As schooled as Vergil's expressions always are, the urgency of the moment leaves him no time to maintain his usual stoicism. His eyes widen at the explosive lodged in close to his person before he jerks his gaze to Mizu. There's no time to think, to analyze the risk. It's by pure animal instinct that Vergil's hand fists into the front of Mizu's shirt. He draws Mizu in close for just a moment, but it's not to ensure he also bears some of the blast. It's a windup before he hurls Mizu with all his strength before the explosive is detonated. Mizu is not left to fend for himself though once launched. Vergil's doppelganger—still manifested and still under the half-demon's control—catches Mizu clean out of the air. Its primary focus is to get Mizu safely on the ground, but still it draws the other swordsman in as tightly as it can and twists in midair to put its back to Vergil.
Once safely landed, Mizu is released and set down gently. The clone doesn't linger, however. By the time Mizu's on his feet, the blast has already come and gone, leaving dust and smoke in its wake. Having enacted the will of its master, the clone dissipates into wisps of its own blue smoke akin to Mirage Edge when it's dismissed.
Vergil's own landing is much less smooth than Mizu. The blast is blinding in both light and the pain it inspires and Vergil's world spins as he's lifted off the rooftop. Despite his grip, Mirage Edge falls from his hand somewhere along the way, although he couldn't rightly say where it ends up. He barely has any sense of where he is, only that he bounces and strikes and skids before he comes to wherever it is he's landed. He's only aware of the scent of burnt flesh and blood, his eyes stinging, and a maddening, deafening ring in his ears afterward.
His next breaths are raspy and wet, the taste of copper in the back of his throat. Vergil's vision swims as he sits up, the ground trying to become his walls and sky. The most he can make sense of is that the building stands between him and Mizu if his clone was successful, if he held onto his concentration for it long enough. It's of little consequence though if the shooting, hot pain in his side is any indication. Vergil blindly reaches around until his fingertips graze the chunk of shrapnel that's embedded itself into him. It takes a moment for him to get a proper grip. He has to close his eyes to shut out his still correcting vision before he can, but it at least gives him a moment to steady his breath first. Unlike removing the sword from his hand, Vergil isn't quite so quiet. A blade is a smooth edge. Shrapnel is significantly less so. What starts as a grunt and growl eventually tears out a howl of pain as it loosens and dislodges from the half-devil. He quiets down quickly enough though once it's removed.
Throwing it aside, Vergil tucks his legs beneath him and breaths through the discomfort as his body repairs the wound. Each breath is less raspy than the last and eventually, Vergil spits the blood from his mouth. He holds out a slightly shaky hand, and Mirage Edge returns to him from wherever it was sent. This time, the force of its return has a bit of an effect and Vergil must steady himself before he can use Mirage Edge as leverage.
Vergil rises once more to his feet. There's a slight sway for just a moment as he's still slightly hunched over, using the sword more as a cane than anything else. Like a newborn fawn or calf, he takes an unsteady half-step in his initial attempt to right himself. But after a pause, Vergil rights himself properly and he's firmly planted back to the ground once he does. Despite the cuts and scrapes, and the blossoming bruise to the side of his face, he would appear no worse for wear in the end.
With his significant injuries more or less done healing, he looks for Mizu, assuming that the swordsman went looking for Vergil for one reason or another.
When their eyes meet, he says, "I can still fight."
Though Mizu meant to use Vergil to block the worst of the blast from her, she cannot fault him for grabbing her and holding her close. She's survived it before, and she can survive it again. Probably. At least the explosion isn't happening within a contained space. Plus the fall is not nearly as far. Mizu prepares for the consequences—it was her choice to risk them—when suddenly she flies through the air. There's little time to stare at Vergil, less to ask him why, when the double comes for her. She readies herself to continue the fight, but again, no, it's anything but.
In the end, Mizu cannot see the explosion itself or what happens to Vergil. Her view is blocked, and Mizu struggles against the thing that looks like Vergil but isn't to do so. It doesn't work. They land, and it sets her down with gentleness she doesn't deserve. Mizu would demand answers of it except it disappears. Mizu's heart thumps hard in her chest. Did she get it wrong? Did she kill Vergil? Cross the single line they agreed not to cross, the line it's felt impossible for her to cross with what she's currently capable of. She did not strike it into his head or neck, for concern that might go too far, or use the wire she carries to try to decapitate him. Reasonable limits, Mizu thought.
Walking hurts, both because of the wound to her foot and the fresh slice into her flesh. It matters not at all. With her weapon to stabilize her, she moves quickly around the building they were just atop. Vergil did not land back in the street with her, so he must be somewhere else. She cannot easily reach the top, so she first will check the entire perimeter. Something releases in her when she sees him breathing. Little as Mizu generally cares about honor or lying to others, she's glad she hasn't made so much a mistake that Vergil pays for. He looks worse than she expected. In another moment, he straightens and looks much better, though Mizu cannot tell if that is his healing or his pride.
Other minor injuries remain, something Mizu expects of most people but not of Vergil. It should be a thrill of success, a mark of progress to wound him enough that something sticks. Though Mizu marks the knowledge, the way she remembers everything that could help her, she would call the fight there if—
A pleased smile crosses Mizu's face at his words, so similar to her own time and time again. Mizu returns her sword to its state and wraps herself in her steel guards, a quick movement despite the pain. "As can I," Mizu assures him.
Not that she used the break, the pause, to heal. Her mind was nothing close to calm. With the same respect she expects from him when she says those words, Mizu shrugs back her shoulders, returns to a good stance, and flies forward. Curiosity as well drives her. She returns to the technique of attacks of attrition, those designed to wound and to slow him down. Before, they'd do nothing, but Mizu needs to know whether that is still the case.
To the untrained and unfamiliar eye, it's likely that Vergil would seem ultimately unaffected by the explosive. He keeps pace with Mizu without too much trouble, parrying and dodging his strikes as they come. One after the other and Vergil doesn't break a sweat or show any signs of tiring. But Mizu's had enough time sparring with Vergil to know the difference. Mirage Edge doesn't glow with quite the same brightness, its afterimage smaller and closer to the blade itself rather than proving itself to be a potential threat that it tends to be. Rather than taking the opportunity to strike back or turn the tide of their clashing back into his own offensive measures, Vergil plays it conservatively. He remains defensive instead and simply focused on not getting hit. But even his defensive maneuvers have changed. He's less keen to use his trick dodges, no longer teleporting himself out of harm's way. He opts for more physical movements, leaning, stepping, and even rolling and flipping himself out of the way when it calls for it.
So, she doesn't need to land strikes to wound and slow him down. As it is, he's already slowed down relative to normal. As ready as Vergil is to fight again and as much as he still holds his own seemingly easily enough with what he's been reduced to relying upon, it's more an illusion of being hardly worse for wear than the truth. An injury such as the one Mizu bestowed upon him with the grenade takes a bit of time for Vergil to recuperate from the expenditure of demonic energy to heal. Never mind using his clone to bring Mizu to safety just moments before. It serves as evidence that for Vergil, it's not just his abilities or raw strength that define his skill. He has a sharp mind and is attuned deeply to the rhythm and flow of their sparring that he doesn't need to move at a speed faster than Mizu can track with his eyes to avoid being sliced.
But before Mizu can find any potential comfort in the evidence that Vergil has slowed a bit, Vergil starts to gradually find his second wind. As Vergil focuses less on the dull throb of his side as the last of the injury truly heals, and more on predicting Mizu's next move, Mirage Edge slowly begins to glow brighter again. The more they clash, the greater the distance from the spectral blade to its afterimage. Mizu gets a strike past Vergil's defenses as he sometimes tends to, but rather than finding Vergil stumbling back or faltering, Vergil doesn't hesitate and attempts to exploit the inherent vulnerability in landing a strike by returning one to Mizu. He ignores the pain in his side, the wound healing just as quickly as it always does, to follow up regardless of whether he lands one strike after the next or not.
There are limits to Vergil's abilities, limits even someone like Mizu can push him toward. Their fight feels more familiar to those back home, to facing an excellent if human opponent, for some time. This side of him, the skills that come of training and self-reliance, earn more of her respect than any flashy fancy magical skill could. Mizu doesn't forget what he revealed in his lodgings, that he can learn any weapon simply by picking it up, but plenty of fools learn the moves without learning how to apply them properly. Defensive as Vergil is, he's good.
Mizu presses hard, despite the blood starting to soak into her clothes and the blood marking her steps on the ground as they move over and over again. He also heals. Slower. But heals. Vergil finds no reason to wait to heal himself (or perhaps it is not choice but fact). Mizu fails to take necessary advantage of Vergil's weakness, though she notes how long it takes Vergil to recover. Should she would him so severely in the future, she knows the length of her window. Her teeth grind, but Mizu has no time to ponder on that reaction. Not in the middle of combat.
Her sword finds purchase, dealing lasting damage to Vergil's clothes but no more. She twists to avoid his attack. The move avoids Mirage Edge itself, but the flow of their movements pushes her into the afterimage. A small grimace as she earns yet another injury. Honestly, someone could guess she's the one who got too close to a grenade with these injuries she's building up. Despite it, Mizu blocks the next attack and the next, though the pain in her foot makes it harder to hold the proper footwork. Her sandal is damaged, and her foot slips on the blood when she stays in place too long.
Clearly, everything is as normal. Vergil. Her. Nothing changed but the firmness of their determination. It starts to snow around them on the previously clear day. Mizu thinks little of it, when it is likely due to the fox spirit. A few flakes then more. Mizu takes a step back to grab a handful of snow out of the air and rub it across her face. Its coolness brings her back to her senses. Vergil's fine. She's... fine enough. The pain fades from her focus and attention, and Mizu attacks with excellent technique despite her injuries. Fast and hard, even going for the point of impact from the explosion, should it be a sensitive spot.
They separate again, a natural pause in the flow and rhythm of their fight, as the flakes begin to fall. Vergil glances skyward at the sudden precipitation, brow furrowing in curiosity. He doesn't need to have any sort of ability to sense that the snow isn't remotely natural. But rather than ruminating on the relatively inoffensive snowfall (the individual flakes sting a bit against his cuts and scrapes, but there is something soothing about the cooler air against his bruise), Vergil sheds his ruined coat and tosses it aside. His shirt and vest are not holding up much better technically speaking. They bear the same slashes in their fabrics as the coat, but there's far less for Mizu to potential grab hold of with those relative to his coat by now. Vergil isn't bothered by the chill brought about by the snow either, the flakes landing and melting on his bare arms as he readies himself into position.
He's impressed with Mizu. Consistently, he's impressed with Mizu. It's almost enough to make Vergil wonder if perhaps even with his improved appreciation for humans if perhaps he is still a little too harsh on his opinions. But that's unlikely the case, he thinks. Mizu is just simply...remarkable. He pushes through pain. He maintains technique and form far beyond what should be reasonable. Perhaps really the only criticism Vergil can offer is in his willingness to throw his life away in pursuit of his goal. It would be more than a little hypocritical, of course, with everything that Vergil had once discarded for the sake of power, but it doesn't make it any less true. Vergil has seen it time and time again. Technique eventually frays giving way to a more base, animalistic instinct. As though killing Vergil bears the same importance as each breath he draws for his continued existence. He bleeds and bleeds and bleeds, and no drop of it seems to serve a discouragement or a push to yield for Mizu.
So, he's remarkable. But he's a remarkable fool.
Vergil's side isn't as tender by the time Mizu attempts to exploit it for his gain. There's no loss of control or form, nor any attempt to retreat and withdraw, but it's one of the rare times that Vergil makes a sound when struck by Mizu. He grits his teeth hard, jaw clenched as he tries to suppress the noise. He's successful insomuch that it does not carry far beyond them, but Mizu will have surely heard it regardless of his efforts. He strikes back not with Mirage Edge, but with his fist to Mizu's jaw to knock him back. It's not hard to see why as Vergil wants the space as he summons swords around Mizu. They spin around the other swordsman much like the spiral Vergil tends to summon to make space for himself. But rather than pointing outward in a protective formation as they would when circling Vergil, they point toward Mizu. They'll only hover a moment before Vergil wills them to stop and converge upon the center point that Mizu happens to occupy. Whether they pierce their target or Mizu is successful in deflecting them all and breaking them before they strike, Vergil leaps at him with an overhead swing to follow up.
The noises Vergil makes bring satisfaction, something like music to her ears, not to be the only one making those sounds as they fight. Mizu ignores the threat of hollowness to that feeling, and a hard blow that sends her head ringing clears any thoughts about anything but the fight. That moment. The fact that Vergil only ever goes for distance to create space for something inhuman, impressive, and irritating. Something that is readily apparent as Mizu readies herself to face it.
