it's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall (closed + open)

[antimetabole]

WHO: Vergil + others
WHEN: Between missions 12 & 13
WHERE: Various locations
WHAT: Some emotional talks. Some yeeting of children. It's a little bit of everything.
NOTES\WARNINGS: No open prompts this go around I LIED one open prompt as of yet, but if you are wanting something particular, feel free to slap down a starter or request one. I will match prose vs. brackets because it doesn't matter to me. There will be discussions pertaining to complex family dynamics (particularly between siblings) that may also further include topics such as loss/death of parents and/or siblings, assumed fratricide (of the accidental variety), and grief pertaining to aforementioned losses. Warnings will be in headers, but will update this as able to/needed!

↪ kyoko
↪ mizu
↪ dante
↪ open

Comments

👟KYOKO

[antimetabole]

Vergil steps out of the cafe, hot tea in hand. The day is his to do with as he pleases now that they are free from both the company and world of the Fae. With Christmas looming on the horizon, he intends to go looking for presents for his family, and if he feels there is time, perhaps peruse one of the various bookshops for himself. But the primary objective is absolutely to return home with at least a gift for both Nero and Dante, and get them into the apartment without detection.

What is not on Vergil's agenda is to have someone trying to take him out at the knee. Fortunately, he has become neither slow nor inattentive to his surroundings and the sudden motion just out of his periphery is enough to alert him to the incoming strike. Tossing the cup of tea up and slightly behind him, Vergil catches whoever it is by the ankle before they can make contact. Vergil swings them around in front of himself to see the identity of his attacker as he simultaneously tips Yamato for the bottom of the scabbard to be pointed towards the sky. His tea lands neatly and without spilling a drop on the very end of the scabbard, perfectly balanced. A frown forms almost immediately as he raises her a little higher for mildly better eye contact.

"I should have known," he mutters more to himself than to Kyoko. Without making any motion of lowering her to the ground or simply dropping her on her head, Vergil speaks louder and more clearly directed to her. "What are you doing, Kyoko?"

[joke_o]

Kyoko had been following Vergil for a while now, ducking behind anything she could to stay out of sight. A shame then she wasn't very good at it and her red hair tended to give her away. Still, she had waited in ambush, thinking surely she could catch Vergil off guard as he came out with his tea. She pouted for all of maybe five seconds when she was grabbed by the ankle and held out at arm's length like a rag doll but quickly just grinned from ear to ear, flashing a peace sign as she dangled.

"Trying to land a hit on you, obviously. C'mon, you can't expect me to see what you could do and not want a second round or something."

She does look a little sheepish as she glances behind him. As Vergil grabbed one leg, she had attempted to catch his tea with her other foot, and while she had managed to get her foot under the cup, it unfortunately bounced before she could react again.

"Sorry about your drink though. I tried to catch it but..."

[antimetabole]

"It is no matter," he says with a put upon sigh. He isn't surprised Kyoko managed to identify him in the absence of his glamour. Although made to look younger and a few alterations here and there, his features were not as dramatically changed as some. There are also simply not that many about with white hair running about Etraya, never mind styling their hair the way he does. Vergil lowers gently her back down to the ground, leaning forward slightly when he feels her head make contact with the ground so the rest of her can roll to the ground or otherwise make a controlled descent when he releases her ankle. After he's released her, Vergil plucks his cup of tea off the scabbard and sets Yamato right again. "I see you have made it to Etraya."

His tone does not lend itself to the idea he thinks that is a positive or negative. It is a simple observation of fact.

[joke_o]

As soon a Vergil began to lower her to the ground, she puts her hands out on the ground so that as soon as he releases her ankle she can transition into a half cartwheel fairly gracefully before shoving her hands back into her jacket pocket where she pulls a piece of bubblegum out and pops it into her mouth after unwrapping it.

"I did! I'm glad the other guy I met at that party did too. He went by the name Mizu. Real cool samurai type!" Kyoko glances down at Yamato before getting a grin on her face. "You should meet him! Maybe he'd be more of your speed as a friend than being pestered by me. Not that I'm gonna stop pestering you or anything."

[antimetabole]

Kyoko did not need to provide that detail of when exactly she crossed paths with Mizu for Vergil to know it was at the party. The fact she knows Mizu's name at all would have signified it was before Vergil found Mizu amid the crowd, sneaking away out of the party. Vergil followed after her naturally, preparing himself for the likelihood that she would not remember him. Little did he know, Mizu did the same, and that it was all for naught. After their reunion, Vergil kept Mizu hidden away in his room until the Fae left. What few people she crossed paths with, she would have likely utilized an alias to stay on the safe side as he advised.

But Vergil does not volunteer this information. He resumes walking in the direction he intended instead.

"Is that so?" he says, giving no indication if his question is to her suggestion that he ought to befriend Mizu or the notion that she refuses to give up on being within his limited social sphere right away. Vergil sips his tea before he continues, "What an odd coincidence that you should run into a swordsman named Mizu. My lover happens to both be a swordsman and named Mizu."

Woe to Vergil that his sarcasm is likely lost upon Kyoko.

❄️ MIZU

[antimetabole]

In Folkmore, it was never particularly uncommon for Vergil to spend a couple of days at Mizu's cabin. Doing so provided his family with their own degree of privacy—especially for Nero and Kyrie after the latter's arrival—while also giving Vergil and Mizu plenty of quality time spent together. And while it wouldn't be unfair to assume Vergil was seeking more of that quality time with Mizu again with more enthusiasm given both their recent reunion and abatement of fear that Mizu would not make it to Etraya, this was noticeably far less planned than usual. Not to mention, it is not as though Vergil has ever been one to neglect quality time spent with his family, especially so soon after the Christmas holiday.

Something was likely more noticeably amiss, however, when Vergil opted to return his family's apartment only really long enough to exchange a few changes of clothes (albeit sans a shirt or two as he pretends to not have noticed how they've mysteriously found their way into Mizu's closet or they somehow manifest as a sleep shirt for Mizu at night) and a book or two from the beginnings of his collection. Normally such a departure would not result in a return to spending the night for several days if not an entire week. But Vergil was back shortly and with every clear intention of staying the night again.

