What, the sight of so many of them doesn't just fill you with the nostalgic urge to punch one in the throat?
[Dante's smile is something close to a grimace as the next clown gets to the stage, gaudy costume jingling with the addition of a collar of bells around their neck. The clown's a traditional harlequin, the diamond patches of their costume each boasting different colors in a rainbow of shades. Still, the silhouette is eerily close to that of their shared adversary from years before. He accepts the offered glass of wine from his brother with a nod of thanks before he takes a sip. He's no wine connoisseur but this stuff's okay, fruity and rich with smoky notes. He swirls the wine around his glass, admiring the legs on it as he speaks to his brother without speaking.]
At least none of them have started raving about dear ol' dad yet.
[Vergil hums his faint agreement on the matter of Sparda not coming up. It would not exactly be out of place necessarily with the two of them looking the way they do now. Strip away the features of the Fae from their glamour and both Vergil and Dante look little different than they had all those years ago. He veers the conversation away from any further discussion of the past beyond its bare acknowledgment.]
What do you make of their sudden appearance?
[It strikes Vergil as a bit odd, frankly. The Fae do not like outsiders and yet they seem to be taking full advantage of this situation for their own amusement nonetheless.]
Maybe the circus is coming to town and they're the opening act.
[Satisfied with the legs on his wine, he turns his attention to Vergil, glancing at the identical features that make it much harder to tell the two apart than their usual faces that carry so many years of experience and hardship. It's been long enough that they've been glamoured for it to no longer seem strange; Dante wonders if he'll miss the similarities once the subtle differences return to their faces when the glamour fades.
But he does know that no matter what face he's wearing, Vergil's not going to appreciate a purely flippant answer so he shrugs at the question.]
Honestly? I don't think I'd put it past them to be trying some kind of game here. Maybe it's building up to something or they want our attention here and not somewhere else.
[Vergil looks to his brother in that gap between answers, offering him a flat, dry expression when it seems the flippant response is all there will be. It eases when Dante appears to actually put some thought into it.]
They appear to be humans. [He looks back towards the stage.] I don't believe the intent can be considered malicious, but neither can it be benevolent to bring a sizeable group of humans into their midsts.
[If the stories are to be believed in any case. Which Vergil is somewhat willing to offer a bit of belief into at this point after all he's seen these past few weeks. He glances at Dante out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing for a moment, wondering what might be going through his brother's mind. As far as Vergil has ever known, Dante has always ultimately championed for humanity, just like the father he scorned when last he looked anything remotely like his glamour. Vergil doesn't imagine the passing of the mantle to Nero means that Dante has somehow found himself in such a deep retirement that he will be so quick to overlook this situation. The fact it is the Fae rather than demons won't make a difference either.]
[Vergil looks ahead to the stage once more. He has little desire to play the role of hero. That much has not changed in the intervening years, and even now, he finds himself filled with a sense of dread and reluctance at the notion Dante or Nero might make their arguments as to why he should involve himself in what Dante has fully shaped into the family business. They came here with a very specific mission, not to involve themselves in intervening in whatever plot the Fae have concocted for themselves. It should be that simple.]
[But it is not. And he's beginning to believe it never will be.]
What do you want to do?
[Vergil thinks he knows the answer, but asks it plainly of his little brother all the same.]
[The one thing Dante has gained a better understanding of as his turns round the sun began to rack up is that nothing in life is ever simple. The shades of grey outnumber black and white and the contradictions are laughably commonplace. The fact that he over Vergil inherited their father's power and stepped oh-so-reluctantly into Sparda's shoes is a cruel cosmic joke as far as he's concerned; even his 'retirement' is short-lived now he's been brought on this journey with his family to Etraya and beyond. The fact that they're facing a room full of Fae instead of a horde of demons is neither here nor there.
There's innocent people here, and if it's the Fae's intent to harm them then they're going to get a taste of Dante's eponymous devil sword right between the teeth. Even though he feels naked without the weight of Ebony and Ivory strapped to his person, he can feel his sword within him, thrumming impatiently as if it knows it might soon be needed. It's still a novel feeling, knowing that his own power can manifest itself into something more, forged of the two blades that had honed him into becoming the weapon he is today and his own tempered strength.
It's also a pretty convenient way of hiding a weapon to get around the iron ban.
Wait, is he manifesting his devil sword from the iron in his blood? That'd be pretty dope- no. Focus.
He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, looking for all the world that he's ready for a fight.]
It's not about what I want to do. It's what I've gotta do if it comes down to it, you know that.
