pullit | IC Contact (Folkmore)

IC Contact (Folkmore)

Speakin' from experience, eh? You stud, you.

( Chuckling through a cough, he presses a fist between his brows, breath leaving him a little shakily. He's in pain but he's not going to show it because... that's for weenies. He will just lay here and suffer through it as a true son of Sparda. Vergil wouldn't whine or complain, so. Therefore, neither can he. Well. He can to Vergil with his little brother status and all, but. To Nero? Never. )

[Stud... really Dante...]

Well, yeah? After I got out of the orphanage she was the only one who cared when I got sick.

[He finally gets him rolled over just enough to pluck Ebony and Ivory off his back, then lets him flop back over onto the mattress. He is much less gentle yanking Dante's boots off.]

Lucky you guys, now you've got both of us. I'm sure you're thrilled.

( He lifts his head up some when he feels Nero there at his feet but... drops it back down against the pillow because, no. That hurts a little. He needs to just lay here and move as little as possible. Kids, honestly. )

Sure. You got Kyrie. Vergil's got Mizu. Happy for you both.

No, dingus. I meant you and Dad have me and Kyrie looking out for you.

[He gets both boots off and tosses them on the floor, then sets Ebony and Ivory somewhere safe (not throwing, not to worry.) The rest is Dante's problem if he decides to deal with it.]

There. Now, you want some water, or should I just leave you be?

I'm good.

( Well. Not really, but. What's he going to do? Power through it the best he can and hope his demonic healing is just a little delayed in getting him over this. After all, how long can this really last? Surely not days or weeks, right? ...right???

Either way, he waves Nero off and presses his fist between his brows again, eyes shut and just... hating how he feels. )

Go check on your old man. He needs it more.

He's fine. [Nero scolds lightly, and heads for the door.] And I'm hanging out on the couch. Just yell if you need anything.

Rest up, Dante. Hope you feel better.

[Look, he'll even be nice enough to close the door behind him.]

V's days, day after gluttonous day, do not revolve around anyone but himself. However, he's made a habit of keeping an eye on Vergil, even making conversation no matter how awkward or stilted. Something remains easier, even as it's harder, with the 'complete' version of himself. The siren song of curiosity calls his name, yet what information he learns hardly satisfies him. There's no familiar to bond with and gain memories from, only conversation between two people alike in dignity. It's enough to make Vergil's absence from anywhere he usually is notable. V spends a couple days at Catfe without spotting him. The little Russian Blue starts mewing at him with firm demands pets and plain scrambled eggs do not satisfy.

"Me too," V sighs at her. He doesn't truly have the Lore to spare on treating Vergil's favorite cat, nor the one who has adopted him, but he spends it. Trapping the waitress in conversation about what treats the cats like probably paid for it. Yet the time has come to an end, yet another late afternoon early evening without sight of the man. He better not have vanished—not on Nero and Dante. V doesn't need him.

So he approaches one of the busybody spirits he's overheard gossiping about everyone's business but their own and asks where the Russian Blue's favorite lives. He gets directions to a house in the right neighborhood. It brings a small pep to his step that Vergil is well known enough that someone can direct him. It implies good things, however aloof the man may act. Thankfully, it's not that far, so V doesn't need a break on the way. Nor does he accept Griffon's offer of help. Last thing he needs Vergil to see is him getting carried about.

The house is a normal looking house with enough room for multiple bedrooms and an attached garage. He's not sure why the garage, given he doesn't know of almost anyone here with much in the way of personal transportation. Nero had a van, but surely the van hasn't come with him to Folkmore when so little follows them. Questions, but staring at the house from some ways away does not answer them. The trouble is that Vergil lives with Nero and Dante, and V has no way to know who will come answer the door. Each situation is vastly different. V could take another day or so to prepare, but even he's aware of how foolish that is. He may have more days, but they are not for wasting.

So he walks up to the front door, leans against his cane, and knocks. Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Who will it be?

It's sure been. A couple of days.