Foolishly, however, Vergil has hoped that nothing has struck Mizu as particularly off about him or this prolonged visit. There is little else that he can think that he would want to do less than to tarnish his time with her in talking about his recent fight with Dante. So, although quieter than usual, he has been soaking in her presence and warmth not just for his own comfort, but for the simple sake of it as well. He's enjoyed the quiet, domestic little routines and patterns they fall into with one another in this shared space. He finds himself with a smile on his face more often than not as he watches her doing the most mundane of things. Occasionally Mizu catches him and his face warms, but he gravitates to her all the same. He revels in their touch whether it is curling up on the couch together with books in hand or his hand simply brushing past the small of her back as he passes behind her in the kitchen. Sleep comes to him more slowly at night and with greater difficulty as his mind cannot help but turn the argument with his brother over and over and over and over again, but he's calmed by the steady rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her heart thrumming steadily in her chest.

So, with any luck, she will not have noticed anything. And she will see his decision to stay at least one more night to solely be a matter of the holiday as this is the winter holiday he chooses to spend with her rather than his family anyways.

After returning with his things and putting them away, Vergil sets a gift down on the coffee table in front of her before joining her on the couch himself. It is wrapped neatly in red paper, the tag being an amendment from a Merry Christmas to a Happy New Year.

"It's from my brother," he says, although inspection of the tag would indicate as much if the color of the wrapping paper did not give it away. Vergil's tone is...careful. Mostly because he does not know what to think or feel right now, and he folds his arms almost defensively.

Vergil does not know when exactly Dante went and acquired the gift. He did not even know there was an intention to give anything to Mizu in the first place. Dante had asked Vergil prior to Christmas if Mizu would be joining them for the holiday. As much as Vergil would have been thrilled to have Mizu there, however, he did not feel it appropriate. Not this year, not yet. Even with as much as Dante appeared to be trying to embrace Mizu as part of Vergil's life (and Nero, too, albeit with more time in doing so than Dante), it felt too soon to seek out acceptance of her as family as he had. And perhaps too much pressure for Mizu to navigate both a holiday she does not participate in and a family she is still trying to find her footing with. So, he simply offered the explanation that Mizu does not celebrate Christmas. Thus, the day was just for the three of them, but Vergil would spend New Year's Eve and Day with her as that is a holiday she celebrates, but did not carry with it as much meaning and weight as Christmas did for Nero.

So, finding the gift left out with the plain intention of being seen by Vergil felt like a punch to the gut. Dante must have acquired, wrapped, and hidden the gift before Christmas based upon the tag, likely hoping to give it to Mizu when she arrived. However, Vergil's indication that he had not invited her meant he chose to change gears and offer the present as a New Year gift instead. He most likely would have sent it with Vergil when Vergil left the day of to spend time with her, surprising not just Mizu, but Vergil as well.

Dante could have chosen not to get her anything at all. Vergil doubts Nero prepared anything for her with his focus so centered on Vergil and Dante, and making the holiday as special and wonderful as he did. There would have been no offense taken by Vergil or Mizu had Dante chosen to do nothing just as there was for Nero. Even now with the twins not speaking and avoiding each other as much as they are, Dante could have chosen to add to that level of avoidance by not gifting Mizu the present. Vergil would have been none the wiser for it had he chosen that. Hell, even if he did somehow become aware of it, Vergil does not think it would matter much to him at that point as it would be a mere drop in the bucket.

There is an unknowable, swelling storm of emotions that feel just as at odds with one another as the brothers are, causing Vergil to glance away from the package rather than watch Mizu open it.

[artofrevenge]

Far be it from Mizu to complain about having more time with Vergil than she expected. She always wants more time with him but checks herself because he loves his family and ought to have time with them as well. And them with him. Their home is smaller than the house the Sparda family moved into in Folkmore but thankfully larger than the studio apartment Dante and Nero first shoved themselves into. Dante may still sleep on the couch, but the couch is in a different room from where Vergil and Nero sleep. It's a place they can be together and still have quiet moments of peace that Vergil, at least, regularly requires. Coming over to Mizu's apartment, so close given they live in the same set of apartments, is about seeing Mizu, not getting a little space. Usually.

Mizu says nothing at first, only appreciates the time they have together. The apartment lays out differently than her cabin in Folkmore, and the sounds of neighbors regularly come through, reminding Mizu that their privacy isn't as private as before. Their activities are mostly quiet, whether cooking or reading or Mizu falling asleep first at night. It's a comforting sense of routine in a place where Mizu feels unsettled and uncertain. She hasn't made a new routine yet, still exploring what the city has to offer and what being here means. Vergil grounds her as much as ever and their routines with it.

Vergil lays another gift on the table, beyond the tools he already gifted her, and Mizu is confused as to why he'd have a second gift so soon until he speaks. The bright, nearly garish, red is his brother's color and makes far more sense coming from Dante than Vergil. She never expected— Mizu stares at the gift in surprise. She's aware the foreign holiday includes gift giving as a tradition, but Mizu expected that to mean the Sparda family exchanged gifts among each other and Vergil, thoughtful to include her, gave her a gift. Her chest tightens in thick emotion at the thought of Vergil's gift, the tools immediately her prize possession, even without a forge with which to use them. Somehow, they mean more the second time he's given them to her than the first. The first set of tools was so that she could replace the parts he broke in their first spar. This set, this second set, comes only because she is a smith, and a smith needs tools. Something she hadn't thought for herself to get yet. It's the thoughtfulness and inclusion, without pressure, to his holiday that Mizu expects of Vergil because he's like that. Dante, however? Dante who barely knows her and met her again for the first time only recently? It's beyond what Mizu imagined.

Mizu picks up the small present and holds it for a good half a minute. There's no immediate need or curiosity to open it because its presence, regardless of what lays inside, means so much. Mizu, even if only by proxy to Vergil, is worth including in the giving of gifts. He thought about her or saw something and thought of her. He chose to get it (even if everything here is free), wrap it, and when Mizu did not come on Christmas Day pass it on to Vergil to give to her. Mizu brushes the red wrapping paper with her thumb and commits the moment to memory.

Slowly and neatly, Mizu unwraps the paper, setting it aside to use in some fashion, at least as scraps for a fire if nothing else. When she finds the stylized chopsticks, Mizu blinks. They look like something sold at a festival that children might like and use to duel each other instead of eating their food, much to the chagrin of their parents. At least, that's how she imagines households with parents and children act. Ridiculous as they look, the gift comes with some thought. Mizu eats food with chopsticks daily, and she is both a swordsman and a swordsmith, so that the theme of the pattern is appropriate. It's more than she'd ever expect, and Mizu finds herself stupidly fond of them for that reason alone.