[But he shoots his brother a sidelong glance, the promise of a challenge gleaming in his eyes.]
[Vergil is privately somewhat skeptical about Dante not wanting to do it. Of course he knows that were it entirely within Dante's control, he would not. That is not where Vergil's skepticism lies. Vergil just knows, in spite of their years apart, that Dante still loves a good fight. And more importantly than even that, Vergil also knows that his little brother is just as stubborn as he is. There is nothing that can be done to make him do anything he does not want to do. Whatever his thoughts about taking up Sparda's mantle or passing it down to Nero, that remains a part of who Dante is regardless. He wouldn't feel right ignoring something like that.]
[He catches that look in his brother's eyes, although largely pretends not to notice it all the same.]
I already assumed you would require assistance.
[Well. Pretends not to notice it for the most part. Playful retort not withstanding.]
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no subject
[Dante's smile is something close to a grimace as the next clown gets to the stage, gaudy costume jingling with the addition of a collar of bells around their neck. The clown's a traditional harlequin, the diamond patches of their costume each boasting different colors in a rainbow of shades. Still, the silhouette is eerily close to that of their shared adversary from years before. He accepts the offered glass of wine from his brother with a nod of thanks before he takes a sip. He's no wine connoisseur but this stuff's okay, fruity and rich with smoky notes. He swirls the wine around his glass, admiring the legs on it as he speaks to his brother without speaking.]
At least none of them have started raving about dear ol' dad yet.
no subject
What do you make of their sudden appearance?
[It strikes Vergil as a bit odd, frankly. The Fae do not like outsiders and yet they seem to be taking full advantage of this situation for their own amusement nonetheless.]
no subject
[Satisfied with the legs on his wine, he turns his attention to Vergil, glancing at the identical features that make it much harder to tell the two apart than their usual faces that carry so many years of experience and hardship. It's been long enough that they've been glamoured for it to no longer seem strange; Dante wonders if he'll miss the similarities once the subtle differences return to their faces when the glamour fades.
But he does know that no matter what face he's wearing, Vergil's not going to appreciate a purely flippant answer so he shrugs at the question.]
Honestly? I don't think I'd put it past them to be trying some kind of game here. Maybe it's building up to something or they want our attention here and not somewhere else.
no subject
They appear to be humans. [He looks back towards the stage.] I don't believe the intent can be considered malicious, but neither can it be benevolent to bring a sizeable group of humans into their midsts.
[If the stories are to be believed in any case. Which Vergil is somewhat willing to offer a bit of belief into at this point after all he's seen these past few weeks. He glances at Dante out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing for a moment, wondering what might be going through his brother's mind. As far as Vergil has ever known, Dante has always ultimately championed for humanity, just like the father he scorned when last he looked anything remotely like his glamour. Vergil doesn't imagine the passing of the mantle to Nero means that Dante has somehow found himself in such a deep retirement that he will be so quick to overlook this situation. The fact it is the Fae rather than demons won't make a difference either.]
[Vergil looks ahead to the stage once more. He has little desire to play the role of hero. That much has not changed in the intervening years, and even now, he finds himself filled with a sense of dread and reluctance at the notion Dante or Nero might make their arguments as to why he should involve himself in what Dante has fully shaped into the family business. They came here with a very specific mission, not to involve themselves in intervening in whatever plot the Fae have concocted for themselves. It should be that simple.]
[But it is not. And he's beginning to believe it never will be.]
What do you want to do?
[Vergil thinks he knows the answer, but asks it plainly of his little brother all the same.]
no subject
There's innocent people here, and if it's the Fae's intent to harm them then they're going to get a taste of Dante's eponymous devil sword right between the teeth. Even though he feels naked without the weight of Ebony and Ivory strapped to his person, he can feel his sword within him, thrumming impatiently as if it knows it might soon be needed. It's still a novel feeling, knowing that his own power can manifest itself into something more, forged of the two blades that had honed him into becoming the weapon he is today and his own tempered strength.
It's also a pretty convenient way of hiding a weapon to get around the iron ban.
Wait, is he manifesting his devil sword from the iron in his blood? That'd be pretty dope- no. Focus.
He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, looking for all the world that he's ready for a fight.]
It's not about what I want to do. It's what I've gotta do if it comes down to it, you know that.
[But he shoots his brother a sidelong glance, the promise of a challenge gleaming in his eyes.]
You feeling up to it?
no subject
[He catches that look in his brother's eyes, although largely pretends not to notice it all the same.]
I already assumed you would require assistance.
[Well. Pretends not to notice it for the most part. Playful retort not withstanding.]