pullit | IC Contact (Folkmore)

So rumor has it you've got yourself a real Devil Trigger.

hey kid
why are crabs so bad at sharing?
because they're all shellfish 😎

Edited 2024-11-22 22:13 (UTC)

[On some November evening, when Nero is the first one home, he will likely notice an immediate change in the apartment. Left on the kitchen table where Vergil typically leaves behind notes on his whereabouts whenever he leaves too early morning for Dante or Nero to have stirred yet, or later in the day when no one is home for him to tell, sits a small stack of books resting atop a deep blue lacquer box. The stack of books is comprised of four books in total, all borrowed from Kuma Lisa's library: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, and Dracula by Bram Stoker. Moving the books aside will reveal a rose engraved on the box's lid, possibly revealing its contents before Nero even has a chance to properly open it. But whether or not the "surprise" of its contents is spoiled or not, opening the box, Nero will find Blue Rose nestled within and no different or worse for wear than the last time he held her.]

[There is no note about where any of this came from, Vergil having deemed it unnecessary, but there is a note nearby to everything written in Vergil's hand that suggests whoever ends up home first, may want to sort out dinner independently. (There is a specific line of the note dedicated to Dante alone that there are still a few leftovers in the fridge that need eating before he even so much as thinks of ordering pizza, and no, strawberry sundae does not count as a meal.) Otherwise, if they are willing to wait, Vergil promises he will not return empty-handed. He is in Wintermute for the afternoon and better part of the evening. So, while he may not return at the exact time for the meal, he will still bring something home with him.]

( On this particular evening, he strolls his way on into the garage that comes with their new humble abode with a cardboard box in his arms. He's been out most of the day and has only just got back and is in search of his dear nephew who he thinks is in the garage here. Turns out? He's right. Just like back home, really, Nero being in it, tinkering around and working on whatever he's busying himself with at the time. Some things never change, regardless of place it seems. )

Hey, kid. Got somethin' for ya.

( On whatever day this may be, when Nero goes into his room, he’ll find a new addition to his decor. On whatever night table or desk he may have in there for himself, sitting there on it is a framed photograph of himself, Kyrie, Dante, and Trish taken maybe a year or so ago at the place Nero and Kyrie have for themselves back home. There’s no note or anything to explain how it’s magically turned up here, just a sparkly red bow tacked to it on the right upper corner of the frame. Must have been the photograph fairy of Folkmore as that’s clearly the only explanation for this magical little moment of something from home. )

[At the foot of Nero's bed are two relatively small boxes wrapped, one with blue ribbon and the other with red. Only one of them has a tag with a simple Merry Christmas in Vergil's hand. He didn't bother signing it. Even if Nero doesn't recognize the handwriting by now, or if he doesn't make any sort of assumptions about the gift-giver based on how neatly and precisely they're wrapped, the contents will assuredly give away the sender.]

[The package with a blue ribbon contains a framed photo of a much younger Vergil. There isn't much to make out from the background behind that he's clearly outside, and seated beneath a tree. His expression isn't nearly as stern or serious as Nero is likely accustomed to by now. There's no frown on his lips or furrow in his brow. Instead, there seems to be a faint smile on his expression even if there's a small degree of uncertainty. Why he's smiling at all is because Vergil is not alone in the photograph. Besides him, or more accurately leaning firmly into his personal space as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do, is a young woman with long auburn hair. Her honey brown eyes are bright with a playful look to them, lips curved and parted in a giggle now frozen in time in the photograph she took of the two of them. She looks at the camera while Vergil looks at her. Nero won't necessarily recognize her despite the faint traces of her features in his own countenance, but he'll recognize her garb as being that of the Order's even with the hood pulled down. With enough of those context clues, it should become apparent: it's a picture of his father and his mother.]

[And it's not the only photograph of her Nero receives this Christmas. The thinner of the packages, the one with red ribbon, contains a small photobook where Vergil has arranged more photos of her. There's no particular order to them. Some of them, she's clearly aware they're being taken. She poses in silly or dramatic poses and expressions, playfully sticking her tongue in some of them. Others, she clearly takes a little more seriously, particularly if it's a group photo or it's very clearly involving a service. A few are candid shots though, buried in a book and paying absolutely no mind to whoever is snapping the photo or simply going about her day. There are even a couple more with Vergil, vaguely awkward about having his picture taken or perhaps perplexed by Beatrice's attention, but so clearly enamored with her even if he's trying to hide it.]

[There aren't many photographs on the whole, and it's only a small, small segment of her life that they come from. But Vergil hopes that beyond giving Nero an image of her they are enough to show him by more than just Vergil's words alone how spirited and vivacious she had been.]

hey kid
you got a second?

