[It's the most emotion Kyrie has shown since the beginning of this... Well, Vergil somewhat hesitates to call it a discussion. They are taking their turns in speaking, questions followed by answers. But until that bit of emotion makes its way into Kyrie's expression, it hasn't felt much like Kyrie was communicating in return. Yes, she indicated she accepts what he has to say and that she trusts Nero and Vergil's profession that their relationship has been a good thing to be true, but... It's given little insight into what she's thinking and feeling about any of it. But that barest change in her expression puts a put in his stomach, sends his heart rocketing down low.]
[Vergil purses his lips as she picks at his words. No matter how even she speaks, how gentle her voice, it begins to feel more an interrogation. Especially as he does not know how to explain any of this to this...stranger when he can barely speak of it to those he holds close, if he can even manage to speak of it at all in the first place. There's a harder to look to Vergil's eyes as he looks at Kyrie, studies her. It's not the freezing glare of his temper arising, ready to lash out in anger. But it's a blatant defensive wariness. Whatever assumptions Kyrie may have held about Vergil's reserved temperament, his difficulties with emotional vulnerability most likely come to prove themselves in the way he regards her. Vergil's fingers curl against his pantlegs tightly, the fabric serving as a buffer to keep blunt nails from digging into his palms.]
[He draws a steadying breath, releasing the tension in his hands, but not the furrow in his brow.]
I am saying that I lived as a devil before. Now, I am trying to live as a man.
[The steel in Vergil's gaze makes Kyrie instinctively want to shrink beneath its scrutiny and start to backpedal furiously. This kind of conversation makes her feel so incredibly uncomfortable, but she's not about to back down. She's not a fighter, but she has to fight for this. She has to get her answers if she's going to make an informed decision.
It takes every ounce of resolve not to flinch when the very slight motion of Vergil curling his fists into his pants catches her eye. She's upset him and the adrenaline pulses through her veins; does he have a temper? Does it spark and catch flame the way Nero's does? Does she want to imagine what it would be like to make Vergil truly angry?
No. Not even a little.
But then his answer comes on the tail of a deep breath and a furrowed brow and she finds herself surprised by the simplicity of the answer. So few words, so much said.
[It should perhaps be an easy question to answer. There is an obvious binary to it after all. Either he's successful or he's not. However...]
It's not as simple as that.
[Vergil would like to give her a straightforward, simple answer of yes or no. But a response in either direction would be a misrepresentation of what it is to walk the path he does now.]
I will concede that I am not a full-blooded demon. There is and always has been something inside me that has always made me more prone to think and feel in ways not dissimilar from full-blooded humans. But I grew accustomed to not merely ignoring it. I refused to recognize it as part of me at all. Casting it aside altogether became second nature. [Until he went to such extreme lengths as to excise it from him completely, but Vergil does not bring that up now. He merely looks to a spot on the floor somewhere in the vast amount of space between them, the furrow in his brow deepening as though he were lost in thought.] I no longer choose that, but it is still a choice for me.
[A messy and, at times, complicated choice, but a choice nonetheless. Vergil raises his gaze again after a brief pause.]
And I cannot ignore the fact there are still days and times that I yearn for when I chose to ignore it. When I doubt my own resolve.
And yet, the fact I cannot comfortably say to you that I am now more man than devil does not lead me to stop trying.
[So, it's not a matter of whether it is working or not. Not when it's impossible to envision the possibility of an endpoint where it is no longer a choice. Vergil doesn't believe it can ever be that way for him, not after everything. Instead, it's a matter of daily, sometimes momentary choice as Vergil implied with his answer that prompted this question from Kyrie in the first place.]
I recognize this may be an unsatisfactory answer to your question, but it is the truth. As best I know it to be.
[A part of Kyrie realises that the question she asked was never going to have a simple answer. Being human is anything but simple. It is to fight and toil and struggle and suffer, to feel things deeply and intensely, to be afraid and to be weak. It's to fight and keep fighting even in the face of impossible odds. To accept that being human is to be perfectly imperfect and finding ways to grow from that. She can see how much easier it would be to embrace that part of him that is so much stronger and detached from the struggles of the mere human, to be unmoved and unbothered by weakness and attachments.
But is it really stronger?
She knows she's just a weak, sheltered girl brought up believing lies, but she believes still in the inherent goodness that Sparda must have stood for, must have believed in with his soul to turn his back on his race and protect the weaklings who walked the earth. She wonders how much of her belief is fiction, and wonders if one day she will ever feel comfortable enough with Vergil and Dante to ask for the truth about their father. It's hard to accept that he was flesh and blood and not a god, but here's the proof standing in front of her.
