antimetabole | (ic contact)

[ Sometime in the early evening, after the sun had set and a little past what might be considered a standard dinner time -- a light knock raps against Vergil's door.

Maruki stands there, a well-insulated bag in hand. It may not be a gift from home. Vergil may not appreciate the interruption, but Maruki wanted to bring this to him anyway. It was the kind thing to do -- especially when he suspects Vergil might be the sort who is often alone. There's nothing wrong with being a loner, but here in Folkmore where the currency hinges upon interaction? The inclination to avoid people only makes it that much harder. So it's up to some of the more sociable types to ensure those loners are well-taken care of!

Of course, there's very little Maruki can do if Vergil refuses to answer the door. But hopefully it won't come to that. He lightly knocks again. ]

The convenient matter of Vergil living in the mostly popular location in Folkmore, an apartment complex in Epiphany, is that it makes it relatively easy to track him down. Mizu's mostly healed when she comes to his door, well enough she could fight him then and there, if she went without one key element to her weaponry, the ability to transform her sword into a naginata. Part of her wants to fight today, but she doesn't expect it and hasn't set her hopes on it. That would be the way to get disappointed.

Mizu knocks dressed as she always is, though this version of her outfit has never been chewed up on one side. There's the chance he isn't home. Mizu doesn't know his hours, his comings and goings. She can always come back again.

They fight in a variety of locations, wherever Vergil finds Mizu or Mizu finds Vergil when it's an acceptable time (by Vergil's terms, he's always been the one who insists she heals fully). While calling it 'more even' might be a stretch too far, it's less one sided than the time before. Yet she hasn't had the time to improve as much as she needs to to really beat him as cleanly into the ground. One of his attacks hit and send Mizu skidding back across the cobbled street in Epiphany. Her femur doesn't break, but Mizu limps a step or two.

Then she throws up a hand to pause the fight. "Wait. Give me a few moments."

Mizu sheaths her sword, sits on the street cross-legged despite the fact that makes her want to whimper, and focuses her breathing into something approaching meditation. It is difficult with Vergil there and clearly intent on her, but Mizu has only practiced this new ability on minor injuries not worth healing save to verify that the ability exists. Her mind stills, and she imagines her leg whole and hale. A refreshing coolness passes through her, and she knows she is healed. Not only her leg, what she intended, but everything, every little thing.

Only then does she open her eyes and pay Vergil any mind. "What?" Mizu asks, fairly certain he said something.

Mizu doesn't mean to wind up in the desert at all, much less with Vergil. The cold is the better environment for her, so the idea, when she'd seen him on the train, had been to head into Exile. It was the next stop, and she didn't want to be so rude to other passengers as to spar on the train itself. However, the environment seems to have other ideas. Cruel Summer in the summer it is. Thankfully, it leads to a series of abandoned buildings not too slowly. Mizu steps inside one and holds the door open for Vergil. If it's some kind of trial to separate them, it won't work.

"This'll do," Mizu says plainly. It will be the first time they spar with her new sword. She's ready to go and takes up a decent position, sword not yet drawn. Her attention goes to behind Vergil, and in a quick motion, she draws her sword, still sheathed, and accelerates past him to slam it into a ghost aiming for his back with unfriendly intentions, if she had to guess. Possibly, it aimed for her, and Vergil was only in the way. Mizu isn't sure.

What's for certain is that it draws the attention of other ghosts. Mizu groans, annoyed. "Get your own sparring partners."

( On this particular day in late October when Vergil decides to retire to his room for whatever reason, he will find a stack of books — four of them to be precise — resting neatly at the foot of his bed above the sheets. The titles he will find in the stack upon closer inspection will be two by poet William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell and Songs of Innocence, as well as two by poet John Milton, Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. There's no card or note to indicate where or who they came from. Perhaps a gift from the book fairy of Folkmore? Who's to say. They're just there. On his bed. Waiting to be discovered and loved. )

It is morning, late morning by Mizu's general routine established in Folkmore. Though she woke up at the same time as usual, she's yet to rise from bed. The reason for that lies beside her, an arm thrown over her waist. Soft steady breathes come out, and Mizu lies there warm and happy for all she knows it will not last. It exists in the moment. Mizu brushes back Vergil's hair and watches his chest rise and fall. Mornings have always been for work from the time she was young. That was no less true when raising horses than it was when forging swords. An early start is the way to proceed at anything, including revenge.