Had she the time, Mizu would give Vergil a look that conveys exactly what she thinks of moves like this. However, the numerous sharp pointed objects rain down toward her in less time than that would take. The pain she is in is nothing. Mizu moves toward one side, sweeping those blades aside first in the small time that buys her from the rest. Her sword continues moving, and Mizu—fuck the lesson about the disadvantage in going to the floor—drops in a roll to the ground as her sword sweeps aside the rest.
Well. Almost all the rest.
One sword deflects but not far enough. It pierces her arm. Mizu cries out in frustration, and pain, even as she continues to roll back to standing. No time to concern herself with the latest injury because Vergil attacks again. There's no time for anything but to block the blow while redirecting it away from her. The force of his attack reverberates through her, and her body frees itself of yet more blood as a consequence. His strike need not land to wound her. Even so much costs her dearly. A moment most people might consider the right time to concede.
Instead, Mizu moves in and, despite her body's protests, switches to a one handed grip on her sword. She reaches for Vergil's arm, to use to pull herself in and, though it likely will not land, skewer him from the side with her sword. Defeat is for those who accept it.
Vergil is sent back a little with the impact of their blades colliding. He's able to stop too much momentum from pushing him too far away, but it would appear that it plays to his disadvantage in the end as Mizu grapples onto his arm and draws himself in close. It's a snap decision, but Vergil isn't willing to chance getting stabbed in that particular side again. Not with how far and deep Mizu will no doubt be able to drive it at this angle. He'll be pushed all the more closer to his limits if the strike lands, and it will be too awkward and clumsy to cross his body with Mirage Edge to protect himself.
Thus, it hits like a gale from a storm and Vergil is engulfed in a blue light similar to that of his spectral manifestations, blasting outward in the blink of an eye in a wide radius that sends snow flying out and forcing back Mizu's blade before it can hit its target. If Mizu manages to hold on tight enough to Vergil that he's merely lifted by the transformation rather than thrown, he'll find in place of smooth skin to be scales akin to that of a reptile beneath his hand. Despite the reptilian armor though, Vergil runs feverishly hot like this, albeit none of the infernal energy exhausting from his horns or arms burns to the touch. It's the clone Mizu has seen time and time again made truly real and solid albeit without the Yamato sheathed.
Vergil's tail lashes behind him.
If Mizu thought Vergil was quick and strong before, he is about to have a much truer demonstration of Vergil's demonic power.
Mizu closes her eyes and holds tightly to Vergil's arm. Though she begins with her torso close, nearly hugging his arm to her chest, by the end she's horizontal perpendicular to Vergil's torso and her arm long and straight. It tears at all her wounds, and Mizu's more impressed she kept a hold of her sword than anything else. She looks at Vergil as her feet return to the ground. The features are familiar, if new to the flesh. So that's a demon. Vergil's sort of demon at least.
The fact he gets an additional limb in the form of a tail is absolutely unfair. The name of the game the whole time they've sparred, however, so sure. Of course it's Vergil. Mizu bets that new skin is tougher than before. Harder to pierce or slash. Her job's never been easy, and she wouldn't enjoy fighting Vergil if it were.
Unfortunately, while Vergil's grown stronger and faster, Mizu's strength quavers. Her wounds are numerous, and the blood loss makes it harder to stay on her feet. Her stubbornness carries her far, but her attacks are weaker, her movements sluggish, and her vision going dark around the edges. Still, he'll have to remove her sword and prove his win to get it.
Mizu is notably fading the longer this fight continues on. When he's knocked off-balance, he over-corrects accidentally. Vergil doesn't need to rely upon his full speed to parry Mizu's strikes. Those that do manage to land come more from Vergil not bothering to defend himself rather than Mizu breaking past his defenses as his assumption about the toughness of Vergil's skin like this is correct. Mizu's blade connects, but there isn't so much as a scratch left in its wake. Even attempts at his wings—which he keeps folded down close to his person in a manner that almost seems to mirror his coat rather than extending and flexing them—don't seem to produce a different result. His skin there is no less invulnerable.
It won't be much longer. Vergil is certain of it. Either he claims Mizu's sword or he simply passes out again from his injuries. There are no alternatives at this point.
He'd like to try to for the former if at all possible and give Mizu the opportunity to heal from his injuries. But if it ends up the latter... Well, Vergil's apartment isn't far and Mizu isn't particularly heavy even with his weights on his ankles and wrists.
Mizu strikes out again and their blades meet, gliding along the edge of one another until they meet one another's guards. A clawed hand comes to the dull side of Mizu's blade and leverages it downward to start creating an uncomfortable twist of Mizu's wrists to maintain a hold on it. As he begins to twist the blade into this position, Vergil dismisses Mirage Edge so that he can more freely grab the hilt and fully wrench it from Mizu's hands. If he's successful, he leaps back with a teleport, poised Mizu's katana in his right hand, and Mirage Edge once again manifested albeit in his left hand. If he's not able to wrestle the katana away, he turns quickly and manifesting Mirage Edge, he drives the pommel as hard as he can behind himself and toward Mizu's center with enough force that in his condition, he should be sent tumbling to the ground.
"That's enough."
While in this form, it's still recognizably Vergil's voice. But there's an inhuman quality to it. Despite being in the open, his voice almost sounds as though it is reverberating, layering over itself.
Were Mizu's arm not so badly hurt, she's sure she would have kept her sword. Instead, she's left staring at Vergil holding her sword. Not a sword of her own hand, to be sure; Mizu uses the blade she pulled from a book the first time they met. She blinks, her hand closing around open air, as she stares at him, at that image. It's more striking than his transformation into a demon. Strange, like something imagined, not actually happening.
His voice cuts through it, even as she starts to step toward him. Were they fighting to the death, she would carry on. She's faced dozens of men before, starting without a weapon. Her state would not deter her. With Vergil, however, Mizu can acknowledge there's no further victory at this point. Her steps lead her not toward him but the nearest wall. Mizu turns to lean against it and slowly, with as much control as she can muster, slide down.
Her knees jut up before her torso, and that brings a large wince as it pulls at the long slice across her body. Despite the blood flowing freely from one arm, Mizu physically rearranges her legs to sit cross legged. Blood soaks the snow around her. Indeed so much of the snow is red, it's striking. The color she associates with other people, not herself. Blue is her color. Her mind's wandering when Mizu needs it to focus. She grabs a large handful of clean white snow and holds it against her face. A painful shiver runs through her, but it clears her mind. Mizu feels more herself. More centered. For however long that lasts, she has to focus and meditate. Her eyes close, and Mizu focuses on the lessons swordfather gave her. His voice runs through her mind, a comfort, and her attention turns toward her new ability. To heal herself.
It is harder than any time before, the minor practice before today and even when she healed her leg. Her injuries are worse, and her ability to focus lessened. Something happens, but Mizu nearly passes out during it, her exhaustion so great. She straightens her spine forcefully, winces at the pain that still brings, and admits that what she can do that moment is over. Mizu runs over the sensation of her injuries. Her foot no longer hurts. That wound is healed. The rest, she cannot tell if there is any improvement.
Mizu groans and moves to stand again. The pain is nothing new, and she has looked after herself a long time.
Vergil is entirely prepared for the possibility that his direct statement that their battle with one another has met its end will be ignored. It isn't exactly unlike Mizu to ignore his limits and attempt to push past them even at great cost to himself, after all. But thankfully, for once, it would seem that Mizu sees sense in Vergil calling their fight there. He wobbles his way toward the wall rather than to meet Vergil in one last attempt to snatch a victory. He's even so reasonable that it appears he is willing to take the time to try and heal his injuries as well. As Mizu's eyes close and he meditates, Vergil lowers both blades. As he exhales, he transforms back, a softer light as the slightly larger, sturdier form he was seems to drift away like a mix of ash and smoke. Mirage Edge follows shortly thereafter.
Vergil waits patiently for Mizu to be done, idly running through a few kata with Mizu's sword to keep himself occupied. For being a blade pulled from a book, it's not terrible. It's balanced and he knows well enough the edge is sharp and clean. But it's not the Yamato. Vergil doesn't have a chance to ruminate upon that, however, as he's interrupted by Mizu attempting to stand on his own. He rolls his eyes slightly before narrowing his stance once more. Walking over, he returns Mizu his blade, allowing him to sheathe it for himself. Vergil anticipates protest and struggle, so the katana barely has a moment to click back into its scabbard before Vergil bends down and scoops Mizu up off his feet.
Despite the swiftness of the movement, Vergil is at least careful of potentially still open wounds on Mizu's person. He's certain that it's Mizu's uninjured arm that's against him, and while it's a firm hold, it's not crushing and potentially putting pressure on any slashes that might remain along Mizu's side.
"You take more than a few steps and you're going to pass out," he says, providing an explanation for the sudden bridal carry. Vergil's tone likely implies that he doesn't particularly care the implications of this for Mizu's pride regardless of the apparent hypocrisy. Vergil begins carrying Mizu off in the direction of his apartment building. "You can rest at my apartment. If you wish to leave after you've regained enough strength to manage returning to your home on your own, you may."
It will likely only be an hour or two. Long enough for perhaps a small amount of sleep and some food, and Mizu should be steadier on his feet. Perhaps even possess the ability to heal more of his injuries before he goes. Regardless, Vergil doesn't imagine that Mizu will stay for longer than that. Even if the pair of them are doing marginally better at holding a conversation with one another, they never...just spend time in one another's presence for the sake of it. And once the purpose of ensuring that Mizu won't simply pass out on the way to his secluded cabin is concluded... Mizu isn't one to linger in Vergil's experience.
The return of her sword relieves something sharp and jagged, but Mizu quickly finds herself no longer standing. That nearly has her hand reaching to draw her sword yet again based on pure instinct. It's Vergil, no one else, but Mizu opens her mouth in protest. To object to the idea she would have passed out. Her foot is healed, no longer bleeding and screaming in pain with each step. She could manage to walk to his apartment. Her face makes clear her opinion of this indignity. The strength to walk and the strength to free herself from Vergil's firm grip are two entirely different things.
It's not the first time Vergil's carried her, though usually Mizu is actually unconscious for the act. When someone's unconscious, it's simply necessary to carry them. Awake and alert enough to remember the act, Mizu finds it wholly different. "You forgot your jacket," Mizu says for lack of anything else to say. His hold is warm. The farther they get from the snow, no longer falling, the warmer it gets in the regular spring summer air. This indignity is simply the price of losing. Between the two of them, anyone would suspect she's the one who survived an explosive, not him.
Why must Vergil live in one of the most populous housing options? Mizu would rather not be carried at all, but worse that she's carried to his lodgings instead of her own. Rin lives there too and could see her. No matter how well she is when next they see each other, if Rin sees her so hurt, she'll worry. Nor is there any point in attempting to hide her identity. That will only draw attention. All in all, being carried is a terrible idea.
"Entirely unnecessary," Mizu murmurs under her breath. Never mind that it hurts to breath. She's survived worse. Yes she was unconscious for multiple days, and Ringo brought her home to swordfather, but she survived. Fine. Mizu suffers the indignity with what little pride she can manage. It isn't even the first time he's carried her today. It reminds her of the explosion, and the way Vergil sent his double, that winged tailed form, to shield her and set her gently on the ground. It makes no sense, less sense than now, even if he knew he couldn't be killed. That's not how fighting is supposed to work between opponents. He could have ended the fight much sooner if he'd held her close, forced her to take some of the damage.
If she were in a better state, Mizu would keep her mouth shut. Instead she mutters, "You don't make sense."
Despite the look Mizu levels at Vergil for the indignity of being carried, he remains undeterred. In fact, Vergil outright ignores the look and says nothing to most of Mizu's mutterings. The coat is ruined. So, there's no reason to take the time to collect it. Perhaps someone else—be it a Star Child or one of the native spirits—will find it and make some use out of it. Regardless, it's beyond Vergil's skills to salvage it and it serves little use for him now. And as for Mizu's judgment on what's necessary for his recovery? Vergil would deem it poor at best. So, there's no reason to entertain a debate about it. Especially when Vergil is already carrying him. What good is it to argue about something that is already happening? It's a waste of words and breath.
It's only Mizu's statement that he doesn't make any sense that garners Vergil's attention because the statement itself doesn't make any particular sense to him. He glances down at Mizu then, frowning a little before looking ahead once more. Although Vergil is willing to ignore the injury to Mizu's pride in being carried like this, he understands it. And by Vergil's measure with that understanding, it shouldn't seem so unusual or strange that Vergil would make certain he didn't slam into the cobblestone while trying to make his way to the train station or become buried beneath a hefty drift of snow before he could reach the safety of inside his cabin.
