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etrayalogs2026-05-12 10:28 pm
nowfeaturing) wrote in etrayalogs2026-05-12 10:28 pmEntry tags:
nowfeaturing) wrote in etrayalogs2026-05-12 10:28 pm
For Vergil - Backdated to May 1st
It was why, after receiving his presents, Dante had sought out his brother to deliver his own gifts to him - a framed copy of their mother's photo to match the one on his desk, a novelty t-shirt, both volumes of Alexander Gilchrist's Life of William Blake, "Pictor Ignotus." With selections from his poems and other writings in leather bound, gold leafed editions, in which he had slipped an invitation:
Wanna go a few rounds?
It's why, a few hours later, surrounded by dirt and boulders and in sight of a brand new crater and feeling like he's picked a personal fight with a wrecking ball, Dante can't keep the grin off his face as he lies sprawled on the ground, catching his breath.
"Are we breaking the habit of a lifetime if we call that a draw?"
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Laying down sounds like a brilliant idea right now, of course, but Vergil fears if he does, he won't make it back up. So, he contents himself for the moment with setting Yamato down on the ground beside him and leaning back a little on his hands. His arms protest the weight being rested upon them and Vergil does make a few little adjustments to his positioning, but there is simply no preventing it from aching a little. He's looking up at the sky then with a contented smile when Dante asks his question.
Vergil huffs a quiet laugh, breathless because he has yet to fully catch his breath either. It hurts a little to laugh, but it oddly just leads him to laugh a little more.
They truly are a pair of old fools.
"I won't tell if you don't," he says, looking over at Dante still sprawled on the ground. He moves to sit up, but ultimately ends up sitting a little slouched forward. "The last thing we need is the child accusing us of getting too old for this."
Not that Vergil thinks Nero would make that accusation out anything more than a joke. It may not make perfect sense to him even now, but given Nero resisted any urge to start henpecking after their first bout on Mesa, Vergil suspects he understands it better now than he did before. The twins may beat the living hell out of each other in the process of all this, but it is little more than a game to them, and there is a comfort to be found in it. No matter how much time they have spent apart from one another, Vergil and Dante read each other in battle better than anyone else. It is a sign their bond remains through it all.
"Am I going to have to carry you through the portal, little brother?" Vergil asks with an amused huff.
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There’s an upward quirk to his mouth as he smiles, unable to keep the euphoria off his face in the aftermath of their tussle, if one can call trashing a tundra and creating new geographical features a mere tussle. He’s pretty sure he’ll be feeling the impact of a few of those blows later. Maybe he’ll ask a certain someone to give him a neck rub later as a birthday treat…
Groaning a little as his body protests the effort, Dante pushes himself up on his elbow to glance over at Vergil.
“Now why would I need to be carried when someone awesome got me a sweet ride that can take us home one style?” he asks, thrilled at the prospect of taking Cavaliere out for a good spin later. Maybe he’ll let Nero ride behind him.
Vergil’s got a point about feeling run down.
“Need a pick-me-up?” he offers, pulling a decidedly battered looking bar of chocolate out from inside his coat pocket; it’s dark, not overly sweet, not his favorite kind but it wasn’t his own palate he was thinking about when he picked it up. “I figured a little chocolate couldn’t hurt the recovery time.”
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"And here I thought it was your hip cracking back into place when you hit the ground earlier," he says with a lightly amused huff. Vergil picks up Yamato and uses it to leverage himself back up to his feet with a grunt. It feels like a bad idea the whole way up, and so does every step crossing the short distance between them, but Vergil opts not to put the chocolate bar through anything more and have Dante toss it. Never mind that it will also be easier to share if they're sitting next to each other instead of a few feet apart. Getting back down is not any easier than getting up, but Vergil uses a hand on Dante's shoulder to ease his descent to the ground beside him a bit. It is with a hefty sigh that Vergil comes to rest once more, one leg bent with the other extended in front of him, and rather than taking his hand back, Vergil gives Dante a light, affectionate little shove.
Vergil's quiet a moment before he gives a thoughtful little hum.