"I did not think to get him, or Nero, a gift," Mizu says. She rarely gives gifts, and she doesn't expect them either. She's not sure exactly what to do in response. However, a quick and thoughtless gift certainly isn't appropriate. Perhaps in time, she can get or make something for him. Oh, not a sword, Mizu knows better than that. All of Vergil's family have the weapons that suit them and no need of her hand. It's a shame Vergil's lost the knife she made for him in Folkmore, expected as that may be. "I'll be sure to thank him."

The gift makes it seem an appropriate time to exchange further gifts. Mizu stands and retrieves a small package, its width and height that of a small book, while the thickness means it could only be the thinnest of volumes. The wrapping paper has blue fireworks on it, that being the best or least strange option Mizu found readily available to her. The tag has nothing more than Vergil's name and hers. Inside it has two items. The first is a small book, hand bound. Inside, Mizu's written many of Keats's poems by hand in Japanese, the translations coming from the work of scholars beyond her time. Her part is only the flowing strokes of her characters bringing it to life in another language. The second is a single piece of paper that could first be mistaken for a card. It has only a short poem, a haiku on it, in Mizu's hand:

Ocean, enormous,
Roiling waves and deepest calm.
It pales next to you.

Not as well written a poem as any of the Keats, nor as the poetry of her time and country. Mizu's no scholar or poet, but for Vergil she's tried setting her feelings to verse. Mizu watches him, uneasy though she knows he'll accept and care for it. So much time spent on so few words, only for them to feel as though they fall flat, unable to convey what it feels like for him to ground her. She waits and watches, the red chopsticks in hand then gently set aside. She'll find a place for them as well as some better idea of the emotions receiving them raised. First, however, is the promise of a further torrent of emotions.

[antimetabole]

Vergil looks over when Mizu speaks up, his gaze going from her to the chopsticks in her hands. He sighs, quietly enough to be barely perceptible and shakes his head slightly. He could not have possibly guessed what Dante selected for Mizu given he was not even aware a gift had been chosen at all, but he finds himself ultimately not surprised by the choice in the end. It's thoughtful albeit not in the ways most gifts tend to be. It is genuinely something only Dante could give and have it be a sincere expression of thought. The goal, he thinks, was no doubt to make Mizu smile even if he has not yet come to know Mizu well enough to fully know her sense of humor. And perhaps not just smile. Perhaps even give her a reason to laugh.

The thought stings.

Vergil glances away again, saying nothing to her thanking Dante the next time they cross paths, but watching her as she rises from the couch to retrieve something. Vergil looks at her curiously as she passes the thing, small package to him. He demonstrates as much caution in unwrapping it as she had the gift from Dante, although his concern was less with thinking the paper could serve future purpose and not wanting to damage whatever was inside. He sets the wrapping paper on the coffee table before leaning back into his seat on the couch to inspect the book. He's careful with it. Even if he has confidence that Mizu has chosen sturdy materials, he does not even want to leave so much as a crease as he looks through it. He traces a few of the lines, envisioning each careful stroke of the brush in Mizu's hand with a soft smile. She had to have spent a great deal of time on this for him. Upon finding the haiku, however, he feels it most likely pales in comparison to the time she spent writing this.

Vergil reads it over a few times, his arm coming to rest upon her thigh beside him. He reads it a dozen more as his thumb lightly strokes at the inside of her knee. One would think he was pouring over one of his beloved poems by one of his favorite poets with how intently he reads it again and again. It is such a simple, straightforward, and short poem, but it bears more than it appears on its surface.

Squeezing her knee lightly, Vergil draws a deep breath to keep the sting out of his eyes from the overwhelming warmth that spreads from the center of his chest. He finally lifts his gaze from the words written on the page to their author, uncertain of what to say. And how could he know what to say?

It is a poem... Written for him. Inspired by him. Its length or Mizu's perception of its quality simply does not matter in what Vergil thinks of it in light of that.

He leans over to kiss her, brief and chaste.

"Thank you," he says, softly as he rests his head against hers. It feels a silly thing to say in how short it comes in expressing everything inside him right now, but it is as close as words can possibly get right now. Or at least words that he can find right now. Vergil kisses her hairline as he takes his hand from her knee to slip it behind her and wrap his arm around her middle. He rests his head on hers again.

[artofrevenge]

Mizu watches Vergil intently. She set the Keats poetry on top, to be seen first, both so that it can be appreciated on its own and so that the gift of greater confidence is at the front. Her handwriting is clearly her own, for all Mizu took care to write the poetry. Seeing it in Japanese, reading it in Japanese, it changed Keats for her somehow. The words aren't different, but they feel different, more tied to her. To put them in her own hand, in her tongue, for Vergil felt something like writing the poems themselves. Her feelings come through her ink, no matter the words belonged first to a man she's never met. The smile on Vergil's face makes it well worth the effort, and Mizu's sure he will spend time with these poems in this form, not only his usual books.

Originally, that was meant to be the gift, the entire gift. If he received it, with no idea of any other possibility, it would be well received, she's sure. After all, he likes it now. It simply hadn't felt like enough. It didn't feel weight like Vergil giving her tools once more. It was a gift, but it wasn't a gift. She doesn't regularly give gifts, her timing with Vergil in the past having less to do with holidays and more with the moment feeling right. Like that, Mizu wanted it to feel right. So it needed more.

He reads the words over and over, and Mizu wonders if he is remembering the trial on the train nearly a year ago. They had to part ways, the way the trial worked, but he gave her his amulet to wear for the duration of the trial, until they saw each other again, so that she took a piece of him with her. She had nothing of the sort to give back but felt the weight of carrying his amulet, even for a short period. It meant he went without it, when that so rarely happened. So she'd said something, impulsively, that he'd pointed out was something like a poem: you are like the ocean. Those words, falling short of her feelings, were all she could give him to support him through the rest of the trial. They were the seeds of this poem now in his hand.

Fortunately, they've spoken before of what the ocean, and the cold, is to her and how Vergil acts in a similar fashion. He knows the feelings behind the poem, so that it is easy to understand. That knowledge makes it easier for him to understand the words, easier for the words to carry weight. Mizu's unsure whether they would carry themselves if he didn't already know the sentiment at their heart. She pushed herself to find better words to hold those feelings and immortalized them in ink for him to see whenever he wishes, whenever they can give him strength.

Mizu smiles when he looks at her, and she leans against his side, her head against his, with a deep exhale. It went well. Mizu knew, logically, it would, but the relief remains all the same. The poem for the one who's cared about poetry since he was young. His opinion matters heavily.