After their fights, Vergil has always seen to Mizu's recovery in some form or fashion. He's carried Mizu after beating him into unconsciousness, and stayed until he opened his eyes again. Vergil has always lingered long enough to see to it that Mizu tends to his injuries before leaving. And Vergil's already provided his explanation regarding that matter. He did so the very first time when Mizu balked at Vergil's insistence to make certain he tended to his wounds. Why should this time be any different than those that preceded them? Vergil's brow furrows a little further as he cannot find the difference.
"When have I ever abandoned you to bleed out after a fight?" he asks after a moment of silence.
As they make a proper approach to the apartment building, Vergil strays from the main thoroughfare. While he's been fortunate enough to have neighbors who tend to mind their own business, he's not particularly keen with the notion of carrying a bloodied human in his arms through the front door and chance running into someone on the way up. There will be needless questions and fussing that both Vergil and Mizu will find irritating if that should happen. Better to take the alleys between buildings sooner rather than later and aim for his balcony instead. He only lives on the second floor, and even with Mizu in his arms, he should be able to get enough height with a second jump off the side of the building itself.
Mizu rests her head against Vergil as he walks because there's little point in holding it up when he's holding the rest of her. Win or lose, this usually happens. It is only when they fight right near her home that she may get the dignity of walking herself inside under his supervision. Yet it would be a loss to fight Vergil in one environment only. The varied surroundings and conditions makes it more exciting and realistic. Even if it comes at this cost. Mizu suffers it. It's not like she has honor.
His question makes her blink, and Mizu turns her face up toward Vergil. While she would not have held anything against Vergil for leaving her to tend her own wounds, he's never been that way. He was the first guest, so to speak, she had when he waited in her main room while she tended to her injuries. Part of that vow not to kill each other, not during the fight nor afterward. Her mind is foggy enough it takes a couple moments to connect his question to her statement that he doesn't make sense. That comment wasn't for him. It wasn't about—
"Not that," Mizu says quietly. Held as she is, there isn't much a way to gesture. Though carrying her is unnecessary. She maintains that, and as he didn't permit her to prove she could walk, neither of them can say they are right with complete and utter certainty. Not that that will stop either of them from being certain.
"Earlier," Mizu clarifies, "with the explosive. I've done that before. A body is enough of a shield I lived, but you would have had an easier time beating me." It doesn't make sense. Even without pulling her toward the explosive and ensuring she likely died from it, Vergil could have taken advantage. He could have simply done nothing about her and let what happened happened. He didn't. He took multiple unnecessary actions to protect her, to minimize the harm she took. It did nothing to her.
Mizu wants to look away, but she refuses to be the coward. She watches Vergil as best she can from how she's held.
"Perhaps," he says, falling silent again. It's not a particularly honest answer insomuch they both know that the easier victory would have been true. Even without ensuring that Mizu bore some degree of the blast as well, there is no way he could have possibly moved away quickly enough from that explosion to avoid injury. It's also not a particularly honest answer because it's feigning ignorance of the implied question Mizu is posing to Vergil.
Why?
He can feel Mizu's gaze on him, watching him closely. Vergil doesn't hold doubts that his response isn't bringing about any satisfaction, and Mizu likely knows the word is ultimately meaningless in the ways in which it lacks any sort of truth or acknowledgment. He doesn't feel guilt or shame for offering something unsatisfactory, however. Another's satisfaction hardly matters to him and Mizu is no exception. So, it's not that motivating him to eventually continue in his response.
"Regardless of whatever abilities the fox spirit grants you, that explosive was reckless and stupid." Vergil doesn't condescend by talking to Mizu as though he were scolding a child. It's a statement of fact. It was reckless. It was stupid. He's certain deep down even Mizu is capable of recognizing that given that he already assumed the consequence could mean a quicker end to their sparring. "Simply because you decided to be a fool doesn't mean that I need to abide by it."
It's a fuller answer than his initial response, but it's still not the full of it because there is no unmaking the truth that it wasn't to Vergil's advantage in the slightest. It was foolish for Vergil to not to let Mizu reap the consequences of his choices. Had Vergil lost consciousness after the blast, the shrapnel from the grenade itself would have hindered his healing. Mizu also could have easily taken advantage of Vergil being unarmed and on his knees rather than waiting for him to regroup. It's not as though the other swordsman was so above fighting dirty, after all. So, in that decision to protect Mizu, it could have just as easily been over and done for Vergil. He would have been forced to yield one way or another had things gone a little differently.
So, it's true that Vergil has the ability to decide if he's going to let Mizu taste the consequences of foolish decisions. But that still doesn't provide a reason as to why his instinct wasn't to let Mizu be his own undoing. Especially when Vergil privately knows that being the protector of another... Well, that was a drive and instinct he gave up a long time ago. It's only ever been about his pursuit of power for decades, and thus, only ever ensuring his own survival. What became of others mattered little. The lives lost and broken because of him were negligible.
Then again, maybe that wasn't the conflict. Maybe Vergil didn't see it as his survival or even his defeat were on the line in that moment, and it really did boil down to refusing to let Mizu's self-destructive tendencies determine the outcome. Perhaps it was that selfish part of him that wants what he feels entitled to through his own power and merit that drove him to do it. Perhaps it is a fuller answer than it seems, and there's nothing more to it.
Vergil looks down at Mizu though, and he feels like a child clumsily trying to bluff his way through some predicament to an adult that already knows the truth, but waits to see when he will say it. Vergil can't intuit Mizu's mind, but his words feel so paper thin without Mizu having to say or do anything. He quickly averts his gaze with a mild heat rising to his face and ears, and he feels all at once frustrated. Granted, the frustration is without a specific target as this also appears to happen quite frequently after they spar. Something...lifts afterward. A heaviness that Vergil is so accustomed to bearing that it's only in its absence that he notices it. And in its absence, he seems to part with things. A little at a time and usually without his notice. But something about this makes him cling tighter to it, more unwilling to part with it. Not that he could exactly articulate why that is.
"I was not thinking of the outcome of the fight." It's the most he's willing or able to say on the matter. Vergil comes to a stop at the base of the apartment building and looks up at his balcony. He has a firm hold on Mizu that he's not in any danger of being dropped on the way up, but it's likely there will be a bit of jostling. "Hold onto me."
He waits until he feels Mizu take whatever amount of hold he can muster to minimize how much he's shifted around before leaping into the air. He scales a good portion of the way up before his feet hit the side of the building. Bouncing off the wall, he directs the momentum toward his balcony. His feet find the edge and without removing his arm as a support for Mizu's back, his hand finds the railing. He raises Mizu's knees to grab the railing with his other hand and nods for him to slide himself over the railing and onto the balcony on his own. Once Mizu is clear, Vergil pulls himself the rest of the way over the railing as well.
There is never any surety of what might have happened more than one step removed. It's not as though Vergil had a sword pressed against Mizu's heart, so they could say 'Vergil could have killed Mizu.' It's only that Mizu would have been affected by the explosion in some way. That is too chaotic to say for certain. Perhaps is true. It's also unsatisfactory. It doesn't explain why he did what he did. Mizu doesn't ask again. Vergil will say what he will say and nothing more. Perhaps someone more skilled in conversation might dig more out (doubtful), but Mizu is not that person.
The explosive was reckless, but what was the alternative? Losing more certainly? Surely Vergil can understand how that will not satisfy Mizu, not when she fights like she does, like each fight matters, the difference between achieving her revenge and not. Vergil sees a far broader array of her fighting, fiercer and more determined, than anyone else. Even should any of the hand to hand instructors be able to survive that mode of fighting, it's not what she's looking for from them. She's improving technique, not reaching her fathers. Against Vergil, Mizu improves her technique and adapts her strategies. She also takes it far more seriously and fights more underhanded. As was his wish. That means the reckless along with the best technique Mizu has. It's part and parcel.
The fact Vergil can transform into a demonic form whose skin her sword cannot even cut demonstrates one of the ways he holds back during fights. The way he made the fight thoroughly one-sided the first time they sparred again after the disastrous conversation in his apartment demonstrates it. Infuriating as it is that Vergil holds back, it's far more infuriating that he needs to. Mizu will beat him, no matter what it takes, even explosives, so that he cannot hold back as much as he does now. In that regard, today was a victory. It's the first time she's witnessed him, not only his double, take that form. That pleases Mizu in a way she does not put into words. That move makes sense. Pushing her away, shielding her with his double, that does not serve him well in the fight.
It makes no sense.
Though Mizu already watches Vergil's face, she's stunned and stares when he says it wasn't about the fight. About the outcome. She would forget where they are, save that he speaks again in a way that promises pain. Pain doesn't matter. Mizu fists Vergil's vest with one hand and reaches across herself painfully to get a second anchor point. The neckline of his shirt.
Not used to bothering to hide pain outside of a fight, when Mizu frequently forgets or ignores it, Mizu flinches as the leaps jostle her. It's better than walking through the public areas of Satori Hills. No complaint there. It takes a moment to gather herself. Vergil is letting her climb onto his balcony. That's right. She can do that. Mizu slides away from Vergil and lets go of him to steady on the railing itself. Only for a moment. Rather than focus on what Vergil's words could mean, Mizu takes small forcefully steady steps toward the door into Vergil's apartment. It's not far, and with her foot healed, she manages it.
Woozy from the loss of blood, Mizu pauses, leaning against that door. What was Vergil thinking about? Mizu blinks and stares at him, as though that will provide any further insight. She may as well be swordfather, for how much Mizu can tell from his face. With a small shake of her head to clear her thoughts and focus, she turns back to the door and slides it open. It's only far enough she can slip inside and continue, tracking a little blood, toward Vergil's bed. He lacks much furniture, and Mizu refuses to collapse on the floor.
"I'll be... fine," Mizu says with determination. Whether she has the healing ability or not, she'll live. She'll recover. She'll be fine. Nothing she regrets about their fight, not when she knows that explosive won't kill him. Not there. She was right.
When Mizu stares at him from the door, Vergil says nothing. The silence isn't discomforting given that neither Mizu nor Vergil are ones for idle chatter, but it feels oddly...prolonged. So, his brow furrows slightly as he begins to wonder if he's going to need to step in with getting the door and ushering Mizu to his bed. But the swordsman seems to shake out of his stupor long enough to get the door open and has just enough sense to know where he needs to go. Vergil follows Mizu inside, opting to leave the balcony door open and allow a bit of fresh air into the studio apartment. He doesn't care much about the blood on his floor or the blood that's surely to be on his bed after Mizu rests upon it. He can clean the blood on the floor later after Mizu is settled, and his bedding is ultimately washable. Never mind it doesn't see much use anyway. Vergil tends to stay awake for longer periods of time than is probably advisable even with his heritage.
"I know," he says at Mizu's reassurance. There hasn't been a fight between them yet that Mizu hasn't recovered from in the end.
The most he does for Mizu is pull back the covers on the bed, but he otherwise lets the other swordsman handle getting himself settled. Mizu has a bed to collapse upon should he find himself struggling, anyway, so Vergil will allow Mizu's pride to dictate how much support he has or not. As Mizu settles, Vergil gets a large bowl with some soapy water and a pair of towels from the kitchen. He sets them down on the nightstand near the bed for Mizu to clean off some of the blood and grime. As little as Vergil is concerned with the state of his bedding by the time Mizu is done resting, he can at least recognize that it would probably feel a little better for Mizu to clean up. Even if it's just the rest of what the snow could not on his face. To that end, Vergil opens his wardrobe and pulls from it a shirt and pair of sweatpants. As he does, he says, "I'll make you some food after I've showered."
Rather than taking the clothing with him, however, Vergil lightly tosses them at the foot of the bed in a silent offer for Mizu to make use of them if he so desires. They'll be a little large on his smaller frame, of course, but they're at least clean and it won't require spending any Lore to summon a fresh pair of clothes. But if all Mizu wants to do is simply lie down and sleep, far be it from Vergil to take any offense to not cleaning himself up or taking the clothes.
He pulls out another change of clothes for himself, and slides his wardrobe shut. Out of habit, he begins to reach beneath his shirt and vest to pull his out the amulet around his neck. Vergil pauses and hesitates, however, with a glance at Mizu, his grip subtly tightening around the amulet itself. After a few quiet seconds of debate, he releases the amulet and removes it, placing it on its usual spot on the nightstand. It's been out in the open before and Mizu let it be. He didn't seem to pay it any mind whatsoever the last time he was in Vergil's apartment, in fact. So, Vergil likely has very little to worry about leaving it there with Mizu.
As he heads towards his bathroom, Vergil begins unbuttoning his vest, scoffing quietly to himself at the tears in the fabric.
Mizu's first instinct is to collapse, but with Vergil watching, Mizu takes more care. She sits and rests her injured arm in her lap. Her wounds aren't bleeding as profusely as before, either because she's running out of blood or because the wounds are clotting. Each injury comes with damage to her clothes, cuts through the layers. Mizu pulls her sleeve away from her arm and winces. It sets her to bleeding a little more. The bowl and towels come into her peripheral vision, not as black as before, and Mizu grunts in appreciation.
