Vergil relents once Mizu recognizes he's not getting out from Vergil's hold. Not without fighting with more intensity than is warranted for here and now. But even as there's a bit of smile and lighter expression on his face, he doesn't mock Mizu for his frustrations nor for ultimately having to concede.
"I'm sure you do." Vergil says as he sits back to give Mizu the space to sit up himself, bringing one of his knees closer and resting his elbow on it and holding that wrist loosely with his opposite hand. If it wasn't for how heavily Mizu is breathing now and even Vergil showing a slight amount of being winded after how much Mizu tried to free himself, anyone looking at them would likely think they just made the odd decision to sit in the middle of Vergil's floor to converse. "But I think that's enough for now. Exhaust yourself too much and you'll end up straying from what technique you've started to develop out of frustration. Better that you maintain your discipline than push beyond your limits today."
Vergil considers it for a moment before he looks away and pushes himself back up to his feet.
"You did well."
It might not have been enough to beat Vergil. His technique, size, and strength all were strong factors in the outcome of their sparring today, and he wouldn't downplay that. But neither would it do well to downplay how much growth Mizu demonstrated in a singular sparring in hand-to-hand. He was adaptive and thoughtful about each of his approaches even if they didn't turn out the results he would have liked. He began with his foundations as a swordsman, but he didn't allow that to limit him. Instead, even as much as it might have frustrated and pissed him off in the moment, he took Vergil's feedback both in his physical actions and words, and did something with it.
So, he didn't win and he might have the right to be dissatisfied with that, but victory was hardly the sole metric to be found here today.
He thinks to offer a hand to Mizu to help him to his feet, but opts instead to begin undoing the wrappings around his hands instead and let Mizu get to his feet on his own.
Mizu sits immediately in a smooth movement. As Vergil remains stiting for a moment, Mizu does as well. Her breathing returns more toward normal, now she's no longer squirming like a greased pig. Her head snaps toward Vergil when he rejects the idea of going again. She isn't so far gone she'll forget what she's learned. She can do better at keeping him in a headlock, now she has one more defense to anticipate. The urge to belabor the point rises, but Mizu bites it back. No doubt Vergil would be as much a solid wall denying her no matter what she said. No point wasting the words.
To be fair, she didn't expect any form of sparring when she stopped by today, and she wasn't injured. They'll spar again soon. Mizu's come out ahead.
"I'll do better," Mizu promises as she stands, still light on her feet. Her energy has only increased from this exercise. She'll practice the moves on her own time in her own space, both hers and some of the ones she saw him use. If it weren't for Vergil, Mizu would spend practically no time injured at all in Folkmore (so far), and that would be a far stranger feeling.
So she undoes the wraps, mindful of Vergil though there's no more promise of sparring. His apartment hardly competes for her attention, sparse as it is.
"Why are you so good at hand to hand combat?" The question betrays her bias. He's a strong swordsman, and he has all that devil stuff, of which Mizu's certain she hasn't seen the half of. With all that, how did he also become so good at this form of combat? Why did he bother? How is he so damn good at all of it? Necessity, she knows, must be part of the answer, but it's hard to fathom him having a difficult time with... most combat.
Mizu promises to do better next time and Vergil spares him a glance at that. It's not doubt in Vergil's eyes, but perhaps a bit of hope that he will make good on that. Even if it's not right away. But who knows? Next time, Mizu might be able to get further than he did today.
"When one has as obnoxious of a little brother as I do, you learn at quite an early age how to beat the hell out of someone with your fists alone," Vergil says, the answer coming perhaps more naturally and smoothly than anything he's ever said to Mizu. But there's a pause as he's unwrapping one of his hands that he realizes he's never made mention of his brother until now. It's not been anything that he's intentionally hidden necessarily, but Dante has never come up in conversation before now. And why should he? Vergil may (sometimes begrudgingly) miss him, but that's not exactly business for anyone else to know. And no one would exactly think to ask him if he has any siblings anyway. He finishes with unwrapping his hand and begins to roll the wrappings together, seemingly quite focused on the task for a moment. "You would think there might be more peace between twins since our age difference isn't in years, but Dante has a way of always causing a ruckus wherever he goes and he was often close behind me as children."