"I recall we considered it a draw back then, too." Vergil looks over at Dante then. "Winner got the chocolate, wasn't it?"
But they ended up not too dissimilar to how they are now from what Vergil remembers. The chocolate was split between the two of them more or less evenly by the time they limped back to their mother, their spirits high and without any amount of anger or resentment for the throttling they gave the other. Although Vergil had tried to concede some of his chocolate in the end to Dante, knowing Dante liked it better than him anyways and ultimately wanting to be a good big brother. Likely on any other day than their birthday, Dante would have accepted it sooner or later, but Vergil remembers him pretending to somehow not have the room in his stomach for more and wanting to leave room for cake. It was a stupid, flimsy excuse when they were both bottomless pits at that age, but Vergil was elated Dante didn't take it and wanted to share it evenly in the end. He didn't argue the point. Looking back on it now though, Vergil speculates that may have been some of the reason their mother wasn't angry with them in spite of the mess they made of themselves.
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"To the victor goes the spoiling of dinner," Dante nods sagely, letting the gentle shove go unremarked upon but filing it away that he owes Vergil a decent noogie when the older twin doesn't expect it, especially after the hip comment. "Now and always. And we won't tell Nero."
He doesn't need to snap the chocolate in half, it's already in pieces, but he tears open the wrapper and offers it to Vergil first. There will be no spoiling of dinner; he personally feels like he could eat a whole cow, a few squares of chocolate isn't about to change that.
As he puts a square of chocolate into his mouth and lets the treat melt on his tongue, he finds himself oddly pensive. Had they always agreed to fight to a tie on their birthdays? They'd fought side by side once to try and bring down Father, hadn't they?
"We teamed up one year, didn't we? When it was an early heatwave. Mother got the kiddy pool out and we tried to knock Father into it."
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"Yes, our fourth birthday, I believe," he says with a slight nod after a moment. "I recall doing us doing quite well until he brought out the water guns."
Vergil recognizes as an adult now Sparda was letting them win, and bringing out the water guns was to give them something else to play with. But at the time, it truly felt like they were working for it sincerely, just as he likely intended.
"And, of course, Mother's betrayal."
The twins had mistakenly believed hiding behind their mother would provide them with the respite needed to regroup and conquer their father. Unfortunately for them, that turned out not to be the case and it was all-out war for a while with alliances switching sometimes faster than one could blink. But the brothers ended up on the same team again by the end, their original objective remembered and sought after. Not that it mattered much at that point if they managed to push Sparda in when everyone was sopping wet by the time they had to go back inside. It was a wonder the twins didn't fall asleep face first into their cake that year between the heat and how hard they played together that day.
Vergil hums in faint amusement at the memory.
"That was a good day," he says faintly after another moment of thought and a bit of a furrow in his brow. "We had many of those."
That's something he finds himself forgetting at times. It's not that he has such an unfavorable view of his childhood. Truly, Vergil doesn't. But it's hard to deny how much loss and grief color the past for him—something he imagines to be true for Dante, too—never mind his quiet, private fear that in stitching himself back together, he's lost more of his memories than time alone would take from him. Vergil puts the other piece of chocolate in his mouth with the other gone and melted rather than give voice to any of that, however. It's something better left unspoken, he thinks.
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The album that Dante had been given is something that's brought many forgotten childhood memories crashing back into his mind. Seeing actual, physical reminders of his family as a happy, functional unit is at odds with so much of what he'd let himself believe growing up. He'd known he'd been happy, that they'd both been loved and nurtured and that made sense, because nothing that hadn't been real could leave such a gaping, raw wound with its absence. Those memories he'd had had revolved around the sun at the center of his universe, the bottomless depths of his mother's love for both of them but his father? It was like his mind had balked at the thought that Sparda had been as close and as involved as Eva had been.
So he had chosen to let himself believe he hadn't been.
Dante lays back down again, staring up at the sky as he cushions his head on his arm. He runs his tongue over his teeth, savoring the last of the chocolate.