"You're welcome," she says softly, voice thick. She doesn't know how poets do it, how they ever write anything of more words or make so many poems as to be able to be put together in a book. She could barely manage this one poem and threw away more words than wound up in the poem itself. Even once she put them to the page, Mizu'd fought the urge to change it further. It's worse, far worse, than the far readier process of making steel and forging it.

She picks up her chopsticks from the table, turning them in her hands. "Copying those poems, they were all about you for me, but I thought you deserved..." Mizu waves one hand, chopstick still in it, "It felt wrong there wasn't a poem about you, to you. One originally meant that way."

He's far more remarkable than the woman Keats loved, even if she inspired such poetry and gathered it to be published altogether after he was gone. It's not that she lacks anything, save that Mizu does not love her.

[antimetabole]

Vergil huffs quietly in his emotion and a mild amount of amusement, his smile briefly widening. For all that Mizu has said she does not understand poetry and has denied a certain degree of fondness for it, she has taken to it far more than Vergil thinks she realizes or gives herself credit for. A fact that Mizu has always offered disagreement whenever the topic has come up. Unfortunately for her argument, this poem of hers that she has written demonstrates Vergil's assertion even better than her choice to keep poetry books in her cabin or her memorization of certain verses. Regardless of any skill associated with its composition, she clearly sat with her own feelings and tried to find a way to put them into written words. Vergil knows it likely did not come easily to her, not compared to the more meditative efforts of copying down Keats' words in her own tongue. Who knows how many dozens of drafts and versions there were of the poem she'd written before she finally came to the conclusion it was as good as it was going to get? Vergil would not even be surprised to learn some part of her is still revising it even with its completed form. But as far as Vergil is concerned, it is perfect the way it is written. The poem is not meant for anyone else, but the intention that he feel her perspective both in her thoughts and feelings clearly laden throughout the brief lines is so thoroughly aligned with what he has always sought and loved in poetry.

And it is not just for him, but about him.

All in all, it is far more than Vergil has ever done, and he has loved poetry since his childhood. So, any future protests that poetry is somehow not for her are not going to be met with any semblance of acquiescing. Hence Vergil's mild amusement amid all his other emotions wherein he feels at once so small and big, and so well loved by this woman for reasons he cannot always fathom even if he accepts them without question.

"It is a perfect gift," he says softly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. Vergil does not lack in any sincerity when saying it, his eyes drifting back towards her poem again to marvel at it. A poem. Written for him. About him. There are plenty of people in the world who could claim such a thing, but Vergil never once speculated that he could be among them. Never mind that such love and affection for him could serve as the inspiration for it in the first place. He promises Mizu, "I shall cherish it always."

His eyes drift down to the chopsticks in her hands as she fidgets with them, and Vergil must swiftly push aside all that arises in his mind when he does. He does not wish to neglect Mizu's own emotions and set aside how it must feel to her that Dante had taken the time give her something, but he does not wish to broach the subject of his brother. He also does not wish for his mind to wander to the letter he'd received Christmas Day. He thought just as sincere as Mizu's poem that first time he read it and intended the same as what he just promised Mizu, but when he reached for the letter again, trying to find some degree of reassurance within it, the cold hollowness that Dante's other words rang out in over and over instead made it too painful a thing to keep.

He holds Mizu a little tighter against the slight twist of guilt with that broken private promise cast aside. Right now is not the time, nor is it the place. And he will not have this moment, this gift tainted by the complications of his relationship with his brother when he has so much else to be happy about right now. Vergil wishes for nothing more than to be present with Mizu on this day.

"Are you hungry? I can make us dinner."

🫂 DANTE

[antimetabole]

Vergil wakes early on New Year's Day. He did not sleep for more hours than he has been as of late, but he feels well-rested for the first time in days all the same. He lies there for a while with Mizu, in the dark of her bedroom, listening to the quiet sounds of her sleep and soaking in the peace of the moment as he takes stock of things. He is not terribly enthused about what he must do today, but Vergil does not find himself filled with nearly as much dread at the prospect as he did the day before. Eventually, he makes for disentangling himself from Mizu. He tries to be slow and gentle enough to avoid disturbing her, but she still stirs awake. Mizu appears, however, to be too exhausted to put up much resistance, and it takes so little time coaxing her back to sleep that Vergil wonders if she will even remember waking at all. He draws the blankets tighter around her in his absence, whispering softly to her a promise that he will see her later and that he loves her.

Vergil showers, dresses, and has his breakfast in Mizu's apartment. He leaves her a plate and a thermos of tea with a note that contains a brief apology for leaving without properly seeing her this morning (in spite of her likely not requiring one when she knows the reason for his absence) with breakfast as a start in making it up to her. He tries, as best he can, to keep his mind clear as he goes about the start of his day in her apartment. Dwelling on the conversation that has not yet happened, playing it out with various potential directions will do him no good and simply set him to winding himself back up tight out of anxiety for those imagined consequences. Each time he catches himself thinking of it or starting to speak with the version of Dante in his head, he forces himself to stop and refocus on some detail of what he is doing.

When he first returns to the apartment, Vergil doesn't hear the telltale signs of Dante sleeping from outside the door. Still, he's anxious all the while letting himself in, more so than he had been when briefly stopping by for some of his clothes and books. Dante is nowhere to be seen, however, and the bedding nearby the couch appears untouched. Vergil takes note of it, but with Nero audibly still asleep in his room, Vergil only stays long enough to tuck Mizu's presents away in his bedroom for safekeeping.

When he returns again with a load of ingredients for what he plans for dinner and a small frame for his bedroom, Nero is awake by then. As he empties the bags, he speaks with Nero about needing the apartment for the day. He's not secretive about the reason why, but he avoids divulging any particulars. With a promise that Vergil will reach out if he needs him and understanding he doesn't need to immediately or otherwise rush to leave, Nero agrees to clear out for the majority of the day.

The quiet of the apartment after Nero eventually leaves feels almost unsettling to Vergil relative to the earlier quiet of Mizu's apartment. It feels...heavier somehow. More oppressive. He does not try to identify why, but instead tries to keep his mind off it by framing Mizu's poem, trying to distract himself in reading it again and again as he does. But it's not enough to sit and read. Were the poem any longer, he knows, he would end up reading the same part over and over without realizing it. So, he does not reach for a book. Vergil makes his way into the kitchen with his planned distraction for himself while he waits and form of apology.