And as adults, too. Just never close enough because Vergil never allowed it. He swallows back that regret and replaces the wrappings back to their appropriate spot within his training area. Vergil opts to brush past the revelation of a twin brother and anything that might come with it to provide the other half of the answer to Mizu's question.
"There isn't a weapon I cannot master, however. It is something I inherited from my father," he continues as he steps over to the portion of his studio apartment that serves as his sleeping area once more. This time, he collects the amulet from the nightstand, unclasping the golden chain to put it back on. No doubt the thing doesn't look like something Vergil would ever choose for himself, both stone and chain being far warmer than his usual cool tones with red and gold. "As it so happens, I acquired a devil arm for a time that enhanced my hand-to-hand while it was still in my possession, and I do what I can to maintain those skills without it."
Vergil steps over to his wardrobe for a shirt and pulls it on. He doesn't put the necklace above the shirt, keeping it tucked away.
Though Mizu never had a sibling, she saw the village boys play together, and it was much the same. If she stayed living on the streets and wasn't killed, she likely would have gained the same skills. Fought even more with Taigen and the boys who surrounded him. Perhaps she'd be that kind of fighter instead of a swordsman, hopefully one with better technique than pure brawling. Mizu usually doesn't look back at her life and wonder about those differences, focused as she is on the future and moving forward. In the end, it doesn't matter. She is who she is now and lived the life she has.
There is more to Vergil and his twin Dante. Mizu has little context as to what, knowing only the few words Vergil says here about his brother. However, all that is overshadowed by what Vergil says next. Mizu straightens and stares at Vergil hard. The wraps in her hand are forgotten next to some inherited ability to master weapons, compared to whatever a devil arm is improving his hand-to-hand skills, so that he only has to maintain those abilities, not master them in the first place.
"You cheat," Mizu declares, half-shocked half-irritated all to hell. As though Vergil doesn't have enough advantages over her, but he doesn't have to try anywhere near as hard as a normal person, as Mizu, to learn the skills in the first place? Yes, the urge to barrel into him and grapple yet again is there, but Mizu knows that will not (likely) end well for her. Vergil already said they were done, and he's dressed again in an unusual amulet and shirt, all committed to that fact.
That's not fair, Mizu doesn't say. It only increases her desire to beat him, to knock him unconscious by learning to get better the hard way, the long way. Though it is frustrating how much that gets slowed down by being injured. She's always dealt with injuries, but it slows things down. Mizu only has so much time in Folkmore. The thought of leaving without defeating Vergil burns something within her. She will manage it through her own blood and sweat and effort. She rolls the wrappings together messily as that gains far more of her attention. No that isn't how he started, with a brother, but it's part of how he's gotten to where he is now.
They are only two words, but they feel akin to a slap in the face all the same. Vergil has never made it a secret that his demonic heritage provides him with a number of advantages over that of a human. In fact, he wears it as a point of pride to have been born a son of Sparda. And just as he hasn't feigned ignorance to his advantages, he's never felt the nature or spoken of his birth as though it was something he earned. Vergil isn't a fool. He knows that boils down to luck of the draw. He had no more control over that than he would over something like the weather. But if it were all a matter of his birth, if it was all down to luck and inheritance, and there had been nothing Vergil earned...
His mother wouldn't have died that day. He wouldn't have lost Dante and struggled to accept him again. He wouldn't have been absent for the entirety of Nero's life. He wouldn't have spent a decade as a slave to his father's enemy and his mother's murderer, and a little over a decade more in the demon realm with his crumbling flesh. He wouldn't have been forced and reduced to so little that he was a mere shell of himself or sometimes, at best, just barely surviving. There would have never been any struggle even once in his life if it were all down to that because why would such privilege allow for anything like that to happen? He would never have been so weak as to lose anyone that he loved, to have himself rent from him so violently, or to have known that bitter taste of defeat after defeat.
But even within the reality that his birth was not enough to prevent the violence and pain that's made up the fabric of Vergil's life: he would not have survived any of it if it was solely down to that alone. That much is certain. It was not his birth that caused Vergil to survive. It was him. His motivation and will to not just live but never to know weakness or helplessness, as he had before, developed his skills beyond mere technical ability, and into something that made him a formidable opponent to all that would oppose him. How else could he have pressed forward as he felt his life fading from his body, hardly able to walk or stand upright any longer?