Nero is doing his best to remain calm and positive, but after several days of caring for both his father and his uncle on their sickbeds, the violent urges are starting to pile up. They're both frustrating in different ways, and everybody's starting to get stir-crazy, even Kyrie, and yeah it sucks that they're not feeling good, and for fuck's sake why does Nero care so much what two stupid old men do when they're sick? Except he's well aware if he leaves them to their own devices he's gonna end up dragging one or both of them home after they're found facedown on the pavement miles and miles away, and just-

It's been trying! That's all!

Fresh off making lunch, Nero is about to make an excuse to abandon the house for a while when someone knocks at the door. Excellent. An excuse. He's not sure who to expect when he goes to answer it, but he's definitely not expecting the impossible, rail-thin familiar form that greets him on the other side.

Nero is visibly struck surprised. He pauses a moment, glances back into the house, then spends a few more seconds fumbling for what he should say or do.

He settles on something simple, a nice and neutral: "Oh. Hey, V."

The roll of the die lands on Nero. Perhaps the most uncertain of them all, not because of how things were last V saw Nero but because of what he's learned since. Logic said Nero had to be Vergil's or Dante's. He knew that from the start. The obvious answer was Dante, and that answer was wrong. Vergil's claimed the role of Nero's father, as is his right. V... what can he do? If either of them will protect or rescue the other, it's Nero, not him. Nero has his father, his uncle... what could he need of V?

Whatever has happened with Vergil, Nero already knows more than V, so while it would be business for V to stick to that inquiry and nothing else, it would only burden Nero and not take him into account. Whatever has happened to Vergil has to wait.

That's when he notices Nero's arm, namely that it is made of flesh and blood. V blinks and glances at it a couple of times. However, it is likely in poor form to ask about the regrowing of a limb one is partially responsible, depending how one views it, is responsible for someone losing. The truth of the matter is that its presence, when Nero recognizes him and has forgiven Vergil for ripping it off, is that its return must owe itself to some demonic ability. Nero must be more powerful than he was last V saw him.

"Nero," V inclines his head. "Is this a bad time?"

If it is, he can quickly ask after Vergil and go. It would be so much simpler, but V cannot help noticing he hopes the answer is no, it's a fine time. Nero has time for him and chooses to give it.

He'd known V was present here in Folkmore. Vergil, correctly, let him know pretty quickly. It's just that knowing he's here and being face-to-face with him are two different prospects. And Nero was kind of hoping he'd process the whole weirdass situation and know where he stood on it before having to face V in person.

So much for that. Now here he stands, the man who Nero now knows is some kind of supernatural piece of his father-- who is currently inside whining profusely.

Nero didn't know V very well. They were... not friends, surely, but partners in a shared aim. Brothers in arms. And Nero cared about him in that respect. He'd rescued the man, honored his dying wish, struggled to bear him that last stretch into the Qliphoth, and listened to him spill his guts about a deep, secret longing. The revelation about his identity had obviously rocked Nero's world, but not so much that he didn't ask after V's safety in the moments after he'd vanished.

V is Vergil, his father. But he also isn't. But even then, Nero sees no reason to turn him away, or treat him like some stranger. That's all he needs to get started untangling this twisted knot, at least.

"No, it's not a bad time," he says honestly. Manners suggest he invite V in, but it's probably not a good idea when there's illness in the house. Or when Nero's about to commit a homicide. "Both of the old farts are sick, and I'm sick of arguing with them about it, that's all. You, um... you need something?"

No amount of 'he is a person, you're a person, talk like people' helps V. It would require he know how people talk like people. Memories of being a child, Vergil's long lonely life after their mother died, his month of existence in Red Grave City, none of it tells him how to behave. More than that, Nero isn't simply a person, a stranger, like the ones he's slowly started to speak with around Folkmore to maintain enough Lore to eat. Conversation it yet will be because it's not a bad time. Conversation—

V's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the shocking information Nero drops. "Vergil and Dante are sick?"