For all that, Mizu doesn't deliberately wake Vergil up or leave the bed. Instead she cannot help but be reminded of the only other time she's shared a bed. Those were not mornings but evenings and nights. Quiet musings of conversations when her mother slept nearby. In time, Mizu shared parts of herself Vergil has mostly known from the beginning. That's the only way she can lay there and trust that he will stay for any length of time. A poisoned part of her mind wants to suggest Vergil might not be so different, should Mizu beat him, but Mizu remembers the way Vergil kissed her next to the pool when she pinned him to the ground. He would not leave because she beat him in sparring. If that signals anyone to leave, it's her.

Mizu put Mikio out of her mind since she left their home. She'd set him behind her until Fowler's damn monkey drugged her. It came pouring back then, and it's only become more insistent since she and Vergil— well, to be fair, it makes some sense that it would come to mind. Her only prior romantic experience. She'd rather it didn't, and Mizu wonders if speaking about it would make it lose its power. It could, or it could make it worse.

It's part of everything. It's part of her everything. So long as Mizu plans to live by that, it will come up. It already has because she's lying next to Vergil and instead of thinking solely of him, another man comes to mind. Unbidden. Unwanted. Restlessly, she shifts and adjusts to pull Vergil closer, like that could be enough to push Mikio's memory away.

( Nero’s out, Vergil’s not. This makes for the opportune moment to seek out his brother and talk to him about something that’s been on his mind. Of course, being the topic that it is, he needs to find a way to casually bring this up to his brother without raising any suspicions and so, he makes sure to take a couple things along with him as he goes throughout the house looking for him.

When he finds Vergil, he takes a second — mulls over whether or not he wants to actually do this or just chicken out and get something to drink. In the end, he sucks it up and saunters his way all casually over, playing with a yo-yo as he does. When he’s close enough to, he walks the dog with it towards Vergil, lazy smile there on his face. )

Whatcha doin’?

[Left wrapped on Vergil's bed. Inside is a thick leather-bound book entitled, A Treasury of Romantic Poets. It contains a compilation of poems from the period, some of which Vergil no doubt knows and already owns, but the bookseller recommended this when Nero said he was shopping for someone who "like, really loves William Blake."

There's a good-sized envelope tucked in the pages, very deliberately on the page printed with Blake's "The Little Boy Found." Inside the envelope is a stack of photographs of Nero, at various ages from when he was a child.

One depicts a round-cheeked, serious-looking infant with shock white hair, standing up with assistance from a smiling nun holding his hands.

Another shows a class picture from the Order school. Among the students dressed in their little uniforms and smiling obediently, Nero is in the front row sticking his tongue out.

There's another formal photograph of Nero upon his induction to the Holy Knights. He's 13, dressed in the white formal uniform, standing proudly alongside a stern-looking bearded captain and other inductees, all of whom are visibly older than Nero.

In another he's a bit older, wearing a new non-standard uniform and a pair of headphones. It was taken clandestinely as he fell asleep in a church service, feet propped up on a pew and one arm in a sling.

He isn't serious or bored-looking in every picture, though. One shows Nero, around age 8, hanging upside down on a swingset. A little girl with auburn-red hair is swinging, and they're both laughing. Another from around the same time shows Nero at the beach, absolutely covered in mud and sand, grinning and rushing the photographer with messy hands.]

( On whatever day this may be, when Vergil enters his room for the evening, he'll find the Sparda family portrait leaning up against the wall, framed. There's no note, no wrapping done of it, and no bow tacked onto it. It's just there. Waiting for him. For whenever he may see it. )

[He should probably call it good for the day. Sweat trickles down his brow, his chest, the small of his back under his shirt. Bruises and abrasions throb on his elbows, his side, under the knees of his jeans from hitting the ground again and again. He imagines if Vergil knew he was getting that banged up, he'd want to call it, but Nero's not given a single indication that he's gotten hurt. Except for the way it's taking him a little longer to stumble back to his feet after each failed round. But he can chalk that up to being tired, which is obvious by the heavy breathing and clear exertion in his movements.

Mostly, he should call it because he can feel the last vestiges of his temper starting to fray with frustration. He can still hear Credo in the back of his head. Do not fight with such anger. You're clumsy. You're unfocused. But Nero absolutely cannot fathom letting it go. Not when he's put on such a poor performance and hardly landed a dozen real, substantial blows on his father in all their practicing. This is not going to be how he gives up for the day.