"I'd forgotten how happy we all were when we were together. I just let myself remember the times when he was a hardass on us. How sad mother was when he went away. I always thought he put the whole world ahead of us and letting her die was just proof of that."
He's never aired any of that out loud and he lets it sit quietly in the open air. He can't bring himself to look at Vergil, not wanting to see even a whisper of their father's features on his twin's face as he voices something that's chewed him up for years.
"I used to hate him, you know."
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Except at the very least, Sparda had something noble that he was potentially setting his family aside for. There was little sense, after all, in protecting his family if there was no world for them to live in. Vergil could not claim the same. He was selfish and everything Dante built Sparda into in his memory. Vergil turns his head slightly away from Dante for a moment when he speaks so plainly of his feelings towards their father.
Once, he probably would have found a great fault in Dante for feeling that way. But after Nero...
Vergil draws a slow breath in and out, steadying and smoothing away anything that might belie those tangential thoughts before even so much as glancing in Dante's direction.
"I think he would have understood that."
That Dante hated him. That Dante forgot that there was anything other than the abandonment or the little slights—perceived or otherwise—that children resent in the moment, but tend to forget as they grow old enough to understand why their parents did what they did. That Dante used to reject anything that could remotely be from or of him because of everything that happened not just on the day of their mother's murder, but everything that came after, and how much Dante hated him for all of it.
"And I think he would have hated himself, too. At least a little," he adds just as quietly. Vergil could not fathom being in Sparda's position and not walking away with anger and hatred for himself in failing his family, or that he wouldn't accept that responsibility that Dante threw upon him for everything. "But none of that it would not change how he felt about you."
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He sighs, bone deep and weary, and turns his head to look at Vergil.
"It just felt better to not feel anything after I thought I killed you on Mallet. Tried not to think about it. About him. I think that's why I let Trish use the sword, I didn't want the reminder, I didn't want to be him and step into his shoes. I always thought when we were little that it'd be you, and I'd be your wingman. Just... didn't feel right. Not after what I did to you."
His eyes look beyond Vergil to where his own sword stands in the ground, he permanent mingling of his and his father's power, the physical embodiment of his and Sparda's legacies intrinsically entwined. Forged in flame and blood. Unbreakable.
He thinks he understands what Vergil means, that Sparda wouldn't have made the decision to leave easily, that it didn't mean he hadn't loved his family any less. The angry, scared little boy who had trembled in terror in that cupboard as his home burned down around him had never had a chance to make sense of it all, had never wanted to find justification for why his father wasn't there for them, why his hero hadn't saved them. The teen he'd grown into, the mercenary who'd taken all kinds of work Sparda would have thought beneath him, had that been his own way of eking out a teenage rebellion?
He pushes himself up again slightly, lying back on his elbows to a half-recline, and shakes his head.
"Sorry, I shouldn't be getting melancholy on our birthday. This is supposed to be our party."
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He glances at Dante as he sits back up a little, and considers whether or not to allow Dante to change the subject like that. The fact of it being their birthday is a flimsy as hell excuse, of course. Vergil hasn't celebrated his birthday whatsoever since they were eight years old, and the day has meant nothing to him. He cannot imagine it being much more than that for Dante except perhaps a bitter reminder of what he lost. So, it makes sense that on today of all days, he would reflect on the past a bit more than usual. But what Dante brings up is something fraught with potential wrong turns in conversation and old wounds. It's understandable that he would put forth their birthday as the reason why they might want to move onto more pleasant topics.
In the end, however, Vergil decides against allowing it if for only one reason. Dante talks about it not feeling right for him to step into Sparda's legacy because of what he did to Vergil. The trouble with that?
"Dante," he says slowly, carefully. It's not a subject he ever finds himself wanting to discuss, and he cannot say he's ever really considered how to talk about it with his brother. Not when Dante has been so avoidant in speaking of the past. "You didn't do anything to me. What became of me was the result of my own foolish choices, and that subsequently put you in an impossible position more than once."