With the pizza dough rising, Vergil has started on the sauce when he pauses yet again. He never thought he would ever say it, but there has been something strangely meditative about working on these two pies. He finds himself a little more lost in the process than he had been during the act of making breakfast this morning or attempting to sit in the poem earlier. It's enough to keep him from predictive conversation with himself at least, even if it is not enough to keep him from alerting each time there is a sound in the hallway. This time, however, the footsteps stop just outside the apartment door. Vergil tenses, drawing and releasing a deep breath as the doorknob twists.

[nowfeaturing]

New Year dawns crisp and bright, with Dante enjoying the rare luxury of an actual bed and a warm body to curl up against. It's a lazy morning spent doing nothing more taxing than lounging around Selina's apartment, drinking coffee, talking and getting to know each other better. By the time he leaves as the clock creeps towards midday, Dante's more than a little resolved that this is a friendship he's keen to keep up. She's someone he can laugh with, bounce off and make him feel more like himself. He hasn't realized how much he misses the easy companionship of Trish and Lady.

As he walks away from Selina's building and back to his own, he feels a heavy, leaden weight sitting in his guts that almost makes him reconsider. Last night he'd done a lot of talking, quite a bit of soul bearing that he hadn't done in years, and facing down a few truths about himself he hasn't wanted to confront. He gets in his head more than he'd ever care to admit, but it feels strange to let those thoughts out. Deep down, he knows what he needs to do to make his steps feel less leaden and to stop feeling like he can't relax. He needs to put on his big boy pants, suck it up and talk to Vergil.

It almost makes him dread going home.

The strange certainty that he's going to be walking into a fight as soon as he walks through the door is a strange one. That's not to say that he's not been attacked at home, the office has been the site of more than a few skirmishes that he's walked away from, but he's never knowingly gone home expecting there to be one waiting. It would almost be easier if it was a demon waiting for him- at least on that front he knows what he's dealing with and it will just take a few well aimed precision strikes.

Problem is, the half-demon waiting for him is all too good at his own precision strikes against him and he doesn't even need to pull a weapon to deal them.

Dante's forty-three years old and for good or otherwise, he's never once walked into a fight he's backed down from. He's picked more than a few of them too. This time he's going to need to pull on his big boy pants and take this one on head on. He'll go home, take a shower, see if Nero can help him pinpoint where Vergil is and then he'll go for it.

He's not expecting to walk through the door to the scent of cooking tomatoes and Vergil standing at the kitchen counter.

Immediately he pauses in the doorway, his whole body taut and ready to react. For once he doesn't immediately throw out a quip or try to come up with a line. He closes the door behind him without a backwards glance, keeping his eyes on Vergil as he squares his shoulders and raises his jaw. The nod he gives in his twin's direction is tense.

"Brother."

[antimetabole]

It seems like countless times they have been in this position before with Vergil awaiting his brother's approach for some confrontation that has long since been brewing on the horizon. The only difference here appears to be that neither brother is tightening his grip on his respective weapon, ready for their inevitable clash even if the tension in the apartment feels just as heavy as it always does. They size one another up with Dante keeping his eyes on Vergil, and Vergil remaining still where he stands in the kitchen.

"Dante." Vergil turns his attention away from his brother with that mild greeting, turning back to the stove. He gives the sauce a bit of a stir, breaking the tomatoes down further. "Late night?"

Technically speaking, this is small talk and not particularly important. Vergil is quite aware of that. But he is not trying to hide behind small talk to avoid the larger conversation they need to have with one another. Instead, he is trying to break that tension, to make it feel less like another round of the fight is about to begin. He doesn't care for small talk himself personally, and it would not necessarily put him at ease to see Dante reaching for it given Dante's effortless means of talking about anything. But Vergil sorely lacks the ability to make conversation even on a good day, reliant upon those around him to take the lead barring topics he holds the rare degree of passion for. So, Vergil can only hope his attempt allows for Dante to see he is not interested in fighting. The tension may remain, of course. It has been a long set of days in which the twins have been avoiding one another and not speaking. But Vergil knows that means he cannot assume that Dante will come to the conclusion Vergil is at least ready to reduce the distance between them by his mere appearance in this apartment alone. He does, after all, live here still despite his recent scarcity.

So, an overture of small talk, something Vergil openly detests and yet is willing to make the effort in doing right now for Dante's sake, it is.

[nowfeaturing]

"Yes, it was. That's the purpose of the holiday," Dante replies flatly.

If he's come home to be lectured about staying out late or questioned about his whereabouts then he has half a mind to turn around and walk back out again. It's a sulky, petulant gut reaction that he has to take a moment to examine his intentions. He's not wanting to fight, he's tired of everything turning into a fight. And honestly, Vergil's made the overture to him instead of throwing something at his head or blanking him the moment he walked in. Perhaps he ought to be more charitable.

"Happy New Year, by the way," he adds as he walks across to the couch- his bed - and sits down on it, removing his boots before he kicks his feet up on the coffee table as is newly adopted habit. He's seen the way the corner of Vergil's eye twitches when he attempts it with his boots on.

And then he realizes that his way of avoiding the awkward silence is nowhere in sight. Where the hell is the remote? How is he supposed to pretend he's not bothered by Vergil being there if he hasn't got anything to distract him? Shit. There must be...

Okay there's a book. He picks it up, hoping that it might be a good way to pretend that he's-

Son of a bitch, Cards on the Table? Is the universe against him or something this morning? It could stop throwing him hints, that'd be great.

He fights the urge to groan and sinks lower on the couch, hoping to be overlooked in favor of whatever it is Vergil's cooking up.

[antimetabole]

Vergil has to take a very deep breath at the response his question earns him, reminding himself that he is not speaking with Dante because he wants to fight. It also is perhaps fair and expected to receive a response that borders on the line of petulant. After all, it isn't as though Vergil would probably offer better if he wasn't ready to speak. Squashing a chunk of tomato in the pot with the spoon also helps in keeping him from responding.

"Yes, Happy New Year..." he manages before falling silent in the kitchen, the response being more automatic than necessarily effusive or particularly sincere. Vergil still doesn't know if he should really be diving into talking about what happened so quickly given the reception he just received, but he also has absolutely no idea how to keep the conversation going. Vergil finishes stirring the pot for now, tapping the spoon on the edge of the pot before placing it in the holder.

"Mizu liked your gift," he says as he replaces the lid on the pot. "I am certain he will thank you himself when he sees you again, but I could tell meant a lot to him that you thought of him."