Besides, he can feel his power building again. His Devil Trigger is ready-- even if he's looking a little clumsy as he slings Red Queen over his shoulder and gets into stance again.]

Don't look at me like that. [However he's being looked at.] I can still fight.

[Trish has certainly noticed the thoughtful appearance of nice bath toiletries and a bathrobe and what is actually a genuinely nice gift, so being thoroughly conflicted and surprised by the unexpected gesture, she returns it in her own way.]

I think I may owe you an apology to go with this.

Happy Christmas

Trish

[He will find a neatly wrapped package containing leatherbound copies of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Aeneid, for some reason, a tin of sardines.]

Edited 2025-01-02 21:43 (UTC)

if you get this can you come to never fade? i need you to get me

( a longshot if there ever was one, but. he'll give it an hour — maybe two before he just... tries to figure out his way back on his own. )

[Everything stinks like hot, rotten blood. The very world around them is wet and fleshy. Sad that it takes him a moment to tell the disgusting flesh-constructs apart, but he feels the surge of another demon in his blood. This is the Qliphoth again. It's human blood he's soaked with, demonic roots wrapping around his limbs, holding him still. No matter how hard he struggles, how much he slashes at them, they twist and tighten until they can wrench his sword from his hands. Even his wings are trapped, an extra pair of limbs to suspend and pin him by.

Feeble human. Worthless. Helpless. Useless.

Nero looks up in time to watch Credo fall. His body hits the ground and the Qliphoth root follows, slurping up the last of the blood as he withers into nothing. Behind him stands that fucker Urizen, pacing closer, a dozen cold eyes piercing Nero with their gaze.

Cursed, the moment you were brought into this world in that wretched form.

He's not sure if it's better or worse, now that he knows. "Dad! Please! Stop!"

Who are you to claim my bloodline?

Well, fine, if that's how it's gonna fucking be. "I'll kick your fucking ass, Vergil! Listen to me!"

You are nothing but an insignificant, worthless pest. I will dispose of you like the insect you are.

He's not sure who he's looking at anymore as the eyes bore into him. Which voice he's hearing, laughing as the roots tug on his limbs. Whose hand grasps his right forearm and, as he screams and bones snap, begins to pull-]

[Nero awakens with a start, kicking so hard he nearly falls off the bed. He's drenched in sweat, even as he's tangled up in the sheets from an unconscious effort to kick them off. The whole room lurches around him, and then the movement echoes in his stomach-- and it's with a loud thump and a crash that he stumbles into his bathroom to be sick.

He can't care about the noise for a few minutes, until he's done. Then with the nightmare still flashing through his head and his body physically miserable, it occurs to him to worry that he might have just made a lot of noise. Is anybody even home tonight?]

Fuck. [Muttered to himself, under his breath. He feels fucking horrible.]

do me a favor. when you come home, knock 3 times, then count to 20 before you come inside. thanks!

"Despite the fact Kai crushes every flowercrown a spirit in Willow tries to place on her, the farmer she first stayed with, before I built the stable, said she is welcome to return come summer should the habitat in Wintermute offend her sensibilities, what with it being snow trodden year round," Mizu finishes explaining. She's only spoken at length about the stable she built with the help of golems, the hay and blankets needed to keep Kai warm in Wintermute, and the long discussion of how the year round winter of Wintermute (its summer meaning more light and fewer blizzards not withstanding) may be less tolerable to her horse than it is to Kai. It will be the mare's decision whether or not to spend the entire year in Wintermute. Everyone has to respect that.

Mizu serves herself yet again with hardly any prompting, a third serving, because she's truly famished and the food is too good to pass up. It's better than she needs and more, too. Of late, Mizu's eaten far more like she did on the road when short on coin, making each one stretch a long ways. Her days are busy and full. Sometimes she does not even make it to the library, all the more grateful for the way she's shifted to using the library for its purpose (borrowing books) to study them at home, whether that's her own or Vergil's. That some nights she falls asleep with the book in her lap is no matter. Kai is with her again, not only in Folkmore but in her own stable near Mizu's home, not in far off Willow (where the farmer's far more open to accepting Kai when Mizu wears a flower crown, an exception only being granted to the horse).