Vergil looks away from Dante again, back to the horizon they created together. His jaw clenches for a moment as he holds back more words, words he knows would not bring about comfort to Dante even if they are true. For all the guilt Dante carries over what happened on Mallet, for all that he sees it as simply having killed his brother, Vergil believes Dante saved him in the end. And it would have been just as true had Dante truly killed him. Being a shallow husk of himself was terrible enough, but a lapdog to their father's old enemy, their mother's murderer remains a shame that Vergil can barely stand. His stomach turns and his skin crawls every time he thinks of it. But Vergil knows Dante will likely never see it as having set his brother free. That isn't who he is.
"I always wanted Father's legacy. For a long time, I felt entitled to it. When you defeated me and had the greater claim..." Vergil purses his lips, shaking his head a little. He couldn't understand it. After the years of being hunted, the years of pushing himself to grow stronger, to have gone through all that he did only to find it was Dante who could claim their father's power? Vergil had been incensed. Lost. What Mundus did was merely salt in the wound, a confirmation of all Vergil feared to be true about himself. It's why he so desperately needed one last bout against Dante. One last way to prove he was not the worthless, weak son of Sparda who could be so easily broken and defeated. "I yielded it to you that day on the Temen-ni-gru. Not that I wanted to accept it then, but in my defeat, I had only managed to prove that I had strayed too far to hold any claim."
Looking down to his lap for a brief moment, Vergil finally returns his gaze to Dante.
"It may not have been something you necessarily wanted, Dante, but Father's legacy was always meant for you. Not me."
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Instead of me. Instead of being brothers.
He doesn't want to tread that ground again, doesn't want to open wounds they're working hard to heal from.
"I should have been with you. You never should have had to suffer the way you did. You had this whole life here that could have been yours if I'd fought harder for you, if I'd had the guts to go down there and get you back. Even if it hadn't been with me, you could have had the life you deserved. You could have gone back to Fortuna, you and Nero would have had all that time together..."
And that eats him up, the thought that he'd walked away from the ruins of the Temen-ni-gru with a broke heart and tears in his eyes, not knowing that his brother had more than even Dante could have realized.
He looks across at his twin, so much more like their father than he'll ever be, regardless of the power that pulses through his veins and the sword that he bears. He offers him a faint, rueful smile.
"You may not have inherited our father's power Vergil but his legacy lives on with you. It lives on through Nero. When we're gone, he's the one who'll continue Father's work. It doesn't matter what I do with it, you're the one who's continued it."
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He lifts his gaze again, however, when Dante speaks of being at fault for any of what befell Vergil. A furrow forms in his brow even as he listens, not out of anger so much as just how far do they tread close to these old wounds? Dante already skirted past one such wound already. Vergil does not fault him for it. The past is the past, and there is no unmaking any of it. But it sits poorly with Vergil to hear Dante carry such guilt when he was little more than witness to Vergil's decisions. At least, that is all the responsibility he ought to bear. At any point, Vergil could have chosen differently, but he did not.
It sits poorly with him further still when Dante says Sparda's legacy lives on through him. He would never deny that it is carried on by Nero, that everything their family has been or will be rests with his son. But to Vergil, that is all Nero's doing in the end. Vergil had no part in Nero's upbringing, and until they had a more proper reunion, Vergil had only really endangered his son's life several times over. In the end, it could have been just as likely that Dante would have produced an heir as Vergil in that regard. What Dante has done, what he has sacrificed means far more than anything Vergil has contributed. At least when it comes to upholding their father's values and legacy. Vergil's life has truly only ever stood as a testament to the opposite.
He shakes his head.
It seems the more things change, the more they remain the same between the twins. Vergil bears tremendous doubts about Nero's philosophy on talking about things making it better on some matters, but he ultimately cannot let what Dante says remain unchallenged. He can only hope it does not end in angry words or more sincere bloodshed if they've even the strength and energy to do any more than they have today.