Hope you find these useful, but you should only use the smaller one for playing with your sword.

Not like that.

Merry Christmas Nero xxx T
[Accompanying his card, Nero will find two surprisingly tastefully wrapped packages of festive green and red paper, containing a middleweight knitted burgundy sweater and a pocket tool kit.]

hey kid
you or your old man home at the moment?

[Vergil wakes and his eyes snap open with his next sharp inhale. There is no dramatic flinging of blankets. He does not abruptly sit up or reach for Yamato. Instead, he lies there in near-perfect stillness save the way his heart hammers in his chest and he blinks rapidly at the darkness of his bedroom. He's alone. In his bedroom. Alone and in his bedroom. He repeats that several times in his head, almost as if repeating it could somehow make reality more true than it already is before he allows himself to breathe again. His next breath is slow and controlled, and shaky over the effort. His lungs burn slightly, wanting air faster than he's allowing with the way his pulse still races, but he ignores it and rolls onto his back to make the urge easier to ignore, to get a deeper breath with his next as he stares up at the ceiling. Vergil tries to give his mind something to latch onto rather than the panicked, animalistic fear that flooded it upon opening his eyes. It's a rare occasion that Vergil not only welcomes the sound of his brother's snores emanating from the other bedroom, but is grateful for just how loud his brother is when he sleeps. It's far fainter with doors and a bathroom between their rooms when compared to the three of them crammed in Vergil's studio apartment, but still enough to give Vergil something further to ground himself. He catches his breath before pushing his hair out of his face, wiping away whatever remnants of tears lingered in his eyes.]

[He wants very much to just roll back over and go back to sleep then and there. It already feels plenty childish enough being this affected by a nightmare in the first place. To not be able to let it rest and go back to sleep leads him to feeling all the more juvenile and pathetic, but he cannot stop his mind at the way it reaches for the fragments of the nightmare.]

[Vergil does not remember clearly how it began. He remembers Beatrice had been there, but likely only remembers her presence in the dream because she had been visibly pregnant. Vergil walked away from her too soon in what he remembers of the dream for her presence in the dream to bear any particular weight, to pursue... Something. Something caught his attention down an alley. A moving shadow that he felt compelled to pursue. There's where gaps in his memory of what happened begin again. He remembers thinking faintly that he should go back to Beatrice after a while, and that she's probably wondering where he went, but there was no way back. Almost like one of the Fox's infuriating trials wherein the only path is forward. But then there's little more that he remembers until at some point, he found Nero.]

[Just as how he did not question how exactly his son could at once still be in his mother's womb and fully grown beside him, Vergil did not notice it in the dream at the time how much Nero was not acting like himself leading up to what followed. Going over it with his waking mind, Vergil recognizes now just how serious and cold Nero had been. It should have been obvious that something was wrong, but in the dream, Vergil followed Nero blindly until the ground beneath them began to crack and swell and shake. It was only when it crumbled beneath Vergil and he found it so difficult to be nearly impossible to move that it finally struck him that something was wrong. Vergil tried to reach solid ground. He called out to Nero, reached for him desperately. But Nero merely stood there, passively watching Vergil fall.]

[Vergil doesn't know if there is a gap in his memory of the dream, or if it simply was the circumstance that Vergil found himself when he finally stopped falling into the dark, but he remembers the last of the dream with more clarity.]

[His clothes were soaked not just from the pool that they fought in, but his own blood. Every part of him ached and, to his shame, there was a part of him that merely wanted to lie there, to let this be the end of it. The duel he was locked in with the knight opposite him was to the death, and he was losing. Vergil said nothing to the taunt of weakness that runs in his veins. Nor did he look to the speaker. He knew already that it did not come from his opponent, but rather Vergil's true target, who he was meant to slay after cutting this knight down. Mundus. Ignoring the demon king entirely, Vergil pressed the broken tip of Yamato into the ground and he rose once more with strength he no longer possessed. But Mundus was quick to deny Vergil his warrior's death.]

[Squeezing his eyes shut, Vergil sits up, pushing the blankets off and swinging his feet around to touch his bedroom floor. The horror of the nightmare was not what ultimately became of Vergil. That was secondary. Familiar. A commonplace nightmare made from memory even for how...unpleasant it is to remember. This, however, was a first. Head in his hands, Vergil tries to shake the image of the other knight from his mind. Nero was the one beneath the helmet. With a subtle red glow to his eyes, skin so pale that nearly every blue vein in his face is easily seen. Little more than a shambling corpse for all the life that appeared to be possessed within him, his expression just as impassive as the one upon the helmet he donned. He did not know Vergil, and he cared for nothing, following Mundus' orders just as the rest of Mundus' puppets did. For all that it was not real and he knows it is not real, Vergil cannot not help but still feel his heart break in ways he did not think were possible and his stomach twists itself into knots at the mere thought of it. Standing, Vergil walks over to his bedroom door, but pauses once his hand touches the doorknob. Light is still filtering at the bottom of the door from the living room. Which means...]