Mizu knows little of any of it, of course. He's only been told of the helplessness that Vergil felt the day his mother died, and what a driving force that had been for him the rest of his life. And he's now seen firsthand what Vergil can do with and without a blade in his hands, the way he can read and respond to the flow of battle as naturally as he is able to draw breath. But what little Mizu knows doesn't matter to Vergil in the moment as he feels the dismissal of all that he is being boiled down to luck and something more akin to a cheap trick or tactic with just two words.
Vergil firmly slides his wardrobe door shut once more. He stands there a moment, his jaw tensing slightly and relaxing once more before he decides against it. He's learned to walk with his nightmares and his failures, accept them as part of himself. But he's far from comfortable with the notion of acknowledging them to someone else. Not even in his own defense. He simply shouldn't have to defend himself. His own merit and skill and continued existence should speak for itself.
It also shouldn't bother him that Mizu's opinion of his skills may be undermined by his nature as a half-devil. What's the opinion of a human who hardly knows anything about him? All the more reason not to defend himself against what feels an accusation. But it does. Bother him. There's no reason why Vergil should even bother sparring with someone like Mizu. What difference does it make to him if he has the skills enough to survive his quest for revenge? He owes Mizu absolutely nothing, and a human arguably has no business crossing blades with someone like Vergil. But Vergil has taken that time. He's found reward in it. He's found someone that he...respects. That he admires the drive and determination of, and the strength there is to be found in refusing to give up simply because the odds are stacked against him.
And that same person says that he cheats to have his skill.
Vergil wants it to not matter. To reduce Mizu down to what he is as he just did to Vergil. But it matters and he can't bring himself to truly do the same.
"If you wish to think of it that way, so be it."
Any semblance of the ease to which he spoke of Dante or offered his explanation has evaporated, but he doesn't sound angry or terse. He's noticeably withdrawing, not lashing out. So, Vergil is merely to the point and concise, firmly declaring that it doesn't matter as he rejoins Mizu. He nods to the wrappings messily rolled in Mizu's hands.
"Keep them. For your own practice or however else you see fit to use them."
Mizu knows nothing about why Vergil reacts the way he does. No one likes to be called a cheat. At a later time, Mizu may reflect on it further and wonder what's behind that reaction, but that kind of reaction is also what she expects from people. Say the wrong thing, and they pull back. They leave. Mizu would not be surprised if Vergil refused to spar with her any further for saying such a thing, for it to be a line she shouldn't have crossed, true as it is. Except it is not as though Vergil will walk away in his own home. It would be infinitely awkward if he did.
Instead Mizu moves to gather her things. She glances down at the wraps, unused to protecting herself during practice but acknowledging it's likely for the best. Mizu stands there awkwardly, as though she doesn't belong and shouldn't be there, even as Vergil continues to talk evenly and calmly. It's not the kind of situation where Mizu leans on manners, not after being that rude. So she nods, muttering "okay," and adds them to the set of tools Vergil gave her. That itself makes her feel further uncomfortable. He didn't have to do that. Mizu didn't expect it. Honestly, he doesn't entirely make sense to her. It's so much easier when they're sparring than the bits of conversation. Mizu admits she might be escalating this moment, but it rings true to other moments, so she isn't certain.
"It's only a couple days," more like three but Mizu always underestimates it, "until I'm completely healed. Only a couple after that before I've remade what I need for the naginata."
Vergil silently watches Mizu as he gathers his things. He wasn't exactly trying to kick Mizu out of his apartment, but there's an undeniable shift now that they are no longer sparring. That in of itself is not odd considering it's what happened the first time as well, but this bit of clumsiness between them doesn't sit the same with Vergil. He can't imagine it does for Mizu either.
The other swordsman provides his proposed timeline and Vergil considers it. Or more accurately, his gaze drops to Mizu's side that took the brunt of Vergil's attack. Without laying eyes on the wound itself, there's no telling if Mizu's estimate is accurate. And that's assuming Vergil even has a decent enough sense of how long a wound like that would take to heal on a human without any sort of acceleration which he frankly doubts he possesses. But it seems a fair estimation to Vergil all the same. His movements today didn't seem particularly inhibited by his wound.
"Four days then," Vergil says, lifting his eyes to meet Mizu's again with a slight nod. "Whether you're ready for me or not, I'll find you again."