"It may mean more time spent in motion, going here and there," Mizu admits, "but a horse's needs cannot be overlooked. I'd gladly make the trek to Willow every day, as I did in the first days since Kai showed up on my doorstep."

Her lips curl up into a smile, and Mizu looks at Vergil. It was his doing, she's sure of it.

( While not late at night, it's not exactly early either when Dante decides to go looking for his brother. He peeks around here and there, munching on whatever snack he's currently helping himself to. It's nothing of grand importance or anything that requires his brother's undivided attention by any means, but. He's still on the hunt for him and, when he finally finds him... he drapes himself all over his dear big brother... in a bright blue Hawaiian style shirt with bright yellow pineapples littered all over it. No, he doesn't have shorts on, just his regular pants, but he's also sporting a pair of black shades there on his face, loudly munching away. )

Hey. ( Crunch. ) Whatcha doin'?

[ It had been a few days since Oleandra had finished reading the book that Vergil had lent her; and while it had certainly been thought-provoking, it had left her feeling unsure in more ways than one. The idea that perhaps she shouldn't commit the murder she had planned to commit, that it would somehow be more harmful to do so than to not, turns her stomach into a writhing pit. They have no right to keep on living. None.

Had he recognized something in her and was trying to send her a very specific message with his choice of recommendation? Or did he simply think the topic itself was interesting and worthy of thought? It takes her some time to feel more capable of not approaching the matter in an aggressive manner, and she is absent from her usual library trips for a few days in a row before she feels capable of returning.

Still, knowing herself and her tendency to lash out, perhaps it would be best to not have a discussion on the matter inside the library -- as little as she generally cared about the property of others, she had been enjoying the sanctuary of the place as of late, and felt a slight twinge of guilt imagining its shelves destroyed.

Instead, she waits outside the front door on a day she suspects Vergil will come back to return his latest findings, the book he lent her in hand. ]

Hey Dad,

I was at the mall and theres a store there with a bookstore cafe that also sells records, and they have a big cozy back section with little partishins with couches and comfy chairs n stuff in them, so you can sit there and read or listen to the music on headphones.

We should go!!!!

- Nero ⚡⚡⚡

[This is, make no mistake, another attempt by Nero to Bother his Father in a long game to make him use text messages like a normal person.

But in, like, a cute way.]

Edited 2025-05-12 17:26 (UTC)

( At some point during the night, Dante is going to make his lazy way into his brother's room without so much as a knock to the door. The way he intends to announce his presence is with the heavy thud that comes to the bed when he drops himself down onto it, pulling the blankets over him amidst quiet little coughs and sniffles.

No, he's not in his jacket, boots, and holster anymore. He'd changed into a black long-sleeved shirt and some sweats. Real Smokin' Sexy Stlye!! and all. Socks on as well, he curls up beneath the sheets and burrows his way beneath them there on his side, head dropped to the pillow some while staring to his brother's figure in the darkness of the room. )

My room keeps spinning.

Edited 2025-05-25 01:25 (UTC)

Hey Dad,

Thank you for bringing Kyrie home and taking care of her. She said you were a real gentleman.

I told her everything. She's shaken up but she wants to hear you out. I'll be there if you want me to but no matter what, I know it's gonna be OK.

I'm your son and I'm proud of you.

- Nero

[Nero has made a few off-handed comments this week. "You know, back on Earth it's Father's Day this weekend." They were accompanied by sly, knowing smiles and a refusal to elaborate on what that means or what he'd planned.

The only other statement on the matter comes on Friday beforehand, when he mentions that Vergil ought to psych himself up, because Sunday's going to be a big day and he's going to want to be ready and well-rested. If cajoled for what's on the agenda he says something like "you'll see" or "you're gonna love the place, I promise."

Sunday morning, Vergil will find a piece of paper set conspicuously in his room, with an arrow pointing out into the hallway. Then another on the counter with "TV" written on it. Then a few more pointing to various spots in the house. Just before it starts to get annoying it suggests Vergil step outside on the back porch.

There sits a wooden patio chaise lounge that Nero has built, extra wide to seat two. Perfect for reading in, perhaps with company. And one final note reads:

Don't worry I'm not draggin you out anywhere :)

Happy Father's Day
Love Nero]

Backdated to New Years Eve!

Early April

Either 5/6 or 5/13 because the week between doesn't exist

Late July?

📚