Admitting that there is work to be done, that Vergil is still not content in his own skin, is a human enough answer to show her that his efforts are not in vain.]
I wouldn't call it an unsatisfactory answer. I'd say it was very honest.
[It is. As is he. Unflinchingly so.
She is quiet and still for a moment, thoughtful and worried about how to proceed. There's still a myriad scenarios she's concerned about, and the part of her that yearns to shield Nero from harm is still unsettled and snarling, not sure if it's safe to drop her guard.
She takes a deep breath.]
I accept and appreciate your apology. But...
[She looks at him carefully, her face showing just how deeply troubled and saddened she is by everything she has learned in the last twenty four hours.]
Please understand when I say I need more time to decide if I forgive you for it. I- I'm just not sure I fully know how I feel. I want to- I don't want to-
[She stops, not wanting to babble or let her mouth run away and say something indelicate as she struggles to find the words to voice how she feels. This man, and his importance to Nero, isn't something she can trample roughshod over for the sake of making everybody feel better immediately, only for her to change her mind.]
I want to make the right decision and I need time to think. The last thing I want to do is cause anyone any more pain than they've already had to experience. I think all three of us deserve that.
[Hope is among one of the worst emotions one can have, Vergil realizes. It rises quickly with the faintest glimmer only to be smothered even quicker, leaving behind a hollow feeling where it used to be. She accepts his apology insomuch that she believes it to be true, but. That word. But. Whatever feeling of hope in his chest dashes itself upon the rocks of that word, and while Vergil does not deflate, does not reveal how cold his blood runs, how dry his mouth suddenly becomes, he feels the pull of wanting to crumble and fold. Vergil meant it when he said he held no expectations of forgiveness. It was not his to demand. But...]
[It's still crushing. Even as he remains stoic and stern in his expression as he minutely nods. Even as he hears himself say,]
Of course. I understand.
[Vergil rises to his feet from where he sits upon the couch all the way in the living room. He does not slouch, but stands tall and proud as always despite how very much the opposite is what he carries inside. He's too aware of how she stays more or less in the other room, a great deal of distance between them as she keeps herself contained in the kitchen. It feels worse somehow. For as much as Vergil found himself fumbling and struggling with all the emotion that spilled out of the girl when he found her wandering alone in the forest, Vergil would rather more emotion spill out of her than what's there in her face, than that defensive measure to keep her distance.]
[But he can find no fault in her for it. All he can see is a reasonable decision. She knows of his lethality and violence more than she knows anything else of him. What reason does she have to truly see him for who he is now, and not the monster that maimed and nearly killed the man she loves?]
[He never felt owed forgiveness, but it hurts more than he cares to admit and acknowledge not to receive even an ounce of it. Nero spoke so much of Kyrie and how she sees the good in everyone, and the likelihood she could forgive Vergil, but that's not what she sees. It's clear to him that's not what is in focus, and is not liable to be anytime soon. And it's hard to understand. Or maybe it's just an ugly truth that he does not wish to contend with. He doesn't know. He's exhausted and crawling out of his own skin all at once. Vergil can feel his mind beginning to flood with doubts and insecurities he thought he'd moved past. The most he can do now is tread water, but he knows it won't be long before he drowns.]
[He picks the Yamato up from where he left it to rest against the arm of the couch. Part of him just wants to walk away immediately, but he doesn't. He looks over at his shoulder to Kyrie again before taking so much as another step towards retreating to the relative safety of his room.]
If that is all you wish to discuss for now, I will let you return to your morning.
[Kyrie is not unaware of the things people call her in Fortuna. Angel. Saint. She's always thought it was going too far, she's just an ordinary person trying to do her best for other people. Her parents had raised her to be kind, to put the needs of others to the forefront and do whatever she could to be helpful and that's how she's tried to live her life. That doesn't mean she's unaware of that people use that perceived ideal of her to judge her decisions and choices.
She's tried not to be judgemental. She's tried to be good and ignore certain things, to always think the best of people but when it comes to some things she won't allow herself to be pushed around. She's learning to stand up for herself.
Sometimes that's hard. Sometimes she immediately wants to reach out and pacify, to not put up a fight and let someone else have an easier time of it, to hell with how she herself might feel as a result.
This is one of those moments.
She didn't envisage how this conversation was going to play out, what her verdict might be or how she might feel. All she wanted was her questions answered and the right to make her own mind up. She's been given that.
It doesn't mean her mind's made up. It's been eased, certainly, but she's still so unsure. She just... doesn't know.
And she feels awful.]