And if he's not ready, then that's on Mizu to figure out and entirely his fault for putting himself in that position. Vergil doesn't think Mizu would inherently disagree with that either. He probably wouldn't have even argued with Vergil about sparring again if Vergil hadn't been so adamant that he wanted Mizu completely healed first. With Mizu seemingly intent on leaving, Vergil walks to the door to politely open it for him.
"And as far as keeping score is concerned, today doesn't count." It was a training session. Not a real contest. A chance for Vergil to practice and for Mizu to learn. "Next time I see you, I won't hold back as much as I did today. And I won't relent until I've claimed my victory."
He won't allow his skills to be called into question again by the end of it.
It will be a busy four days, but that suits Mizu fine. She can handle the time away from the library and the books that have become so much of her life. It will do her good to forge her equipment for herself and to focus solely on doing that while she does so. She'll make sure to be complete and ready by the time Vergil finds her. If not, that's on her. She gave the timeline, so it's hardly a surprise to be attacked, no matter where he finds her.
It's a promise that they will carry on, and that proving true, for next time and the time after that, is far more important than anything else. Mizu will not have the chance to improve enough to beat him unless they keep going. Her step is a little lighter at his words. It's what she wants.
"We'll see about that," Mizu says. As much as she knows how it will likely go, she refuses to accept defeat before it comes. That only guarantees it. "I'll be ready."
And that's that. Almost none of their interaction what she expected that day, some better, some worse. She leaves for Wintermute where the chill will center her. Mizu can always think better there.
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"I'm sure you do." Vergil says as he sits back to give Mizu the space to sit up himself, bringing one of his knees closer and resting his elbow on it and holding that wrist loosely with his opposite hand. If it wasn't for how heavily Mizu is breathing now and even Vergil showing a slight amount of being winded after how much Mizu tried to free himself, anyone looking at them would likely think they just made the odd decision to sit in the middle of Vergil's floor to converse. "But I think that's enough for now. Exhaust yourself too much and you'll end up straying from what technique you've started to develop out of frustration. Better that you maintain your discipline than push beyond your limits today."
Vergil considers it for a moment before he looks away and pushes himself back up to his feet.
"You did well."
It might not have been enough to beat Vergil. His technique, size, and strength all were strong factors in the outcome of their sparring today, and he wouldn't downplay that. But neither would it do well to downplay how much growth Mizu demonstrated in a singular sparring in hand-to-hand. He was adaptive and thoughtful about each of his approaches even if they didn't turn out the results he would have liked. He began with his foundations as a swordsman, but he didn't allow that to limit him. Instead, even as much as it might have frustrated and pissed him off in the moment, he took Vergil's feedback both in his physical actions and words, and did something with it.
So, he didn't win and he might have the right to be dissatisfied with that, but victory was hardly the sole metric to be found here today.
He thinks to offer a hand to Mizu to help him to his feet, but opts instead to begin undoing the wrappings around his hands instead and let Mizu get to his feet on his own.
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To be fair, she didn't expect any form of sparring when she stopped by today, and she wasn't injured. They'll spar again soon. Mizu's come out ahead.
"I'll do better," Mizu promises as she stands, still light on her feet. Her energy has only increased from this exercise. She'll practice the moves on her own time in her own space, both hers and some of the ones she saw him use. If it weren't for Vergil, Mizu would spend practically no time injured at all in Folkmore (so far), and that would be a far stranger feeling.
So she undoes the wraps, mindful of Vergil though there's no more promise of sparring. His apartment hardly competes for her attention, sparse as it is.
"Why are you so good at hand to hand combat?" The question betrays her bias. He's a strong swordsman, and he has all that devil stuff, of which Mizu's certain she hasn't seen the half of. With all that, how did he also become so good at this form of combat? Why did he bother? How is he so damn good at all of it? Necessity, she knows, must be part of the answer, but it's hard to fathom him having a difficult time with... most combat.