The cuts in her clothing allow her to clean the wounds without revealing more skin than necessary. Without revealing anything she doesn't want to. Mizu uses her uninjured hand to clean around the wounds so nothing goes worse before she can heal them. Her ability isn't an excuse for reckless wound care. She flinches as she goes, pressing against sensitive wounds. That's how injuries go. Even Vergil isn't entirely stoic. Mizu saw that today. It's not embarrassing to be wounded or to take care of herself. Even as her head gets woozy, she carries on, wiping her face along the way.
The clothes are the greater surprise. The entire time it takes Vergil to leave, to place the amulet on the nightstand and go, Mizu focuses her attention on the simple nightclothes offered to her. She remembers how similar clothes fit on Vergil when she stopped by. They'll fit differently on her, and Mizu puzzles whether that would reveal more of her shape than she would like. To add to the matter, Mizu doesn't know how long it will take Vergil to shower, less than a bath, and she remains injured. That very well may be something he's chosen to be polite, so he can make food more quickly, but Mizu doubts she has time to change into these clothes and change back, should they be unacceptable. Fortunately, Vergil knows Mizu to be plenty rude when she chooses, so there's no social obligation to accept the offer.
There is no time for indecision. Mizu scans the room, as though Vergil may have overlooked some unexpected squatter in this room, and moves quickly despite the pain. She unties her obi, removes her haori, and forces her injured arm through one sleeve, grateful the shirt is large on her. She finishes pulling it on and considers it. Mizu scowls at the way the light breeze coming through the door emphasizes her curves. Her haori is dirty and sliced through, but Mizu pulls it on over the shirt to add some weight. The shirt is clearly visible where the largest slash across her torso goes.
The trousers... Mizu turns toward the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running. Fine. Her legs themselves aren't injured. It only hurts to lift herself up and twist her body around in the act of dressing and undressing. Unless she heals herself here, Mizu doubts she'll want to change back before leaving. In total, she's dressed without being seen. The trousers do not call attention to her hips, and her haori guards her silhouette.
The excitement and terror of the situation wear off and leave Mizu drained and exhausted and wavering even as she sits. Mizu leaves her clothes where they lay and lies down, settling on her back as the least awful option, and passes out without thinking about it.
Once inside the bathroom, Vergil sets his clean set of clothes down on the counter. It's only then that he really gets a sense of the bruise on his face. Reaching up with a hand, he touches it gently with just his fingertips and hisses at the way it stings and smarts with even that barest of touches. He briefly wonders if it was worse when it was fresher or not, but it's more of a distracting thought from the question Mizu implicitly asked him just moments ago. Or, more accurately, the subsequent question that Vergil didn't have an easily produced answer for. Unlike the weight of the question, the bruise will likely be gone by the morning.
But he still lingers on it and the little cuts adorning his features, allowing the distant thought that he hasn't looked this rough since he was a child after a fight with Dante to be more present instead. They'd both be forced to sit as their mother cleaned each cut and scrape. Vergil sat still and quietly even if occasionally his eyes were pricked with tears when it would sting or burn. Dante squirmed and caterwauled nearly the entire time. Vergil would hold his hand after a while to help simmer him down with a prepared excuse that he just wanted to make things easier for their mother, but really he thought it was what a big brother was supposed to do for his little brother. Dante never asked him why he did it though, and neither did their mother. She would only scold them a little, provide them with a chore, and let them be rather than lecture.
Vergil sighs at his reflection for a moment before crouching down to undo the straps on his boots. When he straightens, he turns on the shower to start warming up the water before he strips out of his clothes. The shirt and vest don't go into the laundry basket, instead finding themselves tossed away into the trash bin. He hesitates a moment before stepping into the shower, listening for any sound that might alert him to Mizu struggling in some form or fashion. But there isn't a sound coming from outside the bathroom door, and he can only assume Mizu is managing or otherwise asleep. Vergil will keep an ear out still, but he feels confident that Mizu is fine.
Cliche as it is, the shower really is a perfect place to clear his mind when distraction isn't going to prove effective. He lets it go blank as he watches the rivulets of water coming off him turn from red to pink for just a little while before he begins to properly scrub himself clean again. But the question eventually emerges once again as he touches his once grievously injured side. He protected Mizu because he wasn't thinking about the outcome of the fight, but...
Why had he not concerned himself more with that?
It's not as though he cares that deeply about Mizu's opinion of him, but even if he had, Mizu wouldn't have been angry for whatever Vergil would have done as his opponent. He would have understood, and he would have accepted that he made a significant mistake in thinking greater firepower than what he had produced thus far would best Vergil. That would have been it. And for as reckless as it was, Mizu has survived something similar by his own account. Vergil would have still absorbed the majority of the blast even if he just allowed Mizu to escape as far as he could carry himself before it detonated. But there was just the singular thought to get Mizu away as far as possible as quickly as possible, and he enacted it without much more thought than that. But why?
He shuts off the water, grabbing a towel and drying off a little before stepping out to dry off the rest of the way. Unlike in the shower, Vergil doesn't find himself meandering and is quicker to dry off and dress himself. He opens the bathroom door quietly, padding his way over to the bed to check on Mizu.
He doesn't dare sit on the bed, thinking that the shift in weight could wake Mizu either naturally or through agitating his wounds. So, he kneels down beside him. Looking at Mizu, Vergil considers the question a bit further.
For the entirety of his life, Vergil has never been good at protecting anything. That day, he wasn't able to protect his mother or Dante. He abandoned Nero and his mother. He arguably couldn't even really protect himself in the end. But even with all those failures, he wanted to protect Mizu.
He glances away at the amulet, quietly picking it up from where he left it and putting it back on. Once it's safely tucked away beneath his shirt, he looks to Mizu again. Tentatively, he reaches out with a hand, hesitating just before making contact just as he had at the bonfire. But Vergil summons up the courage, and feels Mizu's forehead to check for a fever. His hand lingers there for just a moment before slowly, he gently follows the line of Mizu's cheek and takes back his hand altogether.
...He wants to protect Mizu.
It's a stupid, foolish, reckless, and terrible feeling. It's completely unnecessary and pointless, and Vergil wants nothing more than to tear it out of himself, to shred it for as long as it takes to make it infinitesimal pieces. But it's there, having lodged itself there at some point or another. The consequence of his humanity, he supposes, mind drifting to the amulet beneath his shirt.
Vergil stands silently, collecting the bowl and used towels. He disposes of the water, cleans the bowl, and puts the dirtied towels in with the rest of the laundry before replacing the bowl with a glass of water on the nightstand. Vergil pulls the sheet over Mizu, but leaves the blanket off him given his choice to keep his haori on. From there, it's cleaning the little trail of blood left behind by Mizu when he came inside and making the promised food.
Mizu dreams fitfully, memories blurring together in ways that they should not. Ways that don't make sense. They continue in odd ways, even as she recognizes that they cannot be real. Vergil has no place in them, nor does he have any reason to wield a sword of her making. They are foolish dreams, the melding of common injuries repeated. When she wakes, Mizu tells herself that's all there is.
She comes to in an unfamiliar bed and reaches for her sword. Still in its scabbard, Mizu takes in her surroundings, memory muddling to the fore slower than the pain. How long was she out? Not long if those sounds are Vergil in the kitchen. She hopes. Mizu sits immediately, not good at staying lying down when she's uncertain about anything in her environment. Though it's safe to pass out around Vergil, Mizu still hates losing consciousness when it's not of her own choosing. The pain pierces through the rest, and Mizu accepts that, normal as it is.
The water is cool and refreshing, greatly appreciated. Mizu looks across the room at Vergil. There isn't anything else to do but sit and wait and slowly recover. Things she can all do here in safety. Only when the thought that Mizu should ask Vergil for a needle and thread does she remember her healing ability, foreign and unfamiliar as it is. If Mizu can heal herself, she doesn't need to sew the wounds shut. A convenient fact given the act only causes more pain. She could ask him for drugs to lessen the pain (not opium, more the pills that come in bottles). However, it is best Mizu masters this ability without any aid, so she does not.
Once again, Mizu arranges herself for meditation, staying in the bed for the process. Closing her eyes, Mizu repeats phrases softly to herself under her breath. For all that her anger burns cold within her, she can find peace and calm, at least for a few moments at a time. Her mind stays on swordfather and all he taught her. When she loses her focus and cannot find it again, Mizu considers her injuries. She slides one hand under the shirt to feel her wound. The skin has sewn shut, but the area is tender to the touch. Her arm is similarly much better but not fully healed. Most annoyingly, her head still feels woozy and light. Nearly drunk, Mizu wants to say, except that she does not drink and could not say with certainty that's how it would feel.
"I'm awake," Mizu declares, in the unlikely case Vergil hasn't noticed. Even under normal circumstances, whenever two people share a room, it's hard not to notice the other person. With her injuries, Mizu has no doubts Vergil's paid attention. "Thank you for your generosity."
The bed. The clothes. The food soon to follow. That isn't part of the obligations they've made to each other with their sparring. Mizu could have laid on the floor well enough. She's slept in less comfortable places.
When Mizu begins to stir, Vergil only spares a look long enough to confirm that Mizu is actually waking and not merely dreaming or shifting about in his sleep. After that, he pays him no mind and allows him his peace and calm, assuming that the smell of food woke him up.
Vergil's not much of a chef. The times he has had to fend for himself historically haven't exactly had much emphasis on the culinary arts so much as merely sustaining himself for the next day. But he's acquired a little skill since being in Folkmore, and he finds he doesn't mind it all too much preparing his own meals. There's something meditative about it, in any case. So, he's managed to put together a standard cheeseburger—a seasoned patty with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, ketchup, mustard, and mayo all on a lightly toasted bun—with a side of some sweet potato fries. It seems a safe enough choice in meal given that he doesn't know Mizu's preferences and it'd be more than a little difficult for Vergil to mess it up.
He grunts his acknowledgement when Mizu announces he's awake, focusing on finishing with his plating and turning the stovetop off. He glances in Mizu's direction at the words of thanks, but he doesn't truthfully know what to do with them. He doesn't view what he's doing as anything particularly special, and he would like to think Mizu would extend a similar courtesy if their roles were reversed. In the end, he says nothing to it and brings the food and a small pitcher of water over on a tray. Normally, he'd insist for Mizu to sit at the table to eat to avoid crumbs in his bed, but the sheets will need washing anyway. So, Mizu might as well eat comfortably in bed. He sits down nearby at the foot of the bed and places the tray between them.
"It's not much," he says, loosely folding his arms, "but you should try to eat as much as you can." He pauses before adding, "How do you feel? You look like you're starting to get some color back."
Sitting up is enough effort at the moment that Mizu doesn't attempt more. She pushes herself hard, but when there is time to take a break, to pause, to breath, she does so. Fortunately, with her healing ability, Vergil's insistence in her recover will mean a much shorter break. Since she cannot take further steps on her revenge besides studying in the library and improving her skills as a swordsman, Vergil hasn't seen the full range of how she pushes herself to keep going. Lasting as long as she did in a fight against him is child's play in comparison.
She accepts the food and starts eating the vegetable on the side. That is more familiar to her, though she's been introduced to sandwiches before. In Japan, there would be chopsticks for the vegetable and... she's not sure how they would deal with sandwiches. The fact there is meat and cheese together in the sandwich is very much a white man concept. It's not what she expected from Vergil, but perhaps he learned about it here. The food is varied in Folkmore, and Mizu eats what is presented at various social gatherings. At home, her food is what she's used to.
Since there are no utensils, she picks up the sandwich with her hands and takes a bite. The meat is rich and fatty. The other parts of the sandwich introduce crunchy texture, sour flavors, and creaminess. It's a lot all in one bite. That seems appropriate to Vergil that he would like something like this. She needs the water and wipes her hands off on a napkin before reaching for the glass. She sips. Her appetite is both ravenous and nonexistent. She knows she needs food, but the process pulls at tender skin and sore muscles coming back together.
Mizu wishes Vergil would eat his sandwich. Being watched makes her feel more the invalid than she is and the accompanying desire to prove it. That makes her think of Taigen—that insistence she could beat him anywhere at any time with any weapon. She did beat him with a chopstick. Though Vergil, of course, would immediately learn how to fight with a chopstick upon picking it up. Perhaps not when it's an improvised weapon? Mizu wonders about that.
"It is more difficult to focus and use the healing ability at the moment, but I closed the wounds themselves," Mizu says. "I'm not sure if it replenishes blood. That will be something to think about."