"I would not have allowed you to follow me, Dante. You had a responsibility to uphold in the human world. You and I both knew that." Which is why Vergil thinks Dante listened and yielded to Vergil's will, not following him in the end or making any further futile attempts to stop him. He wanted to choose his brother, but he knew he could not. And barring such responsibility crossing his mind, Vergil's stubbornness certainly would have proven itself a barrier all on its own. Dante knew the outcome if he did not yield, but Vergil speaks of it now all the same. "What became of me was by my own choice. Had you followed me then, we both would have ended up enslaved, and had you successfully stopped me from leaving, I would not have changed. I would have resented you and I would not have returned to Fortuna.
"Sooner or later, you might have had to truly kill me."
They both are speaking in hypotheticals, but Vergil finds his to be more likely than Dante's imagined scenarios. Pretty as they are, as much as Vergil would want them now, he does not believe he would have been capable of it. The shame of his defeat would inhibit him from ever being able to accept his brother's hand, and he never would have returned to Fortuna.
Drawing a shaky breath, Vergil looks away to the horizon again.
"I abandoned the woman that I loved, Dante. And because of that Nero not only grew up without a father, he grew up without a mother, too." Vergil's jaw clenches as he exhales sharply. "And I abandoned you."
He parts with the words that Dante would not, but the weight of them still sit heavy on his chest. Vergil draws his other knee up, wrapping his arms around them. One breath. Then another. Then another.
"No part of Father's legacy lives on through me."
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Maybe that same youthful bravado had been the driving force behind Vergil's actions to try and take down Mundus. Perhaps with two of them it might have made a difference. Perhaps they might have been victorious. Perhaps they'd have both been enslaved. Perhaps Mundus would have made them fight to the death for his amusement all the sooner, just as he did on Mallet Island all those years later. All Dante knows is that Vergil wouldn't have been alone.
And he wouldn't have been alone either.
But with time comes the gain of perspective and hindsight. Vergil's right, of course. Dante's place had been earthside, standing for humans the way their father had done for all those years. For all that he's balked and chafed at the yoke of the responsibility of being a son of Sparda, Dante's never turned his back on it. Never shirked his duty. It might not have looked as noble as Sparda, but that was essentially what he had dedicated his life to.
"I used to dream of you dying down there," he admits. "In the months after you fell. Did for years after too. You always blamed me for not being strong enough."
Might controls everything. And without strength, you can't protect anything.
"I understood why you did what you did," he says quietly. "I didn't at first, couldn't work out why you'd put so many people in harm's way just to attain power when I figured it was so unlike what Father would do. But then I realized what you'd been trying to tell me all along, and I realized you just saw things differently. I'd called it wrong and I still don't agree with how you went about it, but I understand why you did it. You made those choices because you were willing to go to whatever lengths you needed to get stronger."
He doesn't excuse or condone what Vergil had done. But he understands.
"Can I ask you something though? About Nero's mother? And I'm not prying or trying to give you shit, it's just something that's bothered me since the day I met him."
For Nero - Who Let the Dogs Out?
There's something tucked beneath his coat that he's hoping won't be too noticeable in light of the six pack he has hooked under his little finger as he ambles towards the garage where he can hear Nine Inch Nails blaring as Nero works on some kind of messy project. He knocks twice before nudging the door open, dangling the beers around the wood.
"Hey, you feeling thirsty yet kid?"
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"Yeah, always." He grabs a nearby towel to wipe some of the grease off his hands, then goes to the sink to wash his hands properly. "What's the occasion?"
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"Does a guy need an excuse to crack open a cold one on the roof with his favorite nephew?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe as Nero washes up and trying to make sure his back doesn't clunk suspiciously against the wood. "Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I wanna shoot beer cans with you. Maybe I've got something I wanna show you. Who knows? Maybe it's all of the above."
He's not being totally facetious for a change.
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"Fair enough. I'm always down for a beer." Nero grins as he dries off his hands, then absentmindedly swipes them against his pants, probably dirtying them again. If he notices Dante behaving suspiciously, he doesn't give it away as he moves to follow him back into the shop and up to the roof.
"Though, if we go to the roof you're sworn to secrecy for a few more days. Dad's present is up there."
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It certainly would explain why there's been so much banging and crashing about on the roof recently.