I want to thank you for being so honest with me. I-
[Didn't go easy Wasn't kind Didn't try to understand because I can't Don't want to forgive you only to take it back if you hurt him again
wish I knew what to do]
I know this hasn't been an easy conversation. Thank you.
[Vergil draws a breath, and for a moment, it may appear as though he is about to speak. He says nothing though. Her words right now are not things that he takes as an unkindness—not any more than he believes any of the other things she's said or asked have been—but the numbness he clings to in order to maintain his neutrality means they do not reach him in any meaningful way beyond a signal their conversation is at its end. Vergil turns from her completely then, making his way to his bedroom where there is nothing but quiet and stillness.]
[Kyrie doesn't realise until Vergil returns to the quiet calm of his own bedroom just how chaotic her own body feels when she's left alone. She feels utterly sick to her stomach and there's a peculiar ringing in her ears that she just can't shake.
Her knees feel like they're about to buckle beneath her and in her wobbliness she leans against the counter top, trembling and willing herself to just be calm, to breathe and to focus.
It didn't go badly, but she doesn't feel like it went well. And it doesn't feel like it's right.
None of this is right, there's nothing right about the situation and she's fairly certain there's no one around to tell her what 'right' would look like in circumstances like this. At the very least, she's assured that she hasn't taken a metaphorical can of gasoline to the bridge that is her burgeoning relationship with Nero's father and torched it.
Right?
Her eyes grow hot and her vision misty and not wanting to create more of a scene, she bolts back to the safety of her room, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in a pillow and cry.]
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no subject
[Vergil purses his lips as she picks at his words. No matter how even she speaks, how gentle her voice, it begins to feel more an interrogation. Especially as he does not know how to explain any of this to this...stranger when he can barely speak of it to those he holds close, if he can even manage to speak of it at all in the first place. There's a harder to look to Vergil's eyes as he looks at Kyrie, studies her. It's not the freezing glare of his temper arising, ready to lash out in anger. But it's a blatant defensive wariness. Whatever assumptions Kyrie may have held about Vergil's reserved temperament, his difficulties with emotional vulnerability most likely come to prove themselves in the way he regards her. Vergil's fingers curl against his pantlegs tightly, the fabric serving as a buffer to keep blunt nails from digging into his palms.]
[He draws a steadying breath, releasing the tension in his hands, but not the furrow in his brow.]
I am saying that I lived as a devil before. Now, I am trying to live as a man.
no subject
It takes every ounce of resolve not to flinch when the very slight motion of Vergil curling his fists into his pants catches her eye. She's upset him and the adrenaline pulses through her veins; does he have a temper? Does it spark and catch flame the way Nero's does? Does she want to imagine what it would be like to make Vergil truly angry?
No. Not even a little.
But then his answer comes on the tail of a deep breath and a furrowed brow and she finds herself surprised by the simplicity of the answer. So few words, so much said.
I am trying to live as a man.]
Is it working?
no subject
It's not as simple as that.
[Vergil would like to give her a straightforward, simple answer of yes or no. But a response in either direction would be a misrepresentation of what it is to walk the path he does now.]
I will concede that I am not a full-blooded demon. There is and always has been something inside me that has always made me more prone to think and feel in ways not dissimilar from full-blooded humans. But I grew accustomed to not merely ignoring it. I refused to recognize it as part of me at all. Casting it aside altogether became second nature. [Until he went to such extreme lengths as to excise it from him completely, but Vergil does not bring that up now. He merely looks to a spot on the floor somewhere in the vast amount of space between them, the furrow in his brow deepening as though he were lost in thought.] I no longer choose that, but it is still a choice for me.
[A messy and, at times, complicated choice, but a choice nonetheless. Vergil raises his gaze again after a brief pause.]
And I cannot ignore the fact there are still days and times that I yearn for when I chose to ignore it. When I doubt my own resolve.
And yet, the fact I cannot comfortably say to you that I am now more man than devil does not lead me to stop trying.
[So, it's not a matter of whether it is working or not. Not when it's impossible to envision the possibility of an endpoint where it is no longer a choice. Vergil doesn't believe it can ever be that way for him, not after everything. Instead, it's a matter of daily, sometimes momentary choice as Vergil implied with his answer that prompted this question from Kyrie in the first place.]
I recognize this may be an unsatisfactory answer to your question, but it is the truth. As best I know it to be.
no subject
But is it really stronger?
She knows she's just a weak, sheltered girl brought up believing lies, but she believes still in the inherent goodness that Sparda must have stood for, must have believed in with his soul to turn his back on his race and protect the weaklings who walked the earth. She wonders how much of her belief is fiction, and wonders if one day she will ever feel comfortable enough with Vergil and Dante to ask for the truth about their father. It's hard to accept that he was flesh and blood and not a god, but here's the proof standing in front of her.