She shrugs. She doesn't need to be hale and whole an hour after they finish sparring. It's enough that it should take a matter of days, perhaps. "I've had much worse," she assures Vergil. She barely passed out long enough for him to finish showering and make food. That's nothing.
When there aren't any signs that Mizu finds the food disagreeable, Vergil is willing to begin eating himself. He didn't really want to start digging in only to be interrupted by needing to fix something else for him. Not that there were an exorbitant amount of options to offer as an alternative, but it was more important that Mizu got some food in him than Vergil. He's not nearly as tentative as Mizu when it comes to picking up and taking a bite of his burger. It's also probably a bit of a contrast to how Vergil is about most things as he's not prim and proper about it even no one reasonable could necessarily accuse him of eating in a slovenly manner. He has to lick one corner of his mouth to clean it from some of the condiments.
As he chews his bite, he listens to Mizu's answer to his question. Based upon it, Vergil privately concludes that this must be a limit to the healing ability. While Vergil's own healing happens instantaneously and without thought—more a natural consequence of his biology than anything else—Mizu's requires a little more cognitive effort. He has to focus his attention in some manner to be successful with it. Therefore, if he's unconscious or in too much pain or in some altered state of mind, it won't be as successful. It's something for Vergil to take note in how he chooses to approach their future fights. He might not need to hold back quite as much as he did before, but to Vergil's mind, it's a negligible difference. The outcomes would be the same as they would be without the healing factor in that circumstance.
Vergil swallows and shifts to holding the burger in one hand as he picks up a fry from his plate. He tips his head a little and his brow furrows slightly at Mizu's reassurance.
He keeps doing that. Trying to reassure Vergil.
The half-devil doesn't know what to make of it because it's not as though he's worried per se. Mizu is upright, talking, eating, and he doesn't look quite so close to passing out with every movement. Vergil is only doing the sensible thing and asking for his own perspective though, and the offer of a place to rest and recuperate is the decent thing to do. Nothing that should merit any sort of concern for Vergil's thoughts or feelings.
"Unsurprising," he says before popping the fry in his mouth. He pinches at the napkin with his fingers to clean them before pushing a few still-drying strands that fell with the movement of his hand back to where they belong. Once the fry is gone, he says, "I think if we had met when I was younger, I wouldn't have been so quick to assume humans were all so weak."
There's a small beat before he adds, "But I may have also assumed all of them were quite stupid."
He's teasing. Not that just anyone would necessarily pick up on the barest of lilts in his tone to indicate as much. To some, it'd probably sound like a genuine insult and more of a display of Vergil's sense of superiority. But Vergil trusts Mizu can tell the difference. Besides, he already expressed that he thought what Mizu did today was reckless and stupid, and Vergil was never one to belabor a point.
Admittedly, Mizu would reassure anyone who asked she was fine even were she on the edge of death, definitely if all that was at risk was passing out for a day or two. She's fine. She's always fine, even when she's not fine. No one need ever concern themselves with her. Taigen wanted her well enough to duel to the death. Ringo didn't want to redo his stitches. That isn't really about her. Vergil makes sure she doesn't die and requires her to be well when she fights him. The rest doesn't have to concern him. She's not dead or about to expire. This, all this, is polite but unnecessary.
Including the food. Mizu eats the strange sandwich. That's not hard after the last half year. It's filling, and she's famished the more she eats. Though she eats tidily, it seems gone in a few bites. Mizu glances down at her hands when Vergil compliments her on not being weak—that is what he's saying, basing his opinion on humans on her. Something that would make so many people in Japan laugh. They don't all consider her human. Many of them consider her weak. Mizu knows better.
A smile grows, amused, when he continues. "People are quite stupid," Mizu says, "Every one that I've met. If someone doesn't appear stupid, wait and they will reveal themselves."
The vegetable takes a little longer, if only because each slice is eaten individually with the hands. It's over fairly quickly however. She could probably eat a second one, but that might not be the best idea. By the time she gets home, however, she'll have room to eat more. She watches Vergil, including him in that group. People. He might not be human, but he's a person. The urge to grapple him, to prove she can pin him, rises as it often does with people. Only Mizu knows better than to think she'd win at that right now, even with the surprise. Give her time, Vergil. Give her time.
"I've always been like this," Mizu says, "I simply wouldn't be as experienced if you met me when I was younger." She believes that, those early lessons against blood soaked Chiaki, the assassin who used her broken blade for years, showed how much more she had to learn. Once skilled, it took experience to get where she is now. Her skill with the naginata, Mizu doesn't like to dwell on it, but Mikio taught her well. She can give him that much credit. Mizu took it further, a way to have a sword and a naginata in one weapon. Superior to only one or the other.
Vergil eats slower than Mizu, although his attention is also more evenly divided between the burger and the fries. He also pauses for a moment to clean his hands with a napkin after he finishes it, using the clean end to also wipe at his mouth as well just in case. He crumples it up afterward and holds it in his hand while he continues to pick at his fries. But all-in-all, it's a positive sign that Mizu has enough of an appetite to finish the burger with as much speed as he does.
"I would have likely found you vexing and wouldn't have had the patience for your foolishness," he says. He's proud still, but he was prideful then. A son of Sparda who was ready to take what was his no matter the cost would have been insulted at a human with no power and little experience or skill to show for it trying to challenge him. Not that Vergil imagines it would have dissuaded Mizu at all. In his experience, the irritating ones have a tendency to refuse to give up. He would have just kept trying again and again and again just as he does now. The difference is, however, Vergil has an understanding of why Mizu refuses to give up on the notion that he might best Vergil someday, and why he's willing to continue throwing himself into a fight he may never actually win again and again and again. That understanding subsequently lends itself to an appreciation and a degree of respect. Things, that in his younger years, Vergil never would have held towards Mizu. The frustration and irritation would have, at most, lead to a sort of resentful curiosity.
He hums in light amusement at how much they probably wouldn't have gotten along, the barest flicker of a smile as he takes one last fry from his own plate. He stacks his plate atop Mizu's now empty plate, and says, "You may have the rest."
He's not actually so full from the cheeseburger that he can't finish his few remaining fries. But seeing as how Mizu didn't complain about the meal, Vergil has no trouble parting with the rest for Mizu to get a little more food in his stomach. After he pops his final fry into his mouth, Vergil wipes his hands clean with his crumpled napkin and places it on the tray where his plate used to be.
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Once safely landed, Mizu is released and set down gently. The clone doesn't linger, however. By the time Mizu's on his feet, the blast has already come and gone, leaving dust and smoke in its wake. Having enacted the will of its master, the clone dissipates into wisps of its own blue smoke akin to Mirage Edge when it's dismissed.
Vergil's own landing is much less smooth than Mizu. The blast is blinding in both light and the pain it inspires and Vergil's world spins as he's lifted off the rooftop. Despite his grip, Mirage Edge falls from his hand somewhere along the way, although he couldn't rightly say where it ends up. He barely has any sense of where he is, only that he bounces and strikes and skids before he comes to wherever it is he's landed. He's only aware of the scent of burnt flesh and blood, his eyes stinging, and a maddening, deafening ring in his ears afterward.
His next breaths are raspy and wet, the taste of copper in the back of his throat. Vergil's vision swims as he sits up, the ground trying to become his walls and sky. The most he can make sense of is that the building stands between him and Mizu if his clone was successful, if he held onto his concentration for it long enough. It's of little consequence though if the shooting, hot pain in his side is any indication. Vergil blindly reaches around until his fingertips graze the chunk of shrapnel that's embedded itself into him. It takes a moment for him to get a proper grip. He has to close his eyes to shut out his still correcting vision before he can, but it at least gives him a moment to steady his breath first. Unlike removing the sword from his hand, Vergil isn't quite so quiet. A blade is a smooth edge. Shrapnel is significantly less so. What starts as a grunt and growl eventually tears out a howl of pain as it loosens and dislodges from the half-devil. He quiets down quickly enough though once it's removed.
Throwing it aside, Vergil tucks his legs beneath him and breaths through the discomfort as his body repairs the wound. Each breath is less raspy than the last and eventually, Vergil spits the blood from his mouth. He holds out a slightly shaky hand, and Mirage Edge returns to him from wherever it was sent. This time, the force of its return has a bit of an effect and Vergil must steady himself before he can use Mirage Edge as leverage.
Vergil rises once more to his feet. There's a slight sway for just a moment as he's still slightly hunched over, using the sword more as a cane than anything else. Like a newborn fawn or calf, he takes an unsteady half-step in his initial attempt to right himself. But after a pause, Vergil rights himself properly and he's firmly planted back to the ground once he does. Despite the cuts and scrapes, and the blossoming bruise to the side of his face, he would appear no worse for wear in the end.
With his significant injuries more or less done healing, he looks for Mizu, assuming that the swordsman went looking for Vergil for one reason or another.
When their eyes meet, he says, "I can still fight."
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In the end, Mizu cannot see the explosion itself or what happens to Vergil. Her view is blocked, and Mizu struggles against the thing that looks like Vergil but isn't to do so. It doesn't work. They land, and it sets her down with gentleness she doesn't deserve. Mizu would demand answers of it except it disappears. Mizu's heart thumps hard in her chest. Did she get it wrong? Did she kill Vergil? Cross the single line they agreed not to cross, the line it's felt impossible for her to cross with what she's currently capable of. She did not strike it into his head or neck, for concern that might go too far, or use the wire she carries to try to decapitate him. Reasonable limits, Mizu thought.
Walking hurts, both because of the wound to her foot and the fresh slice into her flesh. It matters not at all. With her weapon to stabilize her, she moves quickly around the building they were just atop. Vergil did not land back in the street with her, so he must be somewhere else. She cannot easily reach the top, so she first will check the entire perimeter. Something releases in her when she sees him breathing. Little as Mizu generally cares about honor or lying to others, she's glad she hasn't made so much a mistake that Vergil pays for. He looks worse than she expected. In another moment, he straightens and looks much better, though Mizu cannot tell if that is his healing or his pride.
Other minor injuries remain, something Mizu expects of most people but not of Vergil. It should be a thrill of success, a mark of progress to wound him enough that something sticks. Though Mizu marks the knowledge, the way she remembers everything that could help her, she would call the fight there if—
A pleased smile crosses Mizu's face at his words, so similar to her own time and time again. Mizu returns her sword to its state and wraps herself in her steel guards, a quick movement despite the pain. "As can I," Mizu assures him.
Not that she used the break, the pause, to heal. Her mind was nothing close to calm. With the same respect she expects from him when she says those words, Mizu shrugs back her shoulders, returns to a good stance, and flies forward. Curiosity as well drives her. She returns to the technique of attacks of attrition, those designed to wound and to slow him down. Before, they'd do nothing, but Mizu needs to know whether that is still the case.
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So, she doesn't need to land strikes to wound and slow him down. As it is, he's already slowed down relative to normal. As ready as Vergil is to fight again and as much as he still holds his own seemingly easily enough with what he's been reduced to relying upon, it's more an illusion of being hardly worse for wear than the truth. An injury such as the one Mizu bestowed upon him with the grenade takes a bit of time for Vergil to recuperate from the expenditure of demonic energy to heal. Never mind using his clone to bring Mizu to safety just moments before. It serves as evidence that for Vergil, it's not just his abilities or raw strength that define his skill. He has a sharp mind and is attuned deeply to the rhythm and flow of their sparring that he doesn't need to move at a speed faster than Mizu can track with his eyes to avoid being sliced.
But before Mizu can find any potential comfort in the evidence that Vergil has slowed a bit, Vergil starts to gradually find his second wind. As Vergil focuses less on the dull throb of his side as the last of the injury truly heals, and more on predicting Mizu's next move, Mirage Edge slowly begins to glow brighter again. The more they clash, the greater the distance from the spectral blade to its afterimage. Mizu gets a strike past Vergil's defenses as he sometimes tends to, but rather than finding Vergil stumbling back or faltering, Vergil doesn't hesitate and attempts to exploit the inherent vulnerability in landing a strike by returning one to Mizu. He ignores the pain in his side, the wound healing just as quickly as it always does, to follow up regardless of whether he lands one strike after the next or not.
He's more than a little determined not to lose.
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Mizu presses hard, despite the blood starting to soak into her clothes and the blood marking her steps on the ground as they move over and over again. He also heals. Slower. But heals. Vergil finds no reason to wait to heal himself (or perhaps it is not choice but fact). Mizu fails to take necessary advantage of Vergil's weakness, though she notes how long it takes Vergil to recover. Should she would him so severely in the future, she knows the length of her window. Her teeth grind, but Mizu has no time to ponder on that reaction. Not in the middle of combat.