"I'll take it to the grave, kid. Or the birthday. Whichever's sooner, and if you make any jokes about my growing old disgracefully I'm gonna have to rethink my actions."
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The present in question is obvious. Just outside the interior door to the roof, Nero has been building a little nook with a retractable sunshade and a custom wooden lawn chair. It's the perfect place for somebody to curl up and read a book in quiet solitude on the roof. There's even a lock on the outside of the door now, though Nero didn't consider the fire escape from Dante's room. Might have to put some kind of sign up in case Vergil decides to brood on the roof sometime.
"Beer me." Nero opens his palm and gestures for Dante to toss him one. "You think he'll like it? I figured he might like somewhere away from the jukebox to read sometimes."
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Except for...
Well. He's planning to do something about that real soon.
If Nero doesn't notice the moment's hesitation from Dante, he's not about to point it out. As requested, he tosses a bottle across to the younger man, trusting in his nephew's reflexes to make the catch with ease before he reaches for his own beer and pops the cap. The nook's an impressive piece of craftmanship, and Dante's appropriately impressed with Nero's hard work. He's touched, if he's honest, because it's a very physical and blatant embodiment of just how much his brother's son has grown to love his father.
A knot twists in his gut for a moment as a lump rises to his throat.
"I think he's gonna love it. You sure got the measure of your old man, Nero. This is beautiful."
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"Thanks. You think this is nice, wait'll you see what you're getting."
He perches himself on a cinderblock with which he's constructed a makeshift bench. The chair's in sittable shape too, and he gestures that Dante can try it out if he wants. "I'm kind of self-taught on the woodworking, but it's fun... If we ever get sick of the demon hunting maybe we can sell artisan rocking chairs by the roadside or something like that."
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"I'll do my best to be a good boy and I promise not to go tearing the shop apart trying to find where you hid it," he swears soberly, but his eyes are glinting with their characteristic humor.
He takes in the details on the nook, not an expert in any shape or form, but he's very impressed with what Nero's managed to produce from his own hard work and care. But at the comment about abandoning the family business, his grin shifts and he shakes his head.
"I sure hope you don't mean that, 'cuz your belated birthday present's gonna come in real handy for demon hunting and it didn't come with a receipt."
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"Though I mean. That's a huge if," he's quick to point out. "I don't see it happening anytime soon." Then he's even quicker to try and mask his enthusiasm for a belated birthday present that's demon-related. Aha. So it was an ulterior motive, along with hanging out with Nero. "What is it?"
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"So I figured," he begins, "that I've been a pretty shitty uncle in more ways than one. I never got you a Playstation as a kid. Never took you out for underage beer. I never got to share any of your firsts. Never gave you any advice about women - hell, I never thought I'd be looking to my kid nephew as a sage source of wisdom when it comes to the fairer sex, but here we are."
And here he takes a big sigh.
"And I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry in ways I don't think I can ever go about explaining to you. If you knew how responsible I feel for you not growing up without a family..."
He shakes his head again, trailing off before he goes any further down that particular rabbit hole.
"Bah. Getting sentimental in my old age. Anyway. The point is... I can at least be responsible for one of your firsts, and I'm gonna do that by giving you my first."
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a large tripartite nunchaku, icy cold emanating off its metallic surface, and extends it to Nero, its chain links jingling as he does.
"This is Cerberus. It's the first Devil Arm I won for myself. It means a lot to me, and now I'm giving it to you."
He'd said it himself when he'd entrusted Nero with the Yamato: That's the only kind of gift worth giving.
"I love you kid, happy birthday."
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He doesn't want to interrupt or break Dante's chain of thought, but he does take a pause as an opportunity to protest, just a little. "Hey, it's not your fault. Shit just..."
Dante changes the subject before he gets much further, and Nero lets it go for now. He's distracted by the impressive hardware Dante pulls out of his jacket. He stares at it a moment, blinking as he takes in what he's looking at. Then he looks up at Dante in disbelief.
"A Devil Arm?" Of course he knows what one is. He's seen Dante kick copious fuckloads of ass with all of his crazy weapons. The tamed souls of demons, surrendered after being dominated by a stronger demon. By Dante, the best devil hunter who's ever lived.