Vergil turns the heat down on the stove. Although he could walk away comfortably to leave the sauce to simmer for a while on its own, he stays rooted to the spot in front of the burner still. A small, private debate of whether it will be received well or not is what causes him to hesitate, but he ultimately decides he ought to add that, "It meant a lot to me, anyways. You didn't have to do that."

He doesn't look over at Dante, keeping his eyes on the pot in front of him.

✨ DEVIL MAY CLEAN (OPEN)

[antimetabole]

The process of moving from the apartment to one of the bedrooms in the Devil May Cry office really should not be much of a process to begin with. Vergil possesses few personal items, and what he does are not particularly cumbersome to move. Especially when he has access to a portal to make it across town in the blink of an eye. But it is a process nonetheless because it really is not about where he is putting his belongings or even so much where he sleeps at night. It runs a little deeper than that when one has been without a place to truly call home the majority of their life. Never mind, as silly as it is, he feels the separation from another person that he has recently called family. So, it takes a little more time and a little more thought. And perhaps a bit of distraction, too.

Fortunately, there's quite a bit to distract himself when it comes to the state of the office over the first few days. He hopes, faintly, that by doing something about that, he will subsequently feel a little less out of place in what has ostensibly served as Dante's home for decades now.

Vergil has no interest in rearranging everything to suit his tastes. As far as Vergil is concerned, the front of the building, the storefront, really is not his space, and he is not interested in encroaching upon it to any degree. Besides, in an odd way, he does not exactly begrudge Dante his clutter as there is something familiar to the way Dante haphazardly tends to stack things about a room with rhyme and reason that only make sense to him. But Vergil does, however, object to the littering of pizza boxes and empty liquor and beer bottles all about, and the papers that have just fallen wherever they may lay. The stale, musty air is bothersome, and begs the question of when exactly was the last time Dante cleaned this place properly.

Vergil starts his several days long cleaning by ridding the place of all its trash. He empties and stacks leftover pizza boxes. He leafs through paper he's picked up off the floor and uncrumpled, throwing away the obvious trash like old takeout receipts and notices about utilities and rent (given the latter hardly matters now), and stacking the rest as neatly as possible on the desk. (The intention is for Dante to go through them later and determine what needs to be kept, and what can be discarded, but Vergil is not holding his breath that they will not just end up straight back on the floor at some point.) He empties any leftover beer in bottles and wine that's become such strong vinegar, Vergil need not open the bottle to smell the telltale scent. The other, salvageable bottles end up arranged neatly behind the bar. Trashbags of paper, rock hard pizza, and bottles are put outside next to the remnants of Fort Pizza Box. He wipes down surfaces. He sanitizes the fridge near to the bar. He sweeps and mops (and shudders to think what would happen if the rugs were properly washed).

As he goes about cleaning, Vergil does not pay much mind to whoever wanders in (or near to the entrance should paths cross while he is placing trash outside). At times, a glance is what one might expect to receive at most with no signs of disrupting him from his mission to get the first floor a bit more habitable. Other times, you may be informed to avoid certain parts of the floor as a thin amount of courtesy to avoid slipping while primarily being so he does not need to mop the same spot again. Occasionally, he may ask what they need or want, but rarely so given he sees little point in offering customer service. There are no demons to be slain, and does not consider himself part of the family business regardless, after all.

One could not say it is exactly squeaky clean by the time Vergil finishes, but looking about, Vergil does feel it's a bit of a reset. It's noticeably lived in and clearly bears its history both before and since Dante's tenure without looking like there's a budding open invitation for pests, and that is really all Vergil could possibly ask for.

Despite that, Vergil doesn't linger to admire his handiwork. He plucks his coat off the rack where he's neatly hung it up each day and pulls it on before collecting Yamato nearby. He does not have a destination in mind as he steps back out the front door, but he does not yet feel ready quite yet to settle in.

[pullit]

While the twins tackle the main office (and Nero does not dare make any judgment calls about who's doing what and how much of it), Nero has been making small repairs here and there. He's more inclined to engines and devices than he is to home maintenance, but necessity has taught him plenty over the years, and it's easy enough to patch drywall, fix poorly-hanging doors, and repair broken light fixtures and sockets. (Honestly, Dante, how long has the upstairs hall outlet been literally hanging there?) With the repairs done and the shop not burned down in the process, he moved on to cleaning up the garage, looking forward to making it a workshop. There's a big list of tools and supplies he's going to need, and he figures he can acquire them as he moves through Etraya, a bit at a time.

He puts on his jacket, tucks a few canvas bags into a backpack, locks up the garage door and circles around the alley to the front. There, he finds himself exiting at the same time as his father.

"Hey Dad. Man, I still can't believe we just found the shop like this. We're either fucking lucky or somebody out there likes us a lot."

(Nero has guessed where the shop came from, but thinks playing dumb will be more gratifying to the mysterious benefactor. Whoever it may be.)

"Whatcha doin'?" Hope he wasn't planning on doing it by himself, because Nero shows every indication of joining up.

[antimetabole]

Nero is a pleasant surprise to find outside, but a surprise nonetheless. Vergil occasionally heard a noise from within the garage that he attributed to whatever Nero was up to in there. However, he assumed the pause in the sounds of movement to be little more than a break rather than a sign he was also done for the day.

He pauses when Nero calls out to him, and lets very little on as Nero talks about the fortunate nature of coming across the shop. He does not frown in suspicion that he's being patronized (because he's actually certain he isn't being pandered to right now), nor does he begin to grin in a self-satisfied manner. He simply nods his agreement that it is quite fortunate, his expression carefully neutral even if his eyes do perhaps light up just a little. He may not show it in his attempts not to give it away that he bears some responsibility for this being here, but Vergil is quite pleased with himself. He managed to provide something for his family, and they are clearly none the wiser that it was him. Nero can be happy for a place for the family business to properly assert itself (whatever that is meant to mean or be in Etraya), and Dante can have what he recognizes to be home. He did a good thing, and it feels even better having done it without having to worry about the possibility anyone would foolishly feel like they owed him.

"I was going to head back to the apartment, I suppose." For an I suppose, Vergil does not sound too uncertain. But then again, it's rare for him not to sound assured when he can help it, even when the case may be otherwise as it is now. Vergil really had no direction in mind for himself. The apartment just seemed the most likely conclusion to wherever he were to wander off to after leaving the office. "Where are you off to now? Did you finish in the garage?"