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"When one has as obnoxious of a little brother as I do, you learn at quite an early age how to beat the hell out of someone with your fists alone," Vergil says, the answer coming perhaps more naturally and smoothly than anything he's ever said to Mizu. But there's a pause as he's unwrapping one of his hands that he realizes he's never made mention of his brother until now. It's not been anything that he's intentionally hidden necessarily, but Dante has never come up in conversation before now. And why should he? Vergil may (sometimes begrudgingly) miss him, but that's not exactly business for anyone else to know. And no one would exactly think to ask him if he has any siblings anyway. He finishes with unwrapping his hand and begins to roll the wrappings together, seemingly quite focused on the task for a moment. "You would think there might be more peace between twins since our age difference isn't in years, but Dante has a way of always causing a ruckus wherever he goes and he was often close behind me as children."
And as adults, too. Just never close enough because Vergil never allowed it. He swallows back that regret and replaces the wrappings back to their appropriate spot within his training area. Vergil opts to brush past the revelation of a twin brother and anything that might come with it to provide the other half of the answer to Mizu's question.
"There isn't a weapon I cannot master, however. It is something I inherited from my father," he continues as he steps over to the portion of his studio apartment that serves as his sleeping area once more. This time, he collects the amulet from the nightstand, unclasping the golden chain to put it back on. No doubt the thing doesn't look like something Vergil would ever choose for himself, both stone and chain being far warmer than his usual cool tones with red and gold. "As it so happens, I acquired a devil arm for a time that enhanced my hand-to-hand while it was still in my possession, and I do what I can to maintain those skills without it."
Vergil steps over to his wardrobe for a shirt and pulls it on. He doesn't put the necklace above the shirt, keeping it tucked away.
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There is more to Vergil and his twin Dante. Mizu has little context as to what, knowing only the few words Vergil says here about his brother. However, all that is overshadowed by what Vergil says next. Mizu straightens and stares at Vergil hard. The wraps in her hand are forgotten next to some inherited ability to master weapons, compared to whatever a devil arm is improving his hand-to-hand skills, so that he only has to maintain those abilities, not master them in the first place.
"You cheat," Mizu declares, half-shocked half-irritated all to hell. As though Vergil doesn't have enough advantages over her, but he doesn't have to try anywhere near as hard as a normal person, as Mizu, to learn the skills in the first place? Yes, the urge to barrel into him and grapple yet again is there, but Mizu knows that will not (likely) end well for her. Vergil already said they were done, and he's dressed again in an unusual amulet and shirt, all committed to that fact.
That's not fair, Mizu doesn't say. It only increases her desire to beat him, to knock him unconscious by learning to get better the hard way, the long way. Though it is frustrating how much that gets slowed down by being injured. She's always dealt with injuries, but it slows things down. Mizu only has so much time in Folkmore. The thought of leaving without defeating Vergil burns something within her. She will manage it through her own blood and sweat and effort. She rolls the wrappings together messily as that gains far more of her attention. No that isn't how he started, with a brother, but it's part of how he's gotten to where he is now.
no subject
His mother wouldn't have died that day. He wouldn't have lost Dante and struggled to accept him again. He wouldn't have been absent for the entirety of Nero's life. He wouldn't have spent a decade as a slave to his father's enemy and his mother's murderer, and a little over a decade more in the demon realm with his crumbling flesh. He wouldn't have been forced and reduced to so little that he was a mere shell of himself or sometimes, at best, just barely surviving. There would have never been any struggle even once in his life if it were all down to that because why would such privilege allow for anything like that to happen? He would never have been so weak as to lose anyone that he loved, to have himself rent from him so violently, or to have known that bitter taste of defeat after defeat.
But even within the reality that his birth was not enough to prevent the violence and pain that's made up the fabric of Vergil's life: he would not have survived any of it if it was solely down to that alone. That much is certain. It was not his birth that caused Vergil to survive. It was him. His motivation and will to not just live but never to know weakness or helplessness, as he had before, developed his skills beyond mere technical ability, and into something that made him a formidable opponent to all that would oppose him. How else could he have pressed forward as he felt his life fading from his body, hardly able to walk or stand upright any longer?
Mizu knows little of any of it, of course. He's only been told of the helplessness that Vergil felt the day his mother died, and what a driving force that had been for him the rest of his life. And he's now seen firsthand what Vergil can do with and without a blade in his hands, the way he can read and respond to the flow of battle as naturally as he is able to draw breath. But what little Mizu knows doesn't matter to Vergil in the moment as he feels the dismissal of all that he is being boiled down to luck and something more akin to a cheap trick or tactic with just two words.