And he's giving one to Nero? His first one ever? As though Nero stands anywhere near his level of power and strength and ability to handle an actual fucking Devil Arm?
"For me? Really?" Nero blinks a little faster all of a sudden. (Don't think he didn't hear that open "I love you", either, he's catching up with that.) Awestruck, he grasps Cerberus by the rods, letting the chain dangle over his hand. It's wafting cold mist, and feels like grabbing onto an icicle.
"Holy shit, Dante. Thank you. You're serious?"
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Literally in Cerberus' case, given the type of weapon it is.
"This little puppy gave me quite the run around when I was a kid, really needed to be housebroken. But it's been good to me, served me well all these years."
There's a note of fond nostalgia in his voice as he looks the weapon over in his nephew's hands. It looks right there.
"But now you need to show it who's boss. You earn a Devil Arms' respect, its loyalty. You show 'em you won't put up with their shit and that you're strong enough to put 'em straight if they try anything and they'll fight for you. I hadn't even awoken my Devil Trigger when I won it, I see no reason why you wouldn't be able to handle it."
He's really hoping a giant three headed, ice breathing hell hound isn't about to manifest from the nunchaku onto the roof of his home and start picking fights with his nephew, but he's confident that Nero'd be able to apply some pretty effective dog obedience lessons on the mutt if that does prove to be the case.
And if not... he's got his own big dog tucked away for insurance, just in case. He's sure that won't be necessary.
"You're more than ready for this."
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Nero looks at Cerberus as though it just might turn into a hellhound and start biting him, but Dante's words make him tighten his grip. Right. Devil Arms are a whole other level of weaponry... though, he tries to remind himself, any weapon will fuck you up if you don't respect it and wield it with confidence. He handles Red Queen and Blue Rose with expertise, and he's got to take the same attitude with Cerberus. The "biting back" is just a lot more literal with this puppy.
Dante says he's ready. Dante says he can do it. And Dante would know, right?
Nero abruptly snorts and scrubs his arm over his eyes as he moves in for a hard, impulsive hug that's almost a tackle.
"Fuck. Thank you," he says again, murmured against Dante's shoulder. "I love you too, man."
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It's funny how quickly a person can get accustomed to physical affection after years of being without it; with Nero around being hugged's become an occupational hazard. His immediate response to wrap his arm around his nephew and hug him back is instinctual at this point.
He pats Nero's back fondly, with none of the awkwardness that followed their first embrace, and doesn't want to be the first to let go.
...but that being said, man he'd forgotten how damn cold Cerberus could get as the weapon dangles down against his back.
"It might take some doing to master it, I've never taken on a Devil Arm that's not been one of my old man's so I don't know if that stinky little pooch is gonna let you rub its belly right out of the gate, but its worth sticking with it."
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"Yeah, I'm sure I'll need to practice. I've never used nunchucks," he says. "I mean, like, I made my own to play with when I was little..." Went through a little Bruce Lee movie phase when he found a good channel on his little television. "But I think I can figure it out. How did you learn?"
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Dante's never really learned anything. He's picked things up, swung them around, and just like that he's picked up the knack. Practice has made perfect, he's honed his skills and refined them where needed, but he's never had the discipline of Vergil, regularly drilling each kata with practice swords as a child until he could pull them off as easily as breathing. Maybe that's why Sparda had given Dante the great sword, knowing the younger twin could wave it about and do damage without the need for finesse. Dante acts on instinct, his body moves with each weapon and he knows what it needs. He doesn't quite know how to put it.
"I just picked it up and started playing with it. We figured things out together."
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Nero does not know how close he is getting to learning a fact about Dante that is going to vex him severely.
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He chews his bottom lip for a moment, looking thoughtful.
"Oh and with this guy you need to work out where you've iced things up otherwise you'll fall flat on your ass."
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"You just... fling 'em around," he murmurs, sounding extremely skeptical. "Okay."