Her sword finds purchase, dealing lasting damage to Vergil's clothes but no more. She twists to avoid his attack. The move avoids Mirage Edge itself, but the flow of their movements pushes her into the afterimage. A small grimace as she earns yet another injury. Honestly, someone could guess she's the one who got too close to a grenade with these injuries she's building up. Despite it, Mizu blocks the next attack and the next, though the pain in her foot makes it harder to hold the proper footwork. Her sandal is damaged, and her foot slips on the blood when she stays in place too long.
Clearly, everything is as normal. Vergil. Her. Nothing changed but the firmness of their determination. It starts to snow around them on the previously clear day. Mizu thinks little of it, when it is likely due to the fox spirit. A few flakes then more. Mizu takes a step back to grab a handful of snow out of the air and rub it across her face. Its coolness brings her back to her senses. Vergil's fine. She's... fine enough. The pain fades from her focus and attention, and Mizu attacks with excellent technique despite her injuries. Fast and hard, even going for the point of impact from the explosion, should it be a sensitive spot.
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He's impressed with Mizu. Consistently, he's impressed with Mizu. It's almost enough to make Vergil wonder if perhaps even with his improved appreciation for humans if perhaps he is still a little too harsh on his opinions. But that's unlikely the case, he thinks. Mizu is just simply...remarkable. He pushes through pain. He maintains technique and form far beyond what should be reasonable. Perhaps really the only criticism Vergil can offer is in his willingness to throw his life away in pursuit of his goal. It would be more than a little hypocritical, of course, with everything that Vergil had once discarded for the sake of power, but it doesn't make it any less true. Vergil has seen it time and time again. Technique eventually frays giving way to a more base, animalistic instinct. As though killing Vergil bears the same importance as each breath he draws for his continued existence. He bleeds and bleeds and bleeds, and no drop of it seems to serve a discouragement or a push to yield for Mizu.
So, he's remarkable. But he's a remarkable fool.
Vergil's side isn't as tender by the time Mizu attempts to exploit it for his gain. There's no loss of control or form, nor any attempt to retreat and withdraw, but it's one of the rare times that Vergil makes a sound when struck by Mizu. He grits his teeth hard, jaw clenched as he tries to suppress the noise. He's successful insomuch that it does not carry far beyond them, but Mizu will have surely heard it regardless of his efforts. He strikes back not with Mirage Edge, but with his fist to Mizu's jaw to knock him back. It's not hard to see why as Vergil wants the space as he summons swords around Mizu. They spin around the other swordsman much like the spiral Vergil tends to summon to make space for himself. But rather than pointing outward in a protective formation as they would when circling Vergil, they point toward Mizu. They'll only hover a moment before Vergil wills them to stop and converge upon the center point that Mizu happens to occupy. Whether they pierce their target or Mizu is successful in deflecting them all and breaking them before they strike, Vergil leaps at him with an overhead swing to follow up.
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Had she the time, Mizu would give Vergil a look that conveys exactly what she thinks of moves like this. However, the numerous sharp pointed objects rain down toward her in less time than that would take. The pain she is in is nothing. Mizu moves toward one side, sweeping those blades aside first in the small time that buys her from the rest. Her sword continues moving, and Mizu—fuck the lesson about the disadvantage in going to the floor—drops in a roll to the ground as her sword sweeps aside the rest.
Well. Almost all the rest.
One sword deflects but not far enough. It pierces her arm. Mizu cries out in frustration, and pain, even as she continues to roll back to standing. No time to concern herself with the latest injury because Vergil attacks again. There's no time for anything but to block the blow while redirecting it away from her. The force of his attack reverberates through her, and her body frees itself of yet more blood as a consequence. His strike need not land to wound her. Even so much costs her dearly. A moment most people might consider the right time to concede.
Instead, Mizu moves in and, despite her body's protests, switches to a one handed grip on her sword. She reaches for Vergil's arm, to use to pull herself in and, though it likely will not land, skewer him from the side with her sword. Defeat is for those who accept it.
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Thus, it hits like a gale from a storm and Vergil is engulfed in a blue light similar to that of his spectral manifestations, blasting outward in the blink of an eye in a wide radius that sends snow flying out and forcing back Mizu's blade before it can hit its target. If Mizu manages to hold on tight enough to Vergil that he's merely lifted by the transformation rather than thrown, he'll find in place of smooth skin to be scales akin to that of a reptile beneath his hand. Despite the reptilian armor though, Vergil runs feverishly hot like this, albeit none of the infernal energy exhausting from his horns or arms burns to the touch. It's the clone Mizu has seen time and time again made truly real and solid albeit without the Yamato sheathed.
Vergil's tail lashes behind him.
If Mizu thought Vergil was quick and strong before, he is about to have a much truer demonstration of Vergil's demonic power.
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The fact he gets an additional limb in the form of a tail is absolutely unfair. The name of the game the whole time they've sparred, however, so sure. Of course it's Vergil. Mizu bets that new skin is tougher than before. Harder to pierce or slash. Her job's never been easy, and she wouldn't enjoy fighting Vergil if it were.
Unfortunately, while Vergil's grown stronger and faster, Mizu's strength quavers. Her wounds are numerous, and the blood loss makes it harder to stay on her feet. Her stubbornness carries her far, but her attacks are weaker, her movements sluggish, and her vision going dark around the edges. Still, he'll have to remove her sword and prove his win to get it.
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It won't be much longer. Vergil is certain of it. Either he claims Mizu's sword or he simply passes out again from his injuries. There are no alternatives at this point.
He'd like to try to for the former if at all possible and give Mizu the opportunity to heal from his injuries. But if it ends up the latter... Well, Vergil's apartment isn't far and Mizu isn't particularly heavy even with his weights on his ankles and wrists.
Mizu strikes out again and their blades meet, gliding along the edge of one another until they meet one another's guards. A clawed hand comes to the dull side of Mizu's blade and leverages it downward to start creating an uncomfortable twist of Mizu's wrists to maintain a hold on it. As he begins to twist the blade into this position, Vergil dismisses Mirage Edge so that he can more freely grab the hilt and fully wrench it from Mizu's hands. If he's successful, he leaps back with a teleport, poised Mizu's katana in his right hand, and Mirage Edge once again manifested albeit in his left hand. If he's not able to wrestle the katana away, he turns quickly and manifesting Mirage Edge, he drives the pommel as hard as he can behind himself and toward Mizu's center with enough force that in his condition, he should be sent tumbling to the ground.
"That's enough."
While in this form, it's still recognizably Vergil's voice. But there's an inhuman quality to it. Despite being in the open, his voice almost sounds as though it is reverberating, layering over itself.
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His voice cuts through it, even as she starts to step toward him. Were they fighting to the death, she would carry on. She's faced dozens of men before, starting without a weapon. Her state would not deter her. With Vergil, however, Mizu can acknowledge there's no further victory at this point. Her steps lead her not toward him but the nearest wall. Mizu turns to lean against it and slowly, with as much control as she can muster, slide down.
Her knees jut up before her torso, and that brings a large wince as it pulls at the long slice across her body. Despite the blood flowing freely from one arm, Mizu physically rearranges her legs to sit cross legged. Blood soaks the snow around her. Indeed so much of the snow is red, it's striking. The color she associates with other people, not herself. Blue is her color. Her mind's wandering when Mizu needs it to focus. She grabs a large handful of clean white snow and holds it against her face. A painful shiver runs through her, but it clears her mind. Mizu feels more herself. More centered. For however long that lasts, she has to focus and meditate. Her eyes close, and Mizu focuses on the lessons swordfather gave her. His voice runs through her mind, a comfort, and her attention turns toward her new ability. To heal herself.
It is harder than any time before, the minor practice before today and even when she healed her leg. Her injuries are worse, and her ability to focus lessened. Something happens, but Mizu nearly passes out during it, her exhaustion so great. She straightens her spine forcefully, winces at the pain that still brings, and admits that what she can do that moment is over. Mizu runs over the sensation of her injuries. Her foot no longer hurts. That wound is healed. The rest, she cannot tell if there is any improvement.
Mizu groans and moves to stand again. The pain is nothing new, and she has looked after herself a long time.
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Vergil waits patiently for Mizu to be done, idly running through a few kata with Mizu's sword to keep himself occupied. For being a blade pulled from a book, it's not terrible. It's balanced and he knows well enough the edge is sharp and clean. But it's not the Yamato. Vergil doesn't have a chance to ruminate upon that, however, as he's interrupted by Mizu attempting to stand on his own. He rolls his eyes slightly before narrowing his stance once more. Walking over, he returns Mizu his blade, allowing him to sheathe it for himself. Vergil anticipates protest and struggle, so the katana barely has a moment to click back into its scabbard before Vergil bends down and scoops Mizu up off his feet.
Despite the swiftness of the movement, Vergil is at least careful of potentially still open wounds on Mizu's person. He's certain that it's Mizu's uninjured arm that's against him, and while it's a firm hold, it's not crushing and potentially putting pressure on any slashes that might remain along Mizu's side.
"You take more than a few steps and you're going to pass out," he says, providing an explanation for the sudden bridal carry. Vergil's tone likely implies that he doesn't particularly care the implications of this for Mizu's pride regardless of the apparent hypocrisy. Vergil begins carrying Mizu off in the direction of his apartment building. "You can rest at my apartment. If you wish to leave after you've regained enough strength to manage returning to your home on your own, you may."
It will likely only be an hour or two. Long enough for perhaps a small amount of sleep and some food, and Mizu should be steadier on his feet. Perhaps even possess the ability to heal more of his injuries before he goes. Regardless, Vergil doesn't imagine that Mizu will stay for longer than that. Even if the pair of them are doing marginally better at holding a conversation with one another, they never...just spend time in one another's presence for the sake of it. And once the purpose of ensuring that Mizu won't simply pass out on the way to his secluded cabin is concluded... Mizu isn't one to linger in Vergil's experience.
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It's not the first time Vergil's carried her, though usually Mizu is actually unconscious for the act. When someone's unconscious, it's simply necessary to carry them. Awake and alert enough to remember the act, Mizu finds it wholly different. "You forgot your jacket," Mizu says for lack of anything else to say. His hold is warm. The farther they get from the snow, no longer falling, the warmer it gets in the regular spring summer air. This indignity is simply the price of losing. Between the two of them, anyone would suspect she's the one who survived an explosive, not him.
Why must Vergil live in one of the most populous housing options? Mizu would rather not be carried at all, but worse that she's carried to his lodgings instead of her own. Rin lives there too and could see her. No matter how well she is when next they see each other, if Rin sees her so hurt, she'll worry. Nor is there any point in attempting to hide her identity. That will only draw attention. All in all, being carried is a terrible idea.
"Entirely unnecessary," Mizu murmurs under her breath. Never mind that it hurts to breath. She's survived worse. Yes she was unconscious for multiple days, and Ringo brought her home to swordfather, but she survived. Fine. Mizu suffers the indignity with what little pride she can manage. It isn't even the first time he's carried her today. It reminds her of the explosion, and the way Vergil sent his double, that winged tailed form, to shield her and set her gently on the ground. It makes no sense, less sense than now, even if he knew he couldn't be killed. That's not how fighting is supposed to work between opponents. He could have ended the fight much sooner if he'd held her close, forced her to take some of the damage.
If she were in a better state, Mizu would keep her mouth shut. Instead she mutters, "You don't make sense."
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It's only Mizu's statement that he doesn't make any sense that garners Vergil's attention because the statement itself doesn't make any particular sense to him. He glances down at Mizu then, frowning a little before looking ahead once more. Although Vergil is willing to ignore the injury to Mizu's pride in being carried like this, he understands it. And by Vergil's measure with that understanding, it shouldn't seem so unusual or strange that Vergil would make certain he didn't slam into the cobblestone while trying to make his way to the train station or become buried beneath a hefty drift of snow before he could reach the safety of inside his cabin.
After their fights, Vergil has always seen to Mizu's recovery in some form or fashion. He's carried Mizu after beating him into unconsciousness, and stayed until he opened his eyes again. Vergil has always lingered long enough to see to it that Mizu tends to his injuries before leaving. And Vergil's already provided his explanation regarding that matter. He did so the very first time when Mizu balked at Vergil's insistence to make certain he tended to his wounds. Why should this time be any different than those that preceded them? Vergil's brow furrows a little further as he cannot find the difference.
"When have I ever abandoned you to bleed out after a fight?" he asks after a moment of silence.
As they make a proper approach to the apartment building, Vergil strays from the main thoroughfare. While he's been fortunate enough to have neighbors who tend to mind their own business, he's not particularly keen with the notion of carrying a bloodied human in his arms through the front door and chance running into someone on the way up. There will be needless questions and fussing that both Vergil and Mizu will find irritating if that should happen. Better to take the alleys between buildings sooner rather than later and aim for his balcony instead. He only lives on the second floor, and even with Mizu in his arms, he should be able to get enough height with a second jump off the side of the building itself.