He confirms it quickly with a question, though no one else could meet Nero's lightly crass description. What could get a son of Sparda sick? Both of them? Nothing he has any knowledge of, and that suggests their host. The show of power to bring two sons of Sparda to their knees impresses him. It's a sign how dangerous she is. If not her, then someone else as well. Multiple powerful persons on that scale are not what they need. Best confirm it's her.

"Nothing more pressing than their well being," V says. His lips flatten. This illness is not a problem of his making, but if he can fix it— If nothing else, V owes Nero a favor. He wouldn't be alive without his help. "If I may be of assistance, please let me know."

No matter what V wants of Nero, it's a bad time to impose upon him. He's clearly taking care of a lot. "If they can be left to convalesce, perhaps you could use a distraction."

"They're fine," Nero says flatly, immediately at V's concern. "Just dizzy and weak and coughing. I guess half-demons don't get sick very often, which explains all the goddamn bellyaching about it..."

V offers his assistance, and Nero is sorely tempted to ask if he's got a gag or two handy.

"They're about to be left on the side of the road somewhere if I don't get out of this house." To further make the point, Nero steps outside and closes the door behind him. "What kind of distraction?"

V is not sick the way Nero describes, but he's weak. Everything takes so much effort, and he gets exhausted easily. If he were anywhere else, he'd be dead. V manages the much improved as unwell as ever. Fully human weaknesses. Vergil remembers those times. He may have closer experience to it than Dante, but it must infuriate him to feel such weakness as the whole, the half-demon both demon and human. To think, V may be able to do more now than him.

Nero steps forward, and V takes a half-step back to give him more space. It's well and good except that Nero asks what distraction he means. The question implied V came for Nero and had ideas in mind, a sound choice if only he'd made it. Instead he wracks his mind for a distraction, one that Nero might like and would not exhaust V. Something active, if only to give them more to do than stare at each other uncomfortably. He knows so little of Folkmore.

"I've heard tell of an arcade in Epiphany but not gone," V suggests. His only other ideas involve eating food. That has too much of simply sitting with each other, with no distraction save to take a bite of food in a bid for time. He shrugs. He doesn't need anything of Nero besides Nero. They could row a boat on a lake for all he cares. There's more conversations they need to have, he suspects, than one day can handle. That day may not even be today.

An arcade? That doesn't sound like V's kind of scene... and then Nero realizes he's suggesting it for his benefit, because he thinks it might be something Nero would like. (He's also correct.)

What a very familiar maneuver that is.

For a moment he looks at V, a little bemused, as though trying to read something in his face. What he's thinking, maybe. Whether or not he knows who Nero is-- though the fact Vergil's spoken to him means that the information probably came up. What he might think about that. Just when the moment starts to draw out uncomfortably long, he smiles and turns back into the house.

"Gimme a sec. I'll grab my stuff."

He emerges a few minutes later, pulling on his jacket and more certain than ever that the Sparda family all needs a couple hours' break from each other. For safety reasons.

"Let's go for a walk and see where we end up," he offers. "I need the fresh air and. Well. Guess we probably ought to catch up, huh?"

[He hums lightly as he reaches for the top of fourth and final stack to sort.]

I suppose I am better off not asking if you're only just now figuring that out, [he says, the joke being at his expense given just how much reason he's provided Nero to think him otherwise. Not that he believes any of this to truly be a reflection of his intelligence, anyways. The most that can actually be said is that he is well-read and is making up for a tremendous amount of lost time with the library at his disposal.] Your uncle doesn't understand why I frequent the library so much instead of owning the books myself. The question isn't entirely unreasonable considering how modest my collection is now compared to what I owned during my childhood, but I believe you can see why it's best I continue making use of the library.

[Even if he owned only a fraction of the books he's read since coming to Folkmore, he wouldn't have had the ability to walk or move around in his studio apartment by the time Nero and Dante joined him. And at this point, in the house, they most certainly would have escaped containment from his bedroom and overtaken much of the living room.]