[Nero is potentially still awake if he hasn't fallen asleep on the couch instead of making it to his own bed.]

[Standing there for a moment in his indecision, Vergil decides to slightly alter his plans and chance it. He can probably slip into the bathroom unnoticed, splash some water on his face, get back into bed to read until he can sleep again, and be fine. Hopefully, Nero is passed out on the couch, and will remain none the wiser, but even if he's awake, he may very well not notice or think anything of it. Quietly, Vergil opens his bedroom door.]

hypothetically speaking
how mad would you be if i got my hand stuck in a jar again?

hey kid
want to do me a favor? :)

I will be at Luan Station in approximately twenty minutes with a surprise for you. Meet me there.

[Nero getting a strike past Vergil's guard is not an unheard of thing. Nero is better than he tends to give himself credit for when it comes to their sparring. His instincts over the past few months seem to be improving as he's gotten to know more of Vergil's technique. He still isn't able to read Vergil as well as Dante, but that's the decades of their combined experience and the connection between twin brothers at play more than some deficit in Nero being reflected. It's also not even all that unusual for his strikes to knock Vergil towards the ground. Vergil is just so quick to catch himself that he's on his feet and striking back before Nero can have the opportunity to gloat in the moment about getting a hit in on his old man.]

[So, it's not the hit or the trajectory, but rather that lack of response that stands out as unusual. Vergil's world spins with the strike and while he does not end up face-first in the dirt—he has enough in him to at least still land comfortably—he does not surge forward and retaliate. Vergil blinks at Nero instead, waiting for the vertigo to pass. They've been at it for a while now, but he breathes a little harder and harsher. It's not quite as though he's out of breath or thoroughly exhausted, but training with Nero usually leaves him relatively physically unaffected by its end most days.]

So much for pulling your punches... [he mutters to himself. The ground still appears to be swaying, but Vergil simply uses Yamato to keep himself steadier when he rises back to his feet. Standing does not alleviate the lightheaded sensation, but he does not begin to sway or wobble when he opts to sheathe his blade for the moment. Vergil puts a hand to his forehead, bowing his head a little as he squeezes his eyes shut to remove the visual input out of the equation. He masks the move by running his hand through his hair, pretending to return any loosened strands back where they belong.] Not bad, but I won't let you do that again.

[You know what has a great warming effect?

Showers.

Especially after being up in the mountains and developing a headcold. The steam has helped a lot and Kyrie has emerged from the adjoining en-suite wearing makeshift pjs and bundled up in a hoodie that is definitely too big and smells too much like Nero to be hers.

Honestly, she's appreciated having some time to herself to wrap her head around everything that's happened today because it has been a lot to come to terms with and try to keep her usual, positive outlook on things. It's been a relief to drop her guard and just let the hot water wash over her and process. She's exhausted, she's very probably going to be sleeping poorly tonight with a cold coming on as well as sleeping in a strange place for the first time. She hadn't realised just how drained she feels until she'd stepped under the shower head.

She's busy toweling her hair dry as she steps back into the bedroom and announces her presence with a smile and a cheerful:]

Bathroom's all yours!

[The show must go on.]

( Boy oh boy, what a day!

He'd been out and about a little because why wouldn't he be?? But he'd been out to grab some snacks and the likes from the place he usually wanders off to when he's bored or, you know, needing to stock up on things, but. The trip had taken him a lot longer than it usually does given how off he feels. Physically more than emotionally, but. Hey. This is sure to tank his mood if this keeps up, so. Who's to say with the emotionally part just yet.

On his way "home", he's had to stop a few times to catch his breath — bend over some and just squeeze his eyes shut as a means to try and get his head to stop spinning. Heh. Maybe he should have checked if his usual spot had painkillers or something back there, but. When the Hell's he ever need those before? Is his demon blood sleeping on him right now or something? Rude if so. Or is this him getting old? Also rude because Vergil's the old man between them even when they were kids.

Either way, by the time he gets back, his head is spinning, his face is a little on the paler side, and he feels way hotter than he usually does because, obviously he's a stud. Ba dum tsh. Dragging his feet across the way, he coughs into his arm and blinks his eyes a few times as he goes and drops his bags onto whatever surface he'd managed to bump into first. )

Hey. Anyone see a hammer around here?

( So he can smash it over his head in an attempt to stop this headache. )

Edited 2025-05-24 19:33 (UTC)

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?

I think we might have a problem.

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text; un: dante

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