[pullit]

(See that? It's all for that little glimmer of pride in his eyes. And it's so easy to get it, Nero doesn't mind playing a little silly for it.)

"Got everything cleaned up, mostly, and took stock of what's in there. Which is jack, and shit." Nero rolls his shoulders to stretch them. "So figured I'd do a little shopping to start stocking up... and find something to eat. I'm starved."

Likely, Vergil will suggest he eat some of the food stocked up back at the apartment. But it's worth a shot asking anyway. "You wanna come with? A hardware store oughta have most of what I need, so it won't take all day or anything."

[tyrantbait]

This place might not be huge, but it's big enough that Leon's been spacing out his exploration over time. A couple hours every day to get himself out of his apartment. Harborport ends up next on his list, mostly because staying busy has been working — walking, looking, moving forward instead of letting his thoughts drift backward to Raccoon City. As long as his boots keep hitting the ground, he doesn't have to worry about where his thoughts are going to take him. What shadows he might see moving across the wall, the memories of those things or her

He wanders in and out of a couple of places, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders held just a little too tight for someone casually sightseeing. Every so often his weight shifts, like he can't quite bring himself to settle.

Then he spots the sign. Devil May Cry.

Leon slows, tilts his head under the beanie, and considers it. It reminds him of the signs outside some of the bars he's seen back in Arklay County - some just the usual bars, some a bit more adult. But given the lack of music or the missing stench of liquor and cigarette smoke, it's probably not some bar or club. His curiosity wings after a thoughtful moment, and he pushes the door open and steps inside. His posture relaxed enough, but his awareness doesn't drop. Matilda sits heavy and familiar where she's holstered at his hip, hidden under the end of the dark jacket he's wearing.

The smell hits first: old pizza and cleaning solution. His eyes sweep the space automatically, taking in the clutter, the half-stacked papers, bottles lined up with deliberate care. Someone's in the middle of fixing the place, not abandoning it. That's a good sign, he thinks.

That's when he spots the man moving through the space with quiet efficiency.

Leon pauses just inside the doorway, keeping a respectful distance. As he stops, one shoulder rolls subtly - a small, unconscious motion like he's easing a stiffness that keeps settling every couple of hours. Recognition clicks a second later, blue eyes blinking. The guy he'd talked to - the one with the brother who might commit some goat arson. The thought, at least, makes the corner of his lips twitch.

"Hey," Leon call, lifting his chin slightly. "It's Vergil, right?"

His gaze drifts around again, taking in the progress, the spots that still need work. His hand brushes the edge of his jacket near his shoulder, then stills, like he realizes he's doing it. And then his hands are going back into his pockets.

"Looks like you've got this scene under control," he says. "You want backup anyway?"

As he waits for an answer, his eyes flick back to the mop, the wiped-down surfaces, the steady, repetitive work. Light movement, he thinks. Might actually be good for his shoulder.

[antimetabole]

Vergil pays little more than a passing glance to Leon when he steps inside. He knows that intrusions to his space like this are things that he is going to have to adjust to when it comes to living here. In their won world, most of the time, they will be harmless. People lost or mistaking the business for something else. Others will bring business for his brother and business partner. But some will be more than a little hostile if the marks on the floor and walls are any indication. Here in Etraya? Vergil does not know what exactly to expect, but he imagines the intrusions will occur all the same, and they ought to be relatively harmless. He doesn't know what Leon wants, but he cannot imagine it having much to do with him, so he ignores him at first. He only looks back from continuing to empty out the fridge beside the bar when he's called out to specifically. Vergil nods to confirm his name, but resumes his work on the fridge.

He doesn't want to know how long these containers of Chinese food have been tucked in the way back on one of the shelves. He just moves it straight into the nearby trashbag.

Vergil's expression pinches a little when Leon asks if he can help, and he pauses again in his work. Vergil is not particularly inclined to allow for the help given that part of the point of this attempt at some order about the office is to make himself feel less of an intruder. Having someone else help, particularly someone who will not be living here and is not a member of his family, feels like it would be defeating the purpose. But looking at the young man, Vergil doubts he'd be particularly dissuaded from loitering about and conversing even if Vergil were to say no. Perhaps allowing him to work on the clean up process would be enough to distract him that conversation could be kept to a minimum.

"Suit yourself," he says, crouching down to begin clearing out the bottom of the fridge. "If it looks like broken junk like that television underneath the stairs, do not throw it out. And don't try to rearrange anything."

Vergil offers no immediate explanation for why the stipulations. But after a beat he does with a wave of a free hand by adding, "This is my brother's office. In case the stacks of books on the floor weren't any indication."

Vergil would never. But Dante clearly does not keep much by way of shelving about. And what shelving he does have—beneath the stairs next to the broken television and the stereo equipment Vergil is uncertain even works—is already crammed full of assorted boxes and items that Vergil has plainly not touched. He has no intention of trying to go through all of that. So, the books are are stacked by and on the desk and table with no real system as far as Vergil can tell. The books vary on their topics, mostly pertaining to the demonic, but they're not exactly the light reading material of various issues of Slap & Tickle and other such magazines that can also be found scattered about the office.

[tyrantbait]

Leon gives a small nod at the instructions.

"Got it," he says simply. "I'll be careful."

He glances once toward the stairs, committing the television to memory, then shrugs out of his jacket. There had been a few days where he'd explored with his vest underneath his coat, found comfort in the weight of it, but he's managed to convince himself he doesn't need it here. Not right now, anyway. So underneath his jacket, there's nothing remarkable about him except the weight of Matilda holstered at his hip and the faint metallic outline of a pair of handcuffs beneath his sweater when he shifts. He doesn't call attention to either, but he doesn't remove them either.

For a while, Leon keeps quiet.

He gathers loose papers into neater stacks, sweeping debris toward a corner with long, steady motions. It's methodical work, repetitive enough to let his mind settle without drifting. The shift from one task to another, the chance to asses what's actual trash and what might not be keeps him focused. Every now and then he pauses to read a heading or glance at a page before placing it back where he found it or into a new stack, careful not to impose order where none was asked for. And every so often, he pauses at a sound around them. Has to take a moment to remind himself that it's just Vergil or a normal sound that doesn't require a second look. It's easier said than done, takes a few steadying breaths before he continues.

Eventually, his broom nudges something glossy.

Leon stops, bends, and picks up a couple of magazines, flipping one open just long enough to confirm what he's looking at. His mouth twitches, and he exhales a short laugh.

