Weird, but good is an odd bit of praise to receive, but it is praise all the same. Vergil accepts it silently and without remark. It's only a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement that the food was at least acceptable. When Mizu motions towards his books, Vergil looks towards them.
"Mine," he says. Not that he has anything against the library. He's spent plenty of time with books there, too. But there's something incredible about having a tangible book that's all his own again after so long being without. Not that Vergil doesn't recognize on some level how foolish that is. They are just printed words on a page. They're not exactly some prized treasure decked in jewels and other precious metals. But they are his. And he finds a richness in them that he can't really find an equivalent anywhere else. He glances back at Mizu as he continues, his eyes drifting over toward his balcony instead and the world beyond, "I read a lot as a child. Poetry, mostly."
Vergil lightly folds his arms once more, crossing his ankles as well. It's not out of defensiveness, however. He just can't exactly think of the last time anyone ever took an interest in his reading habits, let alone that he spoke of it with someone else. Dante never understood it, always wanting to be rough and tumble, and play. He found reading tedious, and poetry even more so. Vergil begged his parents constantly to read to him before he was able to read for himself. In all honesty, he doesn't know if his father would have been as interested talking about it with him. He was gone too soon after Vergil began learning to read for himself. But his mother was always willing to sit with Vergil while he read. She never seemed disinterested or annoyed whenever he decided to tell her about the books he was reading. And she never was put out when even well after he could read, Vergil would still ask her to read to him.
He lifts his chin, opting not to dwell on it, and looks at Mizu.
"I spent most of my adolescence reading on clues about my father's power. Most of it was the same story, just little variations." Clearly not something Vergil would have read for the very pleasure of it, that's for certain. "After that... Reading wasn't really something I was able to do."
It's a skirting around the full truth of everything that came after he tried to seize the power of Sparda for himself. But Mizu didn't ask for all of that, and Vergil would much rather not talk about it. So, he doesn't. Instead, he says with a casual wave of his hand, "But I have more time here. So, I thought I might as well fill it with books and poetry."
no subject
"Mine," he says. Not that he has anything against the library. He's spent plenty of time with books there, too. But there's something incredible about having a tangible book that's all his own again after so long being without. Not that Vergil doesn't recognize on some level how foolish that is. They are just printed words on a page. They're not exactly some prized treasure decked in jewels and other precious metals. But they are his. And he finds a richness in them that he can't really find an equivalent anywhere else. He glances back at Mizu as he continues, his eyes drifting over toward his balcony instead and the world beyond, "I read a lot as a child. Poetry, mostly."
Vergil lightly folds his arms once more, crossing his ankles as well. It's not out of defensiveness, however. He just can't exactly think of the last time anyone ever took an interest in his reading habits, let alone that he spoke of it with someone else. Dante never understood it, always wanting to be rough and tumble, and play. He found reading tedious, and poetry even more so. Vergil begged his parents constantly to read to him before he was able to read for himself. In all honesty, he doesn't know if his father would have been as interested talking about it with him. He was gone too soon after Vergil began learning to read for himself. But his mother was always willing to sit with Vergil while he read. She never seemed disinterested or annoyed whenever he decided to tell her about the books he was reading. And she never was put out when even well after he could read, Vergil would still ask her to read to him.
He lifts his chin, opting not to dwell on it, and looks at Mizu.
"I spent most of my adolescence reading on clues about my father's power. Most of it was the same story, just little variations." Clearly not something Vergil would have read for the very pleasure of it, that's for certain. "After that... Reading wasn't really something I was able to do."
It's a skirting around the full truth of everything that came after he tried to seize the power of Sparda for himself. But Mizu didn't ask for all of that, and Vergil would much rather not talk about it. So, he doesn't. Instead, he says with a casual wave of his hand, "But I have more time here. So, I thought I might as well fill it with books and poetry."