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His question makes her blink, and Mizu turns her face up toward Vergil. While she would not have held anything against Vergil for leaving her to tend her own wounds, he's never been that way. He was the first guest, so to speak, she had when he waited in her main room while she tended to her injuries. Part of that vow not to kill each other, not during the fight nor afterward. Her mind is foggy enough it takes a couple moments to connect his question to her statement that he doesn't make sense. That comment wasn't for him. It wasn't about—
"Not that," Mizu says quietly. Held as she is, there isn't much a way to gesture. Though carrying her is unnecessary. She maintains that, and as he didn't permit her to prove she could walk, neither of them can say they are right with complete and utter certainty. Not that that will stop either of them from being certain.
"Earlier," Mizu clarifies, "with the explosive. I've done that before. A body is enough of a shield I lived, but you would have had an easier time beating me." It doesn't make sense. Even without pulling her toward the explosive and ensuring she likely died from it, Vergil could have taken advantage. He could have simply done nothing about her and let what happened happened. He didn't. He took multiple unnecessary actions to protect her, to minimize the harm she took. It did nothing to her.
Mizu wants to look away, but she refuses to be the coward. She watches Vergil as best she can from how she's held.
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Why?
He can feel Mizu's gaze on him, watching him closely. Vergil doesn't hold doubts that his response isn't bringing about any satisfaction, and Mizu likely knows the word is ultimately meaningless in the ways in which it lacks any sort of truth or acknowledgment. He doesn't feel guilt or shame for offering something unsatisfactory, however. Another's satisfaction hardly matters to him and Mizu is no exception. So, it's not that motivating him to eventually continue in his response.
"Regardless of whatever abilities the fox spirit grants you, that explosive was reckless and stupid." Vergil doesn't condescend by talking to Mizu as though he were scolding a child. It's a statement of fact. It was reckless. It was stupid. He's certain deep down even Mizu is capable of recognizing that given that he already assumed the consequence could mean a quicker end to their sparring. "Simply because you decided to be a fool doesn't mean that I need to abide by it."
It's a fuller answer than his initial response, but it's still not the full of it because there is no unmaking the truth that it wasn't to Vergil's advantage in the slightest. It was foolish for Vergil to not to let Mizu reap the consequences of his choices. Had Vergil lost consciousness after the blast, the shrapnel from the grenade itself would have hindered his healing. Mizu also could have easily taken advantage of Vergil being unarmed and on his knees rather than waiting for him to regroup. It's not as though the other swordsman was so above fighting dirty, after all. So, in that decision to protect Mizu, it could have just as easily been over and done for Vergil. He would have been forced to yield one way or another had things gone a little differently.
So, it's true that Vergil has the ability to decide if he's going to let Mizu taste the consequences of foolish decisions. But that still doesn't provide a reason as to why his instinct wasn't to let Mizu be his own undoing. Especially when Vergil privately knows that being the protector of another... Well, that was a drive and instinct he gave up a long time ago. It's only ever been about his pursuit of power for decades, and thus, only ever ensuring his own survival. What became of others mattered little. The lives lost and broken because of him were negligible.
Then again, maybe that wasn't the conflict. Maybe Vergil didn't see it as his survival or even his defeat were on the line in that moment, and it really did boil down to refusing to let Mizu's self-destructive tendencies determine the outcome. Perhaps it was that selfish part of him that wants what he feels entitled to through his own power and merit that drove him to do it. Perhaps it is a fuller answer than it seems, and there's nothing more to it.
Vergil looks down at Mizu though, and he feels like a child clumsily trying to bluff his way through some predicament to an adult that already knows the truth, but waits to see when he will say it. Vergil can't intuit Mizu's mind, but his words feel so paper thin without Mizu having to say or do anything. He quickly averts his gaze with a mild heat rising to his face and ears, and he feels all at once frustrated. Granted, the frustration is without a specific target as this also appears to happen quite frequently after they spar. Something...lifts afterward. A heaviness that Vergil is so accustomed to bearing that it's only in its absence that he notices it. And in its absence, he seems to part with things. A little at a time and usually without his notice. But something about this makes him cling tighter to it, more unwilling to part with it. Not that he could exactly articulate why that is.
"I was not thinking of the outcome of the fight." It's the most he's willing or able to say on the matter. Vergil comes to a stop at the base of the apartment building and looks up at his balcony. He has a firm hold on Mizu that he's not in any danger of being dropped on the way up, but it's likely there will be a bit of jostling. "Hold onto me."
He waits until he feels Mizu take whatever amount of hold he can muster to minimize how much he's shifted around before leaping into the air. He scales a good portion of the way up before his feet hit the side of the building. Bouncing off the wall, he directs the momentum toward his balcony. His feet find the edge and without removing his arm as a support for Mizu's back, his hand finds the railing. He raises Mizu's knees to grab the railing with his other hand and nods for him to slide himself over the railing and onto the balcony on his own. Once Mizu is clear, Vergil pulls himself the rest of the way over the railing as well.
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The explosive was reckless, but what was the alternative? Losing more certainly? Surely Vergil can understand how that will not satisfy Mizu, not when she fights like she does, like each fight matters, the difference between achieving her revenge and not. Vergil sees a far broader array of her fighting, fiercer and more determined, than anyone else. Even should any of the hand to hand instructors be able to survive that mode of fighting, it's not what she's looking for from them. She's improving technique, not reaching her fathers. Against Vergil, Mizu improves her technique and adapts her strategies. She also takes it far more seriously and fights more underhanded. As was his wish. That means the reckless along with the best technique Mizu has. It's part and parcel.
The fact Vergil can transform into a demonic form whose skin her sword cannot even cut demonstrates one of the ways he holds back during fights. The way he made the fight thoroughly one-sided the first time they sparred again after the disastrous conversation in his apartment demonstrates it. Infuriating as it is that Vergil holds back, it's far more infuriating that he needs to. Mizu will beat him, no matter what it takes, even explosives, so that he cannot hold back as much as he does now. In that regard, today was a victory. It's the first time she's witnessed him, not only his double, take that form. That pleases Mizu in a way she does not put into words. That move makes sense. Pushing her away, shielding her with his double, that does not serve him well in the fight.
It makes no sense.
Though Mizu already watches Vergil's face, she's stunned and stares when he says it wasn't about the fight. About the outcome. She would forget where they are, save that he speaks again in a way that promises pain. Pain doesn't matter. Mizu fists Vergil's vest with one hand and reaches across herself painfully to get a second anchor point. The neckline of his shirt.
Not used to bothering to hide pain outside of a fight, when Mizu frequently forgets or ignores it, Mizu flinches as the leaps jostle her. It's better than walking through the public areas of Satori Hills. No complaint there. It takes a moment to gather herself. Vergil is letting her climb onto his balcony. That's right. She can do that. Mizu slides away from Vergil and lets go of him to steady on the railing itself. Only for a moment. Rather than focus on what Vergil's words could mean, Mizu takes small forcefully steady steps toward the door into Vergil's apartment. It's not far, and with her foot healed, she manages it.
Woozy from the loss of blood, Mizu pauses, leaning against that door. What was Vergil thinking about? Mizu blinks and stares at him, as though that will provide any further insight. She may as well be swordfather, for how much Mizu can tell from his face. With a small shake of her head to clear her thoughts and focus, she turns back to the door and slides it open. It's only far enough she can slip inside and continue, tracking a little blood, toward Vergil's bed. He lacks much furniture, and Mizu refuses to collapse on the floor.
"I'll be... fine," Mizu says with determination. Whether she has the healing ability or not, she'll live. She'll recover. She'll be fine. Nothing she regrets about their fight, not when she knows that explosive won't kill him. Not there. She was right.
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"I know," he says at Mizu's reassurance. There hasn't been a fight between them yet that Mizu hasn't recovered from in the end.
The most he does for Mizu is pull back the covers on the bed, but he otherwise lets the other swordsman handle getting himself settled. Mizu has a bed to collapse upon should he find himself struggling, anyway, so Vergil will allow Mizu's pride to dictate how much support he has or not. As Mizu settles, Vergil gets a large bowl with some soapy water and a pair of towels from the kitchen. He sets them down on the nightstand near the bed for Mizu to clean off some of the blood and grime. As little as Vergil is concerned with the state of his bedding by the time Mizu is done resting, he can at least recognize that it would probably feel a little better for Mizu to clean up. Even if it's just the rest of what the snow could not on his face. To that end, Vergil opens his wardrobe and pulls from it a shirt and pair of sweatpants. As he does, he says, "I'll make you some food after I've showered."
Rather than taking the clothing with him, however, Vergil lightly tosses them at the foot of the bed in a silent offer for Mizu to make use of them if he so desires. They'll be a little large on his smaller frame, of course, but they're at least clean and it won't require spending any Lore to summon a fresh pair of clothes. But if all Mizu wants to do is simply lie down and sleep, far be it from Vergil to take any offense to not cleaning himself up or taking the clothes.
He pulls out another change of clothes for himself, and slides his wardrobe shut. Out of habit, he begins to reach beneath his shirt and vest to pull his out the amulet around his neck. Vergil pauses and hesitates, however, with a glance at Mizu, his grip subtly tightening around the amulet itself. After a few quiet seconds of debate, he releases the amulet and removes it, placing it on its usual spot on the nightstand. It's been out in the open before and Mizu let it be. He didn't seem to pay it any mind whatsoever the last time he was in Vergil's apartment, in fact. So, Vergil likely has very little to worry about leaving it there with Mizu.
As he heads towards his bathroom, Vergil begins unbuttoning his vest, scoffing quietly to himself at the tears in the fabric.
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The cuts in her clothing allow her to clean the wounds without revealing more skin than necessary. Without revealing anything she doesn't want to. Mizu uses her uninjured hand to clean around the wounds so nothing goes worse before she can heal them. Her ability isn't an excuse for reckless wound care. She flinches as she goes, pressing against sensitive wounds. That's how injuries go. Even Vergil isn't entirely stoic. Mizu saw that today. It's not embarrassing to be wounded or to take care of herself. Even as her head gets woozy, she carries on, wiping her face along the way.
The clothes are the greater surprise. The entire time it takes Vergil to leave, to place the amulet on the nightstand and go, Mizu focuses her attention on the simple nightclothes offered to her. She remembers how similar clothes fit on Vergil when she stopped by. They'll fit differently on her, and Mizu puzzles whether that would reveal more of her shape than she would like. To add to the matter, Mizu doesn't know how long it will take Vergil to shower, less than a bath, and she remains injured. That very well may be something he's chosen to be polite, so he can make food more quickly, but Mizu doubts she has time to change into these clothes and change back, should they be unacceptable. Fortunately, Vergil knows Mizu to be plenty rude when she chooses, so there's no social obligation to accept the offer.
There is no time for indecision. Mizu scans the room, as though Vergil may have overlooked some unexpected squatter in this room, and moves quickly despite the pain. She unties her obi, removes her haori, and forces her injured arm through one sleeve, grateful the shirt is large on her. She finishes pulling it on and considers it. Mizu scowls at the way the light breeze coming through the door emphasizes her curves. Her haori is dirty and sliced through, but Mizu pulls it on over the shirt to add some weight. The shirt is clearly visible where the largest slash across her torso goes.
The trousers... Mizu turns toward the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running. Fine. Her legs themselves aren't injured. It only hurts to lift herself up and twist her body around in the act of dressing and undressing. Unless she heals herself here, Mizu doubts she'll want to change back before leaving. In total, she's dressed without being seen. The trousers do not call attention to her hips, and her haori guards her silhouette.
The excitement and terror of the situation wear off and leave Mizu drained and exhausted and wavering even as she sits. Mizu leaves her clothes where they lay and lies down, settling on her back as the least awful option, and passes out without thinking about it.
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But he still lingers on it and the little cuts adorning his features, allowing the distant thought that he hasn't looked this rough since he was a child after a fight with Dante to be more present instead. They'd both be forced to sit as their mother cleaned each cut and scrape. Vergil sat still and quietly even if occasionally his eyes were pricked with tears when it would sting or burn. Dante squirmed and caterwauled nearly the entire time. Vergil would hold his hand after a while to help simmer him down with a prepared excuse that he just wanted to make things easier for their mother, but really he thought it was what a big brother was supposed to do for his little brother. Dante never asked him why he did it though, and neither did their mother. She would only scold them a little, provide them with a chore, and let them be rather than lecture.
Vergil sighs at his reflection for a moment before crouching down to undo the straps on his boots. When he straightens, he turns on the shower to start warming up the water before he strips out of his clothes. The shirt and vest don't go into the laundry basket, instead finding themselves tossed away into the trash bin. He hesitates a moment before stepping into the shower, listening for any sound that might alert him to Mizu struggling in some form or fashion. But there isn't a sound coming from outside the bathroom door, and he can only assume Mizu is managing or otherwise asleep. Vergil will keep an ear out still, but he feels confident that Mizu is fine.