"Huh," he starts, then adds a little louder, tone dry but amused, "Guess this is your brother's continuing education program."

He lifts the magazine briefly, long enough that Vergil can get a look at it before he sets the issues neatly out of the way.

[catscratching]

Vergil isn't alone when he steps back into the office at some point.

Selina's there, seated at Dante's desk like it might as well be her own. One leg is crossed neatly over the other, knee-high boots angled just so as the toe of one boot makes little shapes in the air beneath the desk. Her black jacket hugs close, sleek and familiar, sunglasses nestled at the top of her head. There's a bit of color to her cheeks - the chill of the cold still lingering - but otherwise, it wouldn't be difficult to think she really had been here this whole time. She's sipping from a coffee at her leisure, unhurried, enjoying the warmth of it that helps ease away the cold in her bones.

The desk bears quiet evidence of her arrival: a couple of to go cups, a small box of baked goods nudged aside among the clutter. A backpack rests on the floor beside the chair, close to her heel. Positioned in just a way that grabbing it and slipping away would be too easy. It's not as if this place is guarded or has any real deterrents from outsiders, but she's very aware of the fact that not every part of every public building is meant to be explored. And more importantly, she hadn't been entirely sure which son of Sparda she might encounter here.

Her thoughts are still half in Harborport. Arkham Asylum, more specifically. The tour Crane had given her had been thorough in all the ways that mattered and conspicuously lacking in others. He'd shown her what he wanted her to see. What he hadn't had been far more interesting. She'd left with more questions than answers, curiosity humming in her veins. She's eager to go back, to slip behind those walls to see what Crane is really up to behind closer doors, but she knows better than to rush into it. Crane isn't an enemy she wants, and being locked up in some form of Arkham Asylum threatens to reopen wounds she's refused to acknowledge.

But threaded through all of it is thoughts of Dante. Quiet wonder about things he'd said and more of it towards things he hadn't.

She'd genuinely been looking forward to seeing him. The realization sits there, quiet but insistent. More than she'd meant to allow. More than she probably should be thinking about while casing institutions and dissecting the behaviors of a dangerous but brilliant mind.

When Vergil enters, her attention shifts immediately. A brief, assessing glance - sharp, practiced - before her expression softens into something easier. Friendly, pleasant.

"Vergil," Selina greets, tipping her cup slightly toward him.

Her gaze flicks past him once, quick and almost absentminded, registering the empty space beyond. No disappointment shows, but a part of her had been hopeful there might be someone else alongside him. Another time, then. She's got plenty of it in this place.

She leans back in the chair, comfortable, eyes drifting briefly over the cleaned surfaces, the quiet order settling into the room.

"Looks like you've been busy," she remarks lightly, before her attention returns to him, curious. The place looks good, she muses, but she does wonder what it had looked like hours or even days before. She doubts all those pizza boxes and papers and who knows what else were stacked and neat before. It's an amusing thought, one that makes her lips curve a bit further.

"How about a break?" She motions with her free hand toward the cups and baked goods on the desk.

[antimetabole]

Selina greets him with a friendly expression, but Vergil does no such thing in return. He knew before setting foot inside that someone was in there, and it was not anyone that should be. It just would be his luck that out of all the people in Etraya, it is this woman who may mean well and no harm, but still has a tendency to be more than a little infuriating. Truthfully, Vergil has half a mind to walk right back out the way he came and come back later when she has hopefully vacated the premises. But he's not quite that petty and childish even if he is extremely protective of his peace. And besides, that would feel like a concession of some kind. He will not concede to her and certainly not this space that he is already making great efforts to stake out as his in some capacity. Thus, she gets looked at as a nuisance as Vergil closes the door behind him.

"No," he says flatly, not sparing a glance to her offering even as she gestures towards it, and then nothing else. Vergil walks over to the nearby coatrack and sets Yamato down on the wall nearby before taking off his coat. His silence, oddly enough, is not intended to be particularly rude. He noticed the way she glanced behind him, and he's not stupid enough to mistakenly believe the glance was anything but seeing if someone else would walk in. Her interest is in Nero or, most likely, Dante. Not him. So, he sees very little need to entertain Selina while they're here together. She can wait until one of them show up instead, and have her fill of conversation then. Or, better yet, she can leave and come back later.

Vergil walks up the two steps out of the entryway and into the office proper, but he is not approaching Selina. Instead, he heads towards the back where the kitchen lies to collect his cleaning supplies.

[catscratching]

It had been a gamble which of the boys she'd run into here, much like it's always a roll of the dice which Bat she'll run into, and she's prepared for the inevitable dismissal that comes. To someone else, it might be enough of a sign that she should be on her way and leave Vergil to whatever it is he's got planned. But Selina's used to men like this. The ones that put the walls up and would rather dismiss or ignore her, and well, she always handles them the same way: she sticks around. A dangerous thing to do when back home in Gotham or Alley Town where rogues or villains might threaten to put a bullet between your eyes, but it's never stopped her.

Just like the flat response now only makes her smile curve a bit more over the lip over her cup before she takes another sip of the contents. "Suit yourself."

She's quiet otherwise, watching him as he moves around the space. It's not the same as seeing him in a book store or talking to him with screens between them, that's for sure, and she's content for a few moments to just watch as she leans back a bit further in the chair. There's more than a few differences between how Vergil moves and the way she's seen Dante move, and the differences in how they carry themselves is curious. It makes her think of her and Maggie - one sister going off to take her vows and wear a cloth while she'd taken to the streets and become something else.

For a few moments, she sits there, taking in the space carefully. She notes different things here and there, stuff that's been cleaned and stuff that clearly hasn't, odds and ends that she thinks speaks more to being to Dante than Vergil. Her cup stays close to her nose, a way for the warm steam and aroma of it to lessen the scent of cleaning products. And a glance towards one of the magazines nearby makes her consider grabbing it to entertain herself for a bit longer while she considers if she wants to hang around in the quiet until Dante or maybe even Nero arrives. But her attention goes in the direction of Vergil again.

The chair twists, and she stands quietly. Her free hand lowers, catching one of the straps of her bag to lift it across her shoulder as she crosses the distance towards Vergil. As she goes, her cup is neatly abandoned on the edge of the desk to be retrieved again soon. She moves quietly in the space, steps neatly and deliberate around anything that might still be on the floor.

"I wanted to ask you something." Or somethings, rather, but she'll get into that.