[There is also the small matter that he will not be able to take any of these books with him when they leave this realm eventually. Vergil has spent most of his life unattached to objects, and he would like to remain as such until he can actually enjoy a true degree of permanency.]

[He could make a comment about there being different types of intelligence... but Nero is good enough to only laugh at Vergil's self-effacing joke. After all, it's not like he's a mega genius of any sort. And he still remembers the offense Vergil took the time he teased him for being a book nerd. He prefers to approach that particular angle of humor very carefully, if he approaches it at all.]

Yeah, it's better this way. No interventions. No coming home to find you crushed under a stack of books the size of a building...

[He looks at a few more of the books from the stacks as Vergil works through them. Opens to the first page and skims the text... sometimes nodding, sometimes making a face and shaking his head before quickly putting them back in the stack.]

[Vergil huffs a quiet laugh at the notion of being crushed beneath the weight of his own literary habits. Beyond his own typical restraint when it comes to generally emoting, he keeps the laughter contained to avoid potentially bringing on another coughing fit. He smiles a little at Nero's consternation with some of the books he looks at while Vergil finishes organizing the last of them into their two separate piles.]

There, [he says, placing the last book in the pile to be sent back to the library.] That's all of them that need to be returned.

[From his "keep" pile, Vergil selects one of the books before reaching for his tea again. He tucks his legs back underneath him on the couch, settling back to where he was before when Nero first brought out the small mountain of books. He doesn't have any interest in lying about in bed, but imagines Nero is going to insist he stay put. So, he might as well have something to keep him occupied while Nero is out.]

[Kyrie lies comfortably with her head pillowed on Nero's chest, just below his shoulder, enjoying the familiar dull pulse of his heartbeat beneath her ear as she listens to him talk. It's comforting and soothing and might be enough to lull her to sleep but she feels him tense beneath her and everything changes. She shifts a little to sit up, wriggling so she's upright and facing him with a frown on her face.]

I knew something was bothering you when you called, has it been eating away at you for this long?

[She can't imagine that he's had months to sit on this; is it something so terrible that he can't even share it with his family? She reaches for both of his hands to hold in hers as she looks at him.]

Of course I can hear you out, you can tell me anything.

[He's very quick to clasp her hands, squeezing them back.]

Oh, no, no. It hasn't been eating at me-- I mean, I've basically come to terms with it, I'm just... [Worried that she won't.

But enough of the mystery. He sighs and shakes his head, then wets his lips before he goes to explain.]

So Vergil. Before we met, before we even knew each other existed, he was dying. He was weak and half out of his mind trying to save himself. He needed his sword. So when he sensed it, he came to Fortuna and...

[Nero laces his fingers with hers, particularly those of his right hand. Here's the cruel truth that hit him like a truck that day, left him reeling on the phone to Kyrie.]

He was the one who attacked me that day. He tore off my arm to get Yamato back.

[Ha, ha. Made Dad laugh-- even if it was quiet and contained.

Vergil finishes sorting the stacks and Nero sighs a bit at just how many there are. No, it's nothing he can't handle... particularly with four arms. But it's also not gonna be the quick, easy errand he expected.

He's not about to make a big deal out of it. Nothing that would discourage Vergil from sitting the fuck down and getting some fucking rest while he's sick.]

Okay. I'll drop these off for you. You want anything from the market while I'm out?

[He was the one who attacked me that day. He tore off my arm to get Yamato back.

The whole world grinds to a halt, all sound turns to static in her ears and Kyrie forgets how to breathe for a split second. She's paralysed, transported back to that sickening moment of utter horror when she'd gone to the garage. Her world had tilted on its axis to find Nero bleeding out on the floor, soaked in his own blood, dying for all intents and purposes, and she had been powerless to do anything more than try desperately to staunch the bleeding and beg Nico to call an ambulance as she'd cradled him in her arms and pleaded with him as he lost consciousness.