Admitting that there is work to be done, that Vergil is still not content in his own skin, is a human enough answer to show her that his efforts are not in vain.]
I wouldn't call it an unsatisfactory answer. I'd say it was very honest.
[It is. As is he. Unflinchingly so.
She is quiet and still for a moment, thoughtful and worried about how to proceed. There's still a myriad scenarios she's concerned about, and the part of her that yearns to shield Nero from harm is still unsettled and snarling, not sure if it's safe to drop her guard.
She takes a deep breath.]
I accept and appreciate your apology. But...
[She looks at him carefully, her face showing just how deeply troubled and saddened she is by everything she has learned in the last twenty four hours.]
Please understand when I say I need more time to decide if I forgive you for it. I- I'm just not sure I fully know how I feel. I want to- I don't want to-
[She stops, not wanting to babble or let her mouth run away and say something indelicate as she struggles to find the words to voice how she feels. This man, and his importance to Nero, isn't something she can trample roughshod over for the sake of making everybody feel better immediately, only for her to change her mind.]
I want to make the right decision and I need time to think. The last thing I want to do is cause anyone any more pain than they've already had to experience. I think all three of us deserve that.
no subject
[It's still crushing. Even as he remains stoic and stern in his expression as he minutely nods. Even as he hears himself say,]
Of course. I understand.
[Vergil rises to his feet from where he sits upon the couch all the way in the living room. He does not slouch, but stands tall and proud as always despite how very much the opposite is what he carries inside. He's too aware of how she stays more or less in the other room, a great deal of distance between them as she keeps herself contained in the kitchen. It feels worse somehow. For as much as Vergil found himself fumbling and struggling with all the emotion that spilled out of the girl when he found her wandering alone in the forest, Vergil would rather more emotion spill out of her than what's there in her face, than that defensive measure to keep her distance.]
[But he can find no fault in her for it. All he can see is a reasonable decision. She knows of his lethality and violence more than she knows anything else of him. What reason does she have to truly see him for who he is now, and not the monster that maimed and nearly killed the man she loves?]
[He never felt owed forgiveness, but it hurts more than he cares to admit and acknowledge not to receive even an ounce of it. Nero spoke so much of Kyrie and how she sees the good in everyone, and the likelihood she could forgive Vergil, but that's not what she sees. It's clear to him that's not what is in focus, and is not liable to be anytime soon. And it's hard to understand. Or maybe it's just an ugly truth that he does not wish to contend with. He doesn't know. He's exhausted and crawling out of his own skin all at once. Vergil can feel his mind beginning to flood with doubts and insecurities he thought he'd moved past. The most he can do now is tread water, but he knows it won't be long before he drowns.]
[He picks the Yamato up from where he left it to rest against the arm of the couch. Part of him just wants to walk away immediately, but he doesn't. He looks over at his shoulder to Kyrie again before taking so much as another step towards retreating to the relative safety of his room.]
If that is all you wish to discuss for now, I will let you return to your morning.
no subject
She's tried not to be judgemental. She's tried to be good and ignore certain things, to always think the best of people but when it comes to some things she won't allow herself to be pushed around. She's learning to stand up for herself.
Sometimes that's hard. Sometimes she immediately wants to reach out and pacify, to not put up a fight and let someone else have an easier time of it, to hell with how she herself might feel as a result.
This is one of those moments.
She didn't envisage how this conversation was going to play out, what her verdict might be or how she might feel. All she wanted was her questions answered and the right to make her own mind up. She's been given that.
It doesn't mean her mind's made up. It's been eased, certainly, but she's still so unsure. She just... doesn't know.
And she feels awful.]
I want to thank you for being so honest with me. I-
[Didn't go easy
Wasn't kind
Didn't try to understand because I can't
Don't want to forgive you only to take it back if you hurt him again
wish I knew what to do]
I know this hasn't been an easy conversation. Thank you.
no subject
no subject
Her knees feel like they're about to buckle beneath her and in her wobbliness she leans against the counter top, trembling and willing herself to just be calm, to breathe and to focus.
It didn't go badly, but she doesn't feel like it went well. And it doesn't feel like it's right.
None of this is right, there's nothing right about the situation and she's fairly certain there's no one around to tell her what 'right' would look like in circumstances like this. At the very least, she's assured that she hasn't taken a metaphorical can of gasoline to the bridge that is her burgeoning relationship with Nero's father and torched it.
Right?
Her eyes grow hot and her vision misty and not wanting to create more of a scene, she bolts back to the safety of her room, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in a pillow and cry.]