Cliche as it is, the shower really is a perfect place to clear his mind when distraction isn't going to prove effective. He lets it go blank as he watches the rivulets of water coming off him turn from red to pink for just a little while before he begins to properly scrub himself clean again. But the question eventually emerges once again as he touches his once grievously injured side. He protected Mizu because he wasn't thinking about the outcome of the fight, but...
Why had he not concerned himself more with that?
It's not as though he cares that deeply about Mizu's opinion of him, but even if he had, Mizu wouldn't have been angry for whatever Vergil would have done as his opponent. He would have understood, and he would have accepted that he made a significant mistake in thinking greater firepower than what he had produced thus far would best Vergil. That would have been it. And for as reckless as it was, Mizu has survived something similar by his own account. Vergil would have still absorbed the majority of the blast even if he just allowed Mizu to escape as far as he could carry himself before it detonated. But there was just the singular thought to get Mizu away as far as possible as quickly as possible, and he enacted it without much more thought than that. But why?
He shuts off the water, grabbing a towel and drying off a little before stepping out to dry off the rest of the way. Unlike in the shower, Vergil doesn't find himself meandering and is quicker to dry off and dress himself. He opens the bathroom door quietly, padding his way over to the bed to check on Mizu.
He doesn't dare sit on the bed, thinking that the shift in weight could wake Mizu either naturally or through agitating his wounds. So, he kneels down beside him. Looking at Mizu, Vergil considers the question a bit further.
For the entirety of his life, Vergil has never been good at protecting anything. That day, he wasn't able to protect his mother or Dante. He abandoned Nero and his mother. He arguably couldn't even really protect himself in the end. But even with all those failures, he wanted to protect Mizu.
He glances away at the amulet, quietly picking it up from where he left it and putting it back on. Once it's safely tucked away beneath his shirt, he looks to Mizu again. Tentatively, he reaches out with a hand, hesitating just before making contact just as he had at the bonfire. But Vergil summons up the courage, and feels Mizu's forehead to check for a fever. His hand lingers there for just a moment before slowly, he gently follows the line of Mizu's cheek and takes back his hand altogether.
...He wants to protect Mizu.
It's a stupid, foolish, reckless, and terrible feeling. It's completely unnecessary and pointless, and Vergil wants nothing more than to tear it out of himself, to shred it for as long as it takes to make it infinitesimal pieces. But it's there, having lodged itself there at some point or another. The consequence of his humanity, he supposes, mind drifting to the amulet beneath his shirt.
Vergil stands silently, collecting the bowl and used towels. He disposes of the water, cleans the bowl, and puts the dirtied towels in with the rest of the laundry before replacing the bowl with a glass of water on the nightstand. Vergil pulls the sheet over Mizu, but leaves the blanket off him given his choice to keep his haori on. From there, it's cleaning the little trail of blood left behind by Mizu when he came inside and making the promised food.
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She comes to in an unfamiliar bed and reaches for her sword. Still in its scabbard, Mizu takes in her surroundings, memory muddling to the fore slower than the pain. How long was she out? Not long if those sounds are Vergil in the kitchen. She hopes. Mizu sits immediately, not good at staying lying down when she's uncertain about anything in her environment. Though it's safe to pass out around Vergil, Mizu still hates losing consciousness when it's not of her own choosing. The pain pierces through the rest, and Mizu accepts that, normal as it is.
The water is cool and refreshing, greatly appreciated. Mizu looks across the room at Vergil. There isn't anything else to do but sit and wait and slowly recover. Things she can all do here in safety. Only when the thought that Mizu should ask Vergil for a needle and thread does she remember her healing ability, foreign and unfamiliar as it is. If Mizu can heal herself, she doesn't need to sew the wounds shut. A convenient fact given the act only causes more pain. She could ask him for drugs to lessen the pain (not opium, more the pills that come in bottles). However, it is best Mizu masters this ability without any aid, so she does not.
Once again, Mizu arranges herself for meditation, staying in the bed for the process. Closing her eyes, Mizu repeats phrases softly to herself under her breath. For all that her anger burns cold within her, she can find peace and calm, at least for a few moments at a time. Her mind stays on swordfather and all he taught her. When she loses her focus and cannot find it again, Mizu considers her injuries. She slides one hand under the shirt to feel her wound. The skin has sewn shut, but the area is tender to the touch. Her arm is similarly much better but not fully healed. Most annoyingly, her head still feels woozy and light. Nearly drunk, Mizu wants to say, except that she does not drink and could not say with certainty that's how it would feel.
"I'm awake," Mizu declares, in the unlikely case Vergil hasn't noticed. Even under normal circumstances, whenever two people share a room, it's hard not to notice the other person. With her injuries, Mizu has no doubts Vergil's paid attention. "Thank you for your generosity."
The bed. The clothes. The food soon to follow. That isn't part of the obligations they've made to each other with their sparring. Mizu could have laid on the floor well enough. She's slept in less comfortable places.
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Vergil's not much of a chef. The times he has had to fend for himself historically haven't exactly had much emphasis on the culinary arts so much as merely sustaining himself for the next day. But he's acquired a little skill since being in Folkmore, and he finds he doesn't mind it all too much preparing his own meals. There's something meditative about it, in any case. So, he's managed to put together a standard cheeseburger—a seasoned patty with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, ketchup, mustard, and mayo all on a lightly toasted bun—with a side of some sweet potato fries. It seems a safe enough choice in meal given that he doesn't know Mizu's preferences and it'd be more than a little difficult for Vergil to mess it up.
He grunts his acknowledgement when Mizu announces he's awake, focusing on finishing with his plating and turning the stovetop off. He glances in Mizu's direction at the words of thanks, but he doesn't truthfully know what to do with them. He doesn't view what he's doing as anything particularly special, and he would like to think Mizu would extend a similar courtesy if their roles were reversed. In the end, he says nothing to it and brings the food and a small pitcher of water over on a tray. Normally, he'd insist for Mizu to sit at the table to eat to avoid crumbs in his bed, but the sheets will need washing anyway. So, Mizu might as well eat comfortably in bed. He sits down nearby at the foot of the bed and places the tray between them.
"It's not much," he says, loosely folding his arms, "but you should try to eat as much as you can." He pauses before adding, "How do you feel? You look like you're starting to get some color back."
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She accepts the food and starts eating the vegetable on the side. That is more familiar to her, though she's been introduced to sandwiches before. In Japan, there would be chopsticks for the vegetable and... she's not sure how they would deal with sandwiches. The fact there is meat and cheese together in the sandwich is very much a white man concept. It's not what she expected from Vergil, but perhaps he learned about it here. The food is varied in Folkmore, and Mizu eats what is presented at various social gatherings. At home, her food is what she's used to.
Since there are no utensils, she picks up the sandwich with her hands and takes a bite. The meat is rich and fatty. The other parts of the sandwich introduce crunchy texture, sour flavors, and creaminess. It's a lot all in one bite. That seems appropriate to Vergil that he would like something like this. She needs the water and wipes her hands off on a napkin before reaching for the glass. She sips. Her appetite is both ravenous and nonexistent. She knows she needs food, but the process pulls at tender skin and sore muscles coming back together.
Mizu wishes Vergil would eat his sandwich. Being watched makes her feel more the invalid than she is and the accompanying desire to prove it. That makes her think of Taigen—that insistence she could beat him anywhere at any time with any weapon. She did beat him with a chopstick. Though Vergil, of course, would immediately learn how to fight with a chopstick upon picking it up. Perhaps not when it's an improvised weapon? Mizu wonders about that.
"It is more difficult to focus and use the healing ability at the moment, but I closed the wounds themselves," Mizu says. "I'm not sure if it replenishes blood. That will be something to think about."
She shrugs. She doesn't need to be hale and whole an hour after they finish sparring. It's enough that it should take a matter of days, perhaps. "I've had much worse," she assures Vergil. She barely passed out long enough for him to finish showering and make food. That's nothing.
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As he chews his bite, he listens to Mizu's answer to his question. Based upon it, Vergil privately concludes that this must be a limit to the healing ability. While Vergil's own healing happens instantaneously and without thought—more a natural consequence of his biology than anything else—Mizu's requires a little more cognitive effort. He has to focus his attention in some manner to be successful with it. Therefore, if he's unconscious or in too much pain or in some altered state of mind, it won't be as successful. It's something for Vergil to take note in how he chooses to approach their future fights. He might not need to hold back quite as much as he did before, but to Vergil's mind, it's a negligible difference. The outcomes would be the same as they would be without the healing factor in that circumstance.
Vergil swallows and shifts to holding the burger in one hand as he picks up a fry from his plate. He tips his head a little and his brow furrows slightly at Mizu's reassurance.
He keeps doing that. Trying to reassure Vergil.
The half-devil doesn't know what to make of it because it's not as though he's worried per se. Mizu is upright, talking, eating, and he doesn't look quite so close to passing out with every movement. Vergil is only doing the sensible thing and asking for his own perspective though, and the offer of a place to rest and recuperate is the decent thing to do. Nothing that should merit any sort of concern for Vergil's thoughts or feelings.
"Unsurprising," he says before popping the fry in his mouth. He pinches at the napkin with his fingers to clean them before pushing a few still-drying strands that fell with the movement of his hand back to where they belong. Once the fry is gone, he says, "I think if we had met when I was younger, I wouldn't have been so quick to assume humans were all so weak."
There's a small beat before he adds, "But I may have also assumed all of them were quite stupid."
He's teasing. Not that just anyone would necessarily pick up on the barest of lilts in his tone to indicate as much. To some, it'd probably sound like a genuine insult and more of a display of Vergil's sense of superiority. But Vergil trusts Mizu can tell the difference. Besides, he already expressed that he thought what Mizu did today was reckless and stupid, and Vergil was never one to belabor a point.
He takes another bite of his cheeseburger.
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Including the food. Mizu eats the strange sandwich. That's not hard after the last half year. It's filling, and she's famished the more she eats. Though she eats tidily, it seems gone in a few bites. Mizu glances down at her hands when Vergil compliments her on not being weak—that is what he's saying, basing his opinion on humans on her. Something that would make so many people in Japan laugh. They don't all consider her human. Many of them consider her weak. Mizu knows better.
A smile grows, amused, when he continues. "People are quite stupid," Mizu says, "Every one that I've met. If someone doesn't appear stupid, wait and they will reveal themselves."
The vegetable takes a little longer, if only because each slice is eaten individually with the hands. It's over fairly quickly however. She could probably eat a second one, but that might not be the best idea. By the time she gets home, however, she'll have room to eat more. She watches Vergil, including him in that group. People. He might not be human, but he's a person. The urge to grapple him, to prove she can pin him, rises as it often does with people. Only Mizu knows better than to think she'd win at that right now, even with the surprise. Give her time, Vergil. Give her time.
"I've always been like this," Mizu says, "I simply wouldn't be as experienced if you met me when I was younger." She believes that, those early lessons against blood soaked Chiaki, the assassin who used her broken blade for years, showed how much more she had to learn. Once skilled, it took experience to get where she is now. Her skill with the naginata, Mizu doesn't like to dwell on it, but Mikio taught her well. She can give him that much credit. Mizu took it further, a way to have a sword and a naginata in one weapon. Superior to only one or the other.
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"I would have likely found you vexing and wouldn't have had the patience for your foolishness," he says. He's proud still, but he was prideful then. A son of Sparda who was ready to take what was his no matter the cost would have been insulted at a human with no power and little experience or skill to show for it trying to challenge him. Not that Vergil imagines it would have dissuaded Mizu at all. In his experience, the irritating ones have a tendency to refuse to give up. He would have just kept trying again and again and again just as he does now. The difference is, however, Vergil has an understanding of why Mizu refuses to give up on the notion that he might best Vergil someday, and why he's willing to continue throwing himself into a fight he may never actually win again and again and again. That understanding subsequently lends itself to an appreciation and a degree of respect. Things, that in his younger years, Vergil never would have held towards Mizu. The frustration and irritation would have, at most, lead to a sort of resentful curiosity.
He hums in light amusement at how much they probably wouldn't have gotten along, the barest flicker of a smile as he takes one last fry from his own plate. He stacks his plate atop Mizu's now empty plate, and says, "You may have the rest."
He's not actually so full from the cheeseburger that he can't finish his few remaining fries. But seeing as how Mizu didn't complain about the meal, Vergil has no trouble parting with the rest for Mizu to get a little more food in his stomach. After he pops his final fry into his mouth, Vergil wipes his hands clean with his crumpled napkin and places it on the tray where his plate used to be.
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