Vergil firmly slides his wardrobe door shut once more. He stands there a moment, his jaw tensing slightly and relaxing once more before he decides against it. He's learned to walk with his nightmares and his failures, accept them as part of himself. But he's far from comfortable with the notion of acknowledging them to someone else. Not even in his own defense. He simply shouldn't have to defend himself. His own merit and skill and continued existence should speak for itself.
It also shouldn't bother him that Mizu's opinion of his skills may be undermined by his nature as a half-devil. What's the opinion of a human who hardly knows anything about him? All the more reason not to defend himself against what feels an accusation. But it does. Bother him. There's no reason why Vergil should even bother sparring with someone like Mizu. What difference does it make to him if he has the skills enough to survive his quest for revenge? He owes Mizu absolutely nothing, and a human arguably has no business crossing blades with someone like Vergil. But Vergil has taken that time. He's found reward in it. He's found someone that he...respects. That he admires the drive and determination of, and the strength there is to be found in refusing to give up simply because the odds are stacked against him.
And that same person says that he cheats to have his skill.
Vergil wants it to not matter. To reduce Mizu down to what he is as he just did to Vergil. But it matters and he can't bring himself to truly do the same.
"If you wish to think of it that way, so be it."
Any semblance of the ease to which he spoke of Dante or offered his explanation has evaporated, but he doesn't sound angry or terse. He's noticeably withdrawing, not lashing out. So, Vergil is merely to the point and concise, firmly declaring that it doesn't matter as he rejoins Mizu. He nods to the wrappings messily rolled in Mizu's hands.
"Keep them. For your own practice or however else you see fit to use them."
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Instead Mizu moves to gather her things. She glances down at the wraps, unused to protecting herself during practice but acknowledging it's likely for the best. Mizu stands there awkwardly, as though she doesn't belong and shouldn't be there, even as Vergil continues to talk evenly and calmly. It's not the kind of situation where Mizu leans on manners, not after being that rude. So she nods, muttering "okay," and adds them to the set of tools Vergil gave her. That itself makes her feel further uncomfortable. He didn't have to do that. Mizu didn't expect it. Honestly, he doesn't entirely make sense to her. It's so much easier when they're sparring than the bits of conversation. Mizu admits she might be escalating this moment, but it rings true to other moments, so she isn't certain.
"It's only a couple days," more like three but Mizu always underestimates it, "until I'm completely healed. Only a couple after that before I've remade what I need for the naginata."
no subject
The other swordsman provides his proposed timeline and Vergil considers it. Or more accurately, his gaze drops to Mizu's side that took the brunt of Vergil's attack. Without laying eyes on the wound itself, there's no telling if Mizu's estimate is accurate. And that's assuming Vergil even has a decent enough sense of how long a wound like that would take to heal on a human without any sort of acceleration which he frankly doubts he possesses. But it seems a fair estimation to Vergil all the same. His movements today didn't seem particularly inhibited by his wound.
"Four days then," Vergil says, lifting his eyes to meet Mizu's again with a slight nod. "Whether you're ready for me or not, I'll find you again."
And if he's not ready, then that's on Mizu to figure out and entirely his fault for putting himself in that position. Vergil doesn't think Mizu would inherently disagree with that either. He probably wouldn't have even argued with Vergil about sparring again if Vergil hadn't been so adamant that he wanted Mizu completely healed first. With Mizu seemingly intent on leaving, Vergil walks to the door to politely open it for him.
"And as far as keeping score is concerned, today doesn't count." It was a training session. Not a real contest. A chance for Vergil to practice and for Mizu to learn. "Next time I see you, I won't hold back as much as I did today. And I won't relent until I've claimed my victory."
He won't allow his skills to be called into question again by the end of it.
no subject
It's a promise that they will carry on, and that proving true, for next time and the time after that, is far more important than anything else. Mizu will not have the chance to improve enough to beat him unless they keep going. Her step is a little lighter at his words. It's what she wants.
"We'll see about that," Mizu says. As much as she knows how it will likely go, she refuses to accept defeat before it comes. That only guarantees it. "I'll be ready."
And that's that. Almost none of their interaction what she expected that day, some better, some worse. She leaves for Wintermute where the chill will center her. Mizu can always think better there.