Please be okay

Don't go

Don't leave me

I can't do this without you

I love you please stay with me

You're everything, I can't lose you

You can't die you can't die

Even now her nightmares are coloured red with the blood she can't stop, and she feels the dead weight of him in her arms as she tore her skirt and tried to fashion a tourniquet to stop the endless river of blood that poured from the ruined stump of his right arm.

She'd thought a monster, a demon, had broken the sanctity of their home and harmed him. But this? This is so much worse.

He has to be mistaken, this can't be true.

Her voice is tiny when she finally answers, her face ashen in disbelief.]

What?

[He promised himself he wouldn't panic during this talk. That he'd let Kyrie feel however she felt, and he wouldn't go overboard trying to explain things or defending Vergil where it wasn't warranted.

But it hurts so fucking bad to see her distressed. It takes everything in him not to break that promise to himself and start rushing to say something, anything that would make it better.

He closes his hands--both of them-- over hers, bringing them in to place against his chest.]

He was the demon in Red Grave. Something... happened to him, and once he had Yamato it only got worse. He split in two. There was V, his human side, everything that was good in him. And then everything that was left was that... monster.

[It's hard to explain that part when he still doesn't understand much of it himself. He's never quite wanted to quiz Vergil either, since he's so obviously touchy and wary about the subject of his past. But nor does he want to leave out any of his understanding for Kyrie. It's twisted and frightening and fucked up, but he absolutely will not keep it from her. Not if he wants any hope at all of his family all being mended into one.

So he explains the Red Grave situation. How dire things were when they arrived, how V was so desperate to put a stop to Urizen and the mistake he spawned that cost so many lives. How V was dying, and Nero more or less carried him to the bottom of the Qliphoth, where Dante had defeated Urizen. How V and Urizen rejoined into one Vergil, and the bombshell when Dante told him that Vergil was, in fact, his father. The man who'd assaulted him and crippled him was his own, unknowing father.]

When I called you... I didn't know what to do. He'd done so much wrong, and I spent so long wanting revenge for my arm, but... I couldn't let it go just like that. I couldn't just leave him and Dante to kill each other. I didn't want bloodshed to do the talking in this family anymore. I just... wanted to look him in the eye as his son, and see what he would do about it.

[By now, there's a telltale wet shine in Nero's eyes.]

Kyrie. I know how... screwed up this all is. I still don't understand a lot of it. But if I thought he might hurt you, or me, I'd be a thousand miles away with you and never even look at him again. He knows he was wrong. He's been working so hard to change, and to be a father for me. You don't ever have to like him, or trust him, but...

[At last, he closes his eyes and leans forward, bonking his forehead into her shoulder.]

I forgave him. Maybe I'm stupid and too trusting, but... I wanted to give him a chance.

[Kyrie doesn't quite know how to respond. It's a lot to contend with, on top of everything else she's learned about Nero's family today. She barely notices when Nero places her hands on his chest, can't look away from his face as he pours his heart out with the story.

It would be one thing if the attack had been perpetrated by the side of Vergil devoid of any and all humanity, but that's not the case. That small spark of optimism, that it can't be that bad, snuffs out. Then the human side of him had dragged Nero back into the unpleasantness, knowing what had been done to him? Knowing how close they'd come to losing Nero? And what about the demon side, how many lives had been lost to feed his unrelenting

She battles to keep her breathing under control, feeling her heart begin to race in a panic.

And then Nero's eyes well up, and her heart begins to break for him. Her own vision begins to blur as she watches him pour his heart out and she can understand the conflict he feels all too well.

She remembers five years ago, remembers seeing Nero stand over her brother's prone form with his arm glowing and having to fight the battling horror and disbelief and fear, not knowing where to begin reconciling the truths she had always believed. Even with Credo fallen at his feet, her heart had told her to have faith in Nero, just as it tells her to have faith in him and his instincts. He's always kept her safe. Always.

Stupid and too trusting? She can't call him that. Because from the moment she had met Nero's father, she had found herself drawn to him, felt safe (if not a little unsettled) being near him, and to know now that he was the monster who had nearly ripped her life apart?

