admit that he stole his shit just for attention. It makes something prickle in him, and emotion that he's sure doesn't fully belong to him. No, it belongs to him, Vergil--not Vittore. Like he's just been told something he'd never put the lines together for, some secret that has been eluding him for years that he's finally got an answer to.
He only took his things because he wouldn't pay attention to him. Always preferring to be alone with his books--a selfish child who didn't understand the concept of loneliness.
His heart feels like it has a pit in it--a bad joke in Dante's next comment being that he'd be lonely without Him.
(it's probably true, isn't it. how the tables had turned, how dante had grown, so surrounded by people who care for him--and how lonely vergil had become as the years grew long, grew cold.)
He seems to come back to reality when Dante offers him that. Bloodied knife. Telling him not to apologise. A silent, breathless laugh escaping him as he feels, very suddenly, so very lost for words.
As if he was missing some other way to communicate with the man. They always had a different way of communicating, didn't they? When the words wouldn't come?
...
Vergil grabs the knife and immediately marches over to the garbage bin, throwing it inside. ]
I am not using a knife that's been in your lung to cook with.
I will buy a new one, and we can try to forget that happened. [ he's never gonna forget it. one day they'll look back at this and laugh. probably. ]
...
And that shirt you used to wipe up the blood was Armani.
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but he won't say that, not sober at least, won't put that weakness out in front of vergil to take in and mull over. it's too early for that, too much to even consider, and dante would rather he didn't fall to his own emotions this early.
eyebrow raise as vergil grabs the knife, blue eyes blinking as he marches over and tosses the knife away. what a waste of a knife. it was a good one too, he thinks, considering how clearly it sliced through skin and muscle to dig itself into his lung. it'd be a shame to lose it really, but he can't blame vergil for throwing it away considering that very fact. ]
Well, human blood is considered the source of demon's power, you know? [ he shrugs, picking up the ruined shirt to try and clean his hands of blood. ] Just saying it could've added a little bit of a kick.
[ it's a joke, of course, he isn't seriously suggesting that vergil start adding blood to his meals ─ never mind the demonic side of him thrashing against its chains at the very thought. ]
Oh? Was it? [ he looks at the shirt, bloody and torn from where the knife had hit him. ] Whoops.
[ IT'S A SHIRT, WHY SHOULD HE CARE? ]
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it definitely isn't a conversation to be sober with. Honestly, Vergil doesn't want to be sober now and is quietly contemplating the wine he's got chilling in the fridge.
Also the knife is DEFINITELY a good one but there's no way he's using it again. Man have you ever heard of prion diseases?! ]
I will remind you that while you have a demon half, I am, sorely, very human in this world. Despite how I may look. [ the slitted eyes got questions from people. ] My only supernatural abilities are quite pathetic compared to... being able to instantly heal from a stab wound.
...
Also yes it was. But I suppose I can overlook it this time. Given it was me who put a hole in it, in the first place.
[ YOU SHOULD CARE BECAUSE ITS PROBABLY, LIKE, A 90$ SHIRT YOU FUCK. ]
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he huffs out a laugh, shoulders raising in a half-hearted shrug. honest, it wasn't a serious suggestion. ]
Right, right, please forgive me. [ dante continues to clean his hands with the shirt, seemingly unbothered by the fact the shirt was supposedly expensive. well, it isn't anymore, fabric is fabric in the end of the day, better he ruins this thing further than get blood all over vergil's tea towels. ]
Might have to burn it. [ he comments offhandedly. ] Unless you want someone rooting through your trash looking for some demonic blood. That shit can be potent, even half demon blood.
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And while it probably isn't the wilder twin's drink of choice, it sure can do the trick in numbing the brain, given that it's the good expensive wine. Vergil wont miss a bottle being gone. probably. right? ]
I'll overlook it. [ he's going to also just. pretend he's not watching dante wash his hands with a 130$ shirt, it's fine, it's just a shirt, it's a good sacrifice to pay in regards to not having to explain to the police why he'd stabbed his twin brother in his kitchen.
....his twin brother from a different dimension, no less. Ah, but now there's his brain stalling again as he rounds his head to look at dante--having started to busy himself at the sink, washing blood out from the crevices in his fingers. ]
Please tell me that is a joke. Your tone does not change when you are being serious and when you are laying it on thick.
Do you think something ... unsightly will go digging about in the trash for something soaked in your blood.
[ why. ]
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If they figured out that you've got a half-demon under your roof? Probably. [ he cleans off what he can without water, shifting his weight and moving over to the sink. ] Blood is a component in a lot of magic-based things, the more potent the blood the stronger whatever you're trying to do can be. Demonic blood is pretty fucking potent, and the demons back home... [ his voice drifts off almost considering whether or not he should even say this. ] Let's just say in order to become King of the Underworld it involves growing a fruit made out of human blood. The more they ingest the stronger they are.
[ blue eyes glance over at vergil, searching his expression for any sort of recognition, a twitch in his face that tells dante another memory has slipped through the cracks. ]
For the record? I don't drink blood. [ just in case he was wondering. ] But being part human makes my blood exceptionally potent. So yeah, if someone figured it out I'm sure you might have someone digging through the trash for my blood soaked shirt.
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human blood.
he blinks, twice, at the story, and he's sure that he's read a story somewhere in his vast collection of books, even lifting his head up to look toward the livingroom, which has about six bookshelves in it--with a thoughtful look on his face. ]
There are many stories of blood as being power in old folklore, such as the Aztecs drinking blood to gain power and immortality, as well as Vampires needing it to...
[ ...there's a taste of iron in his mouth, as those catlike eyes go still, the roaring voice in his head screaming that
with this
he could obtain everything.
...that wasn't his voice. That wasn't HIS voice, and... ]
Did we. Fight something that ate a fruit like that? There's... many eyes, and a distorted scene of a house.
...
[ ...hm.
he's staring down at the shirt, now, with a look of INTENSE dislike for the idea that someone could start stalking the house if they found out that demon blood could come out of the garbage at any time. any time!!! ]
Perhaps we should burn this.
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dante all but stills, eyes widening, he shifts closer and takes vergil by the shoulders as though the motion itself would be enough to stop the memory from bleeding through. there is no gentle way to tell him about that; the fruit, urizen, about v, or any of that. one question would lead into the another, into mallet island, into temen-ni-gru, into that fateful night where their mother died, into where was their father why wasn't he there why didn't he stop it. but he can't stop the memories, no matter how hard he might try, they'll keep coming and dante made the resolve not to lie to him that same night vergil asked him to stay. ]
Not exactly. [ the shirt is forgotten, dropped to the floor between them. ] It's more complicated than that.
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...Are you alright. [ his eyebrows furrow as his head tilts a little--confusion clouding his eyes for the moment as the man holds him as if he's going to slip through his fingers again.
a hand coming up to rest on dante's arm, as if to anchor the man down from wherever he's going? ]
The memory's faded, in any case.
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