He takes one of the nunchaku in hand and lets the others dangle. The metal remains cold on his skin, but when he tightens his grip he feels a little pulse of warmth. The demon within the weapon responding to a new hand, maybe. Okay, buddy. You and me are gonna work this out together and have a lot of fun. Got it?
Nero steps away into a more open space on the roof and gives them a swing. The two 'chucks circle around the one in his hand as he spins them, getting a feel for the momentum. The ice wants to happen, but he wills it to stay contained for the moment while he gets used to it. He brings his hand forward as though to swing the weapon--
And one of the nunchaku whips over his arm, whacking him in the shoulder quite hard with a splash of snow.
"Ow."
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In the back of his mind, he can hear the grumbling, disapproving snarls of King Cerberus debating whether this upstart infant is worthy of taking a member of his clan as a servant when he can scarce-
You'd better heel there pooch or I'm getting you fixed, Dante tells him, watching Nero's attempts with a practiced eye. He's got this.
"Try using two hands and two shafts," he offers. "You'll get a better feel for the range that way."
combo breaker, feel free to threadjack
Helloooo? Anyone home?
[ demon family? ]
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He was also not expecting any visitors which is why he's wearing a fluffy red and black tiger print bathrobe as he stands in the shop floor, staring at the new arrival and looking puzzled.]
Are you lost, kid?
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[ she's pretty sure that's the name of it. ]
[ that sundae looks delicious, enough that her stomach growls ]
Um... Xx Black Knight Xx told me to come by...? The one with the softie dad?
[ don't let vergil hear you say that, maya ]
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[Why. Why is there a small girl in his office while he's wearing his bathrobe? And why did Nero not forewarn him?
Dante frowns and does his best to make sure the robe's covering all the important parts - he's got undies on but it's not exactly the right first impression to make to flash young ladies.]
The softie- oh you're a friend of Nero's? Well mi casa es su casa or whatever they say. He's... somewhere I guess.
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[ yeah she's doing her best to not look at any bits. the word "friend" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, considering she's talked to him twice, but-- ]
Yeah!
[ she just agrees that nero's her friend ]
So this is the place, huh? It looks homey.
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[Dante rubs the back of his head, frowning slightly.]
It's a figure of speech. Is the kid helping you with anything in particular or-
[Shoot, his sundae's started to drip. He drops his hand from behind his head to switch the sundae to it so he can start licking up ice cream and strawberry syrup from the back of the hand that got dripped on.]
What did you say your name was?
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[ he's just licking his hands in front of a lady. not very good manners, is it.... (jk, she doesn't care) ] Nah, he just told me to come by. We were talking about our respective jobs.
Maya! Maya Fey! Spirit medium, at your service!
[ bows her head and clasps her hands together ]
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Anyway his fingers are getting sticky, this isn't good.]
It's kind of a play on devil may care- it's not-
[He's still kind of perplexed and in his bathrobe here when he was very definitely about to practice some self-care. Give him a minute.
He walks over to his desk, sits at his chair and is about to do his usual schtick of oh-so-casually flinging his booted feet up onto his desk to look like one of those old timey noir detectives until he remembers that he is 1) holding a gigantic strawberry sundae 2) definitely going to end up flashing more of his boxers at what looks like a teenager than any full grown man should.
The legs stay under the desk.
Phew.]
So Maya Maya Fey, are you here to tell me my shop's haunted or is there something we can take care of for you?
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[ she is listening intently, dante! ]
[ he avoids flashing a young lady, which is good, because she's very much paying attention to what he's doing. and his sundae. it's making her hungry, actually.... ]
Can't a girl just visit to check things out?
[ she gives him an innocent look, which might indicate to him that she's a bit of a gremlin ]
But are there demons around here? Do you only take care of demons?
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Go ahead, knock yourself out. I'll warn you thought, there's not a lot to
check out except yours truly.
[He offers her a little mock bow at his desk, and is about to lift his spoon to his mouth when she brings up demons.]
There's two I take care of on a regular basis, sure. Real tough ones too. Need an expert to knock them into shape.
For Selina - What's new pussycat?