She's shaking as he leans into her and she holds onto him, clings, but can't bring herself to say anything. What can she say?]

[He mirrors her unconsciously. Heart pounding. Arms trembling, even as he holds her tight to his chest. A few tears slip free and slide down his cheeks, and he presses them dry against the borrowed hoodie she's wearing. All he can do for the moment is slowly stroke her back in an effort at comfort. He doesn't know how else or what else to do.

It's a minute or two before he regains the ability to speak, and can even find the words to do it with.]

It's been seven months for me. He promised me he'd rather die than ever hurt me again. And you know I don't take anybody at their word, but... he keeps on proving he meant it. Over and over again, no matter how hard it is for him.

[He turns his head from her shoulder, pressing a very lazy kiss against her collar as he does. Well... to the hoodie, anyway, kind of intended to be her collar. Also ends up with one of the drawstrings kind of draped over his chin. But he puts up with it for the moment.]

I don't expect you to forgive him, or... like him, or if you don't want anything to do with him, I get it. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for him. But he's changed a lot and grown since I've known him. He loves me. And I... [He wets his lips suddenly, the rest of that sentence getting stuck on his tongue somewhere.]

No matter what, I promise that you're safe. I'll keep you safe, like always. And if it ever looks like I might not be safe, I'll protect myself. So please, just... let me keep giving him a chance.

[Nero lets out a soft, rueful laugh.]

He's a dumb, nerdy, awkward, uptight bastard who's still learning problem-solving skills. But he's my dad.

[Kyrie remembers the day she had met Nero. She remembers the sullen little boy sat apart from the other children in the orphanage, glowering at everyone. He had a bruise on his cheek and a swollen bottom lip. Mother and Father had been talking to Sister Sesta about what they could do to help support the orphanage's work, Credo had been introduced to one of his new instructors and was hanging off his every word and Kyrie had been left to her own devices to meet the orphans. She had felt uncomfortable, eyed with jealousy by a group of whispering girls slightly older than her, who made remarks about her best dress (Mother had said it was important to look one's best for these things), and she hadn't felt like stopping by to coo over the toddlers in the nursery. She had hurried over to the boy in the corner, feeling sorry for the sorry state of his face, and immediately offered him one of the chocolate coated caramels she had smuggled into the building. His eyes had lit up and he had smiled the brightest, most genuine and endearing smile she had ever seen, and she had immediately asked if he would like to be her friend.

She had never been ignorant to what people had said about him, never entertained the gossip that he was some ill-gotten bastard left on the orphanage's doorstep. She knows he was bullied, knows what it takes to earn his trust, and for him to trust deeply is something she knows takes him a long time. Even now she can count on one hand the number of people he would openly admit to trusting.

And she's so torn, because she would shout from the rooftops how deeply she trusts Nero and that will never change but this? This is so different from anything else because it's his family. Of course his judgement comes with the complicated influence of emotions added to the mix.

Her own aren't making things any easier.

His attempt at a kiss grounds her, makes her shift to brush her fingers through his hair in an effort to comfort him. He's so tense in her arms, and the way he's pleading with her to let him keep giving his father a chance to prove himself-

He loves me

Kyrie's breath catches at that, shaking as she cries against him because she can't possibly contend with that. It's family, it's his blood, it's what he's always dreamed of since he was that bruised, lonely little boy she shared her candy with with. How can he possibly think she'd want to take that away from him?

Because that so-called family nearly took him away from her. Permanently. What right does he have to muscle in and hurt him again? Nero's always kept her safe, as he says, and she has always tried to do the same in her own way. Shouldn't she stop this now, before Vergil has the chance to hurt him again?

...it's an awful, bitter thing to think and she's disgusted with herself.

It's even worse because from the outset, she herself has wanted to like and trust his father, and be liked by him in return.

Now? What can she even do or say?

She still has no words.

She kisses the crown of his head instead, and holds him tight.]

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IC Contact (Folkmore)

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While